I’m just going to say it.

I wish to make a complaint.

The last time I checked in with Herro Prease! I complained about the lawmedy known as Franklin & Bash and it’s almost certain cancellation. Besides simply the unabashed lack of creativity spent developing the show, its other offense was the careless abuse of the actor Mark-Paul Gosselaar, also known as the blonde Tom Cruise. He deserved better.

But anyway, here it is:

Chinese takeout restaurants have been grossly encroaching on the safety standards of modern-American takeout procedure that had been in place for over 50 years. It’s been such a slow and often seamless overstepping of food safety that a communist takeover of this country seems more and more likely.

Think about ordering take-out as a youngster, even say, 10 years ago. You had the same brown paper bag, the same tin, paper box, or styrofoam container, a few napkins, and the timeless fortune cookie.

Fast-forward to modern day. Now try picturing the placid landscape of exotic fried food from the orient as it is when it arrives at your doorstep. At first it will seem normal, but now try simply opening the bag. The sweet, tender yield of a paper bag is supplanted with the resistance of atleast 3 staples on the opening of the bag.

Staples, commonly an office fixture for holding together documents that should seldom be pulled apart, are in no way at fault. They are a good office utensil. They are more permanent than a paperclip, and less permanent than adhesive, they are the best of both of the worlds, and should be lauded for that.

But chinese food take out places have irresponsibly, and possibly with malice, taken the virtue of the staple and placed it within the take out food realm. This is bad, and the reasons are as follows:

1. The use of staples violates the criteria required of a take out carrier container. Take out carrier containers require two criteria:

a.) The take out container must be able to adeptly hold the item.

b.) The take out container must have a clever device to which a human hand, and not a jostle of the container, is able to open.

An example of the "clever device" known as the tuck-under flap on paper box packaging.

The difference between the “device” I have described and the ability to “hold,” or the two criteria I just mentioned are radically      different, something that Chinese take out packaging procedure has ignored. One involves the intelligence of a human being, the other is the product of engineering. You see, the “clever device” is the part that is to be impenetrable to the wear and tear that occurs in transportation. It is “clever” because it is not activated by pure force, but by the willful employment of human intelligence. Examlples of “clever devices” are the tuck-under flap on styrofoam containers, the fold-over-the-sides margin on tin packaging, and the variation of the tuck-under flap on the paper box packaging. All ably do their duty. All are impenetrable to normal wear and tear but can be activated by a human readily. The use of staples clearly violates this construct. By attempting to use staples as a bit of added security to their already stellar packaging, the chinese food take out restaurant has thus impeded one essential element of the takeout container in lieu of the added support relevant in the “holding” element.

This creates a problem. Staples are not for the human hand. Yes, you could argue that staples do fit the characteristic of the “clever device” element I described earlier, since we humans are aware of how to pull them out. BUT the “clever device” element is not composed only of simple human intelligence, but human intelligence and ability. And human beings have not the dexterity nor the derma-strength to take out one of these bitches manually, and no one, should ever, under any circumstances, readily have a staple remover. Thus, the  bag becomes such a painful and tedious process that you end up tearing the bag and risk puncturing skin in the process.

2. Isn’t the idea to keep small pieces of metal AWAY from food? I mean, c’mon Chinese food, you already have a pretty miserable reputation on proper food preparedness/food composition that you can’t be taking risks with thin pieces of metal. The reputation, by the way, is no longer a reputation, but firmly a part of American lore.

That is all.

Please take note. Keep calm and carry on, and other phrases.

Worse than the holocaust

Something I always though was cool about my life, or life in general, is that I’m not blind and have a pretty good idea of what is occurring around me while I am “in the moment”. Such as at a concert or sporting event. The fact that I am there, in person, observing, is simply enough for me. The memory I created from being at that event at that point in time satisfies me in ways that a grainy cell phone photo or a muffled/shaky cell phone video can ever accomplish. Maybe that’s just me, but I like being in that moment, where I don’t have some 6’4 jackass high school quarterback pushing to get in front of me so he can raise his 2002 fucking flip phone in front of me to record this song that you’ll never fucking hear anyway because it sounds like the speakers in your phone are going to implode then upload it to youtube so it gets 56 views in 3 years because nobody gives a fuck about your shitty video when they could have just been there in person. You know I’m serious when I go off on an unpunctuated rant. Fuck you people.

