A little less Crap on my Ipod

I am kind of in a hurry, but I still have to convey a certain message to the relevant douche bags. If you do not have a strong stomach for gore and blood, it is advisable that you stop reading this right about now….when I am yet to disgrace your purity with profanity.

Anyone who took maziwa ya Nyayo, can remember when good mellow (I use mellow instead of love. I still need to retain my gangster image to my dawgs) music was in the airwaves. Music that necessitated that you have respect for the women they were planning to take to bed. It brought about the coining of the words baby-making music.

See, back in the day, when I was baiting hooks and casting them in the turbulent waters of the dating scene, when letters were not written but composed with flourish and ingenuity, people had songs that you could dedicate to a woman/girl. Music that when you listened to, you could feel the emotion, the time and dedication that went into the creation of the music, the blood, sweat, tears and brain fluid that went into creating the song. People respected love, and sex was a thing of beauty. When people listened to Tank, Tyrese, Babyface, Brian McKnight and Jaheim. (If you do not know who these are, its time you went back home for that diaper change)

 People had sex to connect on a higher level, to take a relationship to a whole new domain. Women were still ladies and not slutty broads without any respect for their femininity. Women were proud of who they were, and men were taught to respect women. Thing is, those particular women commanded superior treatment. They did not parade their wares all over the street like a desperate Nairobi hawker…barely covering up any of their body parts; and yet they still held it down in the bedroom department. They were the source of that phrase…lady in the street but a freak in the sheets.

Then came along the “evolution” of music, music that I personally cannot stomach. Musicians sold their souls to the devil and decided that pleasing the idiot majority was more important than making actual music. If by now you are yet to make the connection between good music and the current sexual mess, take a listen to music made by a Jamaican group called RDX. What was I doing listening to those retards, you ask? Well, for a while, they were everywhere. 

Still wondering what that has to do with anything? Well, listen here grasshopper…if you have been in a club that has been plying RDX’s bend over, you might have a clue as to what I am going on bout. That song sounds like a bunch of male cats that have been thrown into a barrel and they are fighting over a piece of female cat ass. I think that is what it sounds like when a new inmate at Kamiti is being taken through that ritual. The ritual where they have to pick up the soap while naked and a bunch of burly, mean looking fellow muscles are watching, and their intentions are not of the purest of natures. Going back to what I was saying…this is the devils cacophony. It is the soundtrack to which he is currently buggering Sadam Hussein to as you read this. The lyrics objectify women and make them out to be of little other use than sex. Yet, you will find a woman in the dance floor gyrating to this music, swinging her hips with furious intensity and grinding her scantily clad behind into the genitals of a man she just met two minutes ago. The videos on the internet that show dances that have been invented to this song show women willingly parting their legs as strange men take turns to literally leap onto them an demonstrate the motions of sex. Women of questionable morals are busy shaking their barely covered wares in the video!

If you do not believe that these RDX jackasses have single handedly watered down the image of woman for me, then you never saw the captured moments of their Kenyan concert. There was a woman who, of her own accord, left her boyfriend (who had probably paid the steep entrance fee), climbed up on stage and proceeded to let those Jamaican monkeys make a fool out of her. All this happened in front of her boyfriend who had to stand there and stoically watch as his woman gyrated her hips to the daggering motions of another man. The look on pure delight on the face of this stupid bitch as she let herself be used in such a manner is more than enough justification for making me hate on her character. Lets not even get to that other woman clad in red who was nearly naked. Ugly and fat with fake hair and notoriously hideous boots, she soiled my evening meal the day I stumbled upon her video on YouTube! Heifer! Who the fuck told your retarded raggedy ass that we want to see those cellulite laden thighs, that malformed ass, that hideous thong that was buried deep in the excessive body fat of the crack of your multi-shaded butt cheeks, and you waving around the cheap china-made hair that Mama Wangari your local salonist plaited on your ugly head?

Women, listen here and pay particular attention to what I am about to let you know. Do you think is possible for a man to take your species seriously when you are out doing this kind of stuff? Really? To a little music? And you have the audacity to call men immature? Bloody hell!!

We need to go back to that kind of music that you could listen to and not want to bash your head against a wall. The kind of music that did not give you a headache. The king that DJ Kalonje could not butcher and broadcast it to the world. That kind of music that did not result in skinny jeans wearing men that compete with women for salon space. Music that did not advocate for women to walk around baring it all. We need to go back to the kind of music you could put on at a candle lit dinner, and the woman you are with would be persuaded to take it to third base. The kind of music that you would put on as you and your woman are getting busy(if you think I am talking about going to work in the morning, its time for another diaper change), and it would set the mood. orgasmic music as my buddy Sue calls it. And Women, before you leave the house in those baby clothes just because Nicki Minaj had that outfit on at an award show, this piece of information might come in handy; Lady Gaga wanted to release a perfume fragrance that smelt like a mixture of semen and blood. That is the kind of artistes we have today. Oh yeah, and free flowing garments are a lot better than that shit you have on that covers very little. They make a man exercise his imagination…and very few things are more powerful than the human imagination. Trust me.