What is so hard about using your eyes and ears to appreciate your surroundings? Do you really need to text your friend Becky and be all “OMG BECKY M AT THE CNCRT LOL U SHLD B HERE” and then when Becky sends you back a fucking frowny face because she is an idiot has nothing of actual substance to say back so you hold up your cell phone for 20 minutes trying to take a picture which will end up looking like a shit stain across a black canvass.

Don’t act like its the first concert you’ve ever been to. There are a few simple guidelines to live by. Be respectful of those around you (ex. don’t be a drunk meathead and start a fight because someone brushed up against your girl like every single dickhead that goes to the festival pier), help people up if they fall, and keep your fucking phone in your pocket. People around you won’t hate you and you will have a far better time because you are actually having a real experience. So go with it.

So, I have been trying to find a good follow-up to my ground-breaking deciphering of Tyga’s “Rack City”, which unintentionally outed the young rap star. I’ve received several good suggestions via Twitter which may work out eventually, but I forgot about this contemporary classic. This is the perfect sequel as it incorporates a lot of nonsensical rhyme schemes and profuse repetition…and ass remixes. 

No introduction necessary, Big Sean (B$) shoots us right out of the cannon with a ridiculously repetitive hook, like so repetitive that he’s not even trying to rhyme but it is still somehow really catchy. He hits you with “ASS” (or “A$$”, I think) about 22 times by my count, but in several different ways. The first set of asses sounds like how B$ would talk to his ladyfriends all smoothlike in a dimly lit nightclub when he’s too cool to speak above the music; the second set of asses is distorted in some sort of a burping-voice filter which finishes out the asses as a Donald Duck-like filter chimes in with the burping to finish out the first line of this hook. It sort of looks like this:

[normal voice] Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass [burp-voice] ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass
[Donald Duck joins in] ass, ass, ass, ass, ass
Stop… now make that motherfucker hammer time like…
Go stupid, go stupid, go stupid (do it, boyeee–) ..(or something)..

I threw the rest of the hook in there at the end, because I realized it took me about 200 words just to explain that ass is repeated 22 times. So I’ll stop and make that motherfucker hammer time, which, by virtue of most-popular definition on urban dictionary, refers to the phrase a man says before jackhammering his partner and consequently breaking his/her neck. Hmm, starting off oddly familiar here, I hope this isn’t literally another ambiguously-gay rap song. We’ll see.

Wobble-dy wobble-dy wa wobble wobble
I’m st-stacking my paper my wallet look like a bible
I got girlies half naked that shit look like the grotto
How your waist anorexic and then your ass is colossal
Drop that ass make it boomerang
Take my belt off bitch I’m Pootie Tang

Bible wallets and shit

I assume the first line is to get the listener into some sort of transmission where they experience a sensation of rocking or teetering their heads repetitiously. Or its just to dupe the listener into thinking wobble and wallet are a perfect rhyme, I don’t really care to be honest. I’m more-or-less interested in the transition from wallets looking like bibles to half naked girlies making shit look like the grotto. Really, though. I don’t always have the opportunity to have stacks of paper in my wallet, but when I do, I’ve never made the connection that it would even remotely resemble a bible. But then to make that

Colossal a$$, you're doing it wrong.

comparison and then just be like ‘fuck it’ I’ll just throw in this line about half naked girlies, I mean, I just don’t get it. And when have you ever seen an anorexic person with a colossal ass? That just doesn’t even sound healthy, or physically possible. Regardless, I have to give B$ some credit for the colorful imagery thus far. The last line finally gives us the closest thing we’ve had to a rhyme with boomerang and Pootie Tang which I have to admit is pretty funny because Pootie Tang could whoop anybody’s ass with that belt. I think the ass drop is that kind of gross dance all the ladies do in that “Back Dat Ass Up” music video by Juvenile. I guess its kind of like a boomerang when all that jiggle comes back around. I typed in “ass bomerang” on Urban Dictionary for some clarification and it pulled up “dirtpipe boomerang” which was invented by Bill Cosby in 1956 and involves two people pushing their assholes together and taking turns shitting into the others assholes, hence boomerang-ing…? Okay, on second though, I don’t care anymore.. Moving on.

Tippy tow tippy tay you gonna get a tip today
Fuck that you gonna get some dick today
I walk in with my crew and I’m breaking they necks
I’m looking all good I’m making her wet
They pay me respect they me in checks
And if she look good she pay me in sex
Bounce that ass (a$$) it’s the roundest
You the best you deserve a crown bitch
Right on that… 

"I'll take 30 of your finest whores, this check should suffice"

Just like the first half of this verse, B$ give us another nonsensical repetitive-y rhyme-y thing-y which for whatever reason involves one of his bitches getting a tip today or something. I don’t know, fuck that he’ll just give her some dick  today. The egregious use of today in the first 2 lines really sets off the second half of this verse for me. The third line is where it gets interesting, and verifies the hammer time reference from the hook because apparently B$ and his entire crew love to jackhammer their sexual partners til the point of severe neck injury. Not gonna argue with that. I just don’t know how any respectable lady is still getting wet in the pants as her neck is being broken from aggressive acts of coitus. I guess when you look as good as B$, it just doesn’t matter after a certain point. I guess respectable ladies who like having their necks broken always pay their man with checks, seriously, fucking checks. This is a rap song and you are talking about getting CHECKS from whores. Checks. Seriously, checks. Or sex (hehe, that rhymes) if she looks good. Ok, whathefuckever. Since checks kind of, kiiiind of rhymes with roundest, I can see why its in there, but really, you could have said “stacks” or something. Its really not that hard to write these things. You the best you deserve a crown bitch……right on that…  

The hook plays again. If you need a refresher course, please re-read the first paragraph.  

I was going to do the original version of this song, til I realized (no credit to Antonio) that the Nicki Minaj second verse of this song is way fucking better. She pretty much puts B$ to shame since she can actually rhyme, regardless of how silly they may be. 

Wobbledy wobble, wo-wo-wobble, wobbin’
Ass so fat, all these bitches’ pussies is throbbin’
Bad bitches, I’m your leader, Phantom by the meter
Somebody point me to the best ass-eater
Tell ’em “pussy clean”, I tell em “pussy squeaky”
Niggas give me brain ’cause all of them niggas geeky  

SEE THAT SHIT?! Bitch can fuckin’ rhyme. A, B, A, B, A, B. That’s how good rhymes should work. Although I’m not quite sure how having a fat ass would make one’s pussy throb, I’ll leave the semantics up to you, Nicki. She drives a Phantom, that’s cool. I mean, its no Bugatti Veyron, but its still cool and all. Its parked by the meter, so naturally we have to make an analingus rhyme. But I guess there are no good ass-eaters to be found since she pulls out the ‘niggas give me brain’ line, which, when I was 13 or so found out that ‘brain’ is another word for oral-sex. I’m just going to stop before this gets weirder. 

If he got a mandingo, then I buy him a dashiki
And bust this pussy open in the islands of Waikikiiiii-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
Kiss my ass and my anus, ’cause it’s finally famous
And it’s finally soft, yeah, it’s finally solved!
I don’t know, man, guess them ass shots were off!

From what I understand, a mandingo is an African male who knows he has a huge shlong and can hit it all night long and keep you coming back for more. A dashiki is a garment usually worn by West

Ass shots, literally

Africans and hippies that covers the top half of the body. Not sure how these two actually correlate to Nicki’s pussy getting busted open in Waikiki.. I guess it has something to do with not wearing any pants. I promised myself this wouldn’t get weird again, but for whatever reason, Ms. Minaj is fixated on analingus again, as if we didn’t get the point earlier. I’ll just leave it at that. If the ass shots line seems weird, its not. She is actually clowning the original version of the song because B$ refers to cupid shooting arrows into somethings ass and he falls in love with it.. or something. 

Bitches ain’t poppin’, Google, my ass
Only time you on the net is when you Google my ass
Y-y-you fuckin’ little whores, fu-fuckin’ up my decors
Couldn’t get Michael Kors if you was fuckin’ Michael Kors
B-B-Big Sean, b-boy, how big is you?
Gimmie all yo’ money and gimmie all yo’ residuals
Then slap it on my ass, ass, ass…… 

He couldn't get himself even if he was himself, allegedly.

Holy shit.. I have no clue what the fuck any of this means anymore. Is Michael Kors the dude from Project Runway? Apparently he’s the greatest designer ever. Apparently, I could care less. I’ll just slap some residuals on its ass and try not to understand the craziness that is in Nicki Minaj’s head.  This brings us near the of this mess. The hook plays again. B$ comes back to talk about white girls, black girls, tall girls, fat girls, short girls, small girls, skinny girls, & all girls really and how they shake that ass. And he wants all of that. And then the fucking hook….again. For all of you who love the repetition. So what have we learned? Stacks of money can make your wallet look like the bible, anorexic chicks have big asses according to legend, B$ takes checks from hookers because he’s so respected, Nicki Minaj loves analingus and Michael Kors couldn’t even get with himself if he had a clone of himself. I know, this is all so much to take in. But what is this song actually about? I have no fucking idea.  Til next time.. 

I’m not advocating the sudden death of Dick Clark, which happened something like 2 minutes ago in the Internet world. World travels fast. However, I have claimed the second celebrity in my 2012 Death Pool after an extremely slow start to 2011. So after my 52 points from Whitney and the 28 from Dick Clark, my trusty calculator puts me at 80 total points for the year… and its only April. 

This now squashes my theory that Dick Clark was actually a hologram resurrected for every New Years celebration as some weird tradition that needed to be carried over for nostalgic purposes. I will officially be out of hologram theories if Joan Rivers decides she is ever going to die.  

Oh herro there! So you just bought a computer and are on the Internet for the first time, let me be the first to welcome you to it. I understand you have a choice in websites, and I appreciate the fact the you chose mine.

A brief history of the Internet: It was invented sometime in the 1960s by Kim Jong-il who just simply willed it and POOF, Internet created. The American media would have you believe that Al Gore invented this, but I am here to tell you, brothers and sisters, it was not. So don’t believe everything you read, ya turkeys. I don’t really know how it works, I imagine there are wires all over the place and massive underground hamster wheels who are pumped full of amphetamines running 24/7 so people could share pictures of cats and stuff. So there you have it.

Anyway, let me also be the first to warn you about a few things on this world wide web. I know you didn’t have to take a test to get on the Internet, but honestly, everyone should understand a few basic principles.

Nobody gets anything for “free” on here. NO ONE. I’m dead serious about this one. You will probably create a Facebook account so you can share pictures of your little twat children or friend request some person you liked in high school and creep on all of their pictures, because that’s what Facebook is for.. but don’t be ‘that guy’ that clicks on “OMG FREE STARBUCKS GIFT CARDS CLICK HERE” and spams (not the edible kind–spam is a bad thing on here) your entire friends list, who, in turn, click the fucking link and wonder why their computers are infected with a virus (yes your computer can get sick) and all of your friends hate you now. See where I’m going with this? This goes for you too, mom, nobody randomly selected you to win anything, so knock it off.. you aren’t that special.

Don’t open every single email you receive. Again, you are a nobody on the Internet, so always assume someone is trying to scam you out of something. You reading this, Dad? Nobody selected you from a list and thought “hmm, I bet this Tom character would really enjoy some free Viagra”. My general rule of thumb is, if you don’t know who its coming from, then just delete it.

Always assume everything is too good to be true. I think this just piggybacks on my first too points. If it sounds so awesome that you might shit yourself from all the awesomeness, then its probably a scam. You will never get a free vacation, free airline tickets, free cars, free anything. So let me just burst your bubble now. Don’t get your hopes up.

Don’t give out your credit card number. I mean okay, you can give it out if you are buying trinkets on ebay or that 5 gallon poly-bagged foldable collapsible water carrier on Amazon.com you just HAD to have. But other than that, don’t go on shady ass websites and just give out your credit card to anyone who asks for it.

I don’t know there are probably thousands of tips I can give, but I’m lazy. This post was actually going to be about you racist fucks that somehow find my website with your ridiculous search terms. By the sheer chance that the words ‘black’ and ‘people’ appear in various spots on my site, you somehow found this website. So if you are a racist, go fuck yourselves. But I’m going to share a few of my favorite search terms anyway, and these are terms that have been searched-for more than once, so enjoy:

“ugly pictures of black people”, “random black people pictures”, “italian and black people”, “niggers smell bad”, “black person vs ape”, “do people think black people are ugly”, “ugly black kids”What the fuck is wrong with you people? Go put a gun in your mouth, seriously. There have been hundreds of you finding my site with these search terms, fuck off already.

“Mike Jerrick sucks”. Agreed. Mike Jerrick is the worst human being on the planet, luckily I don’t have cable anymore.

“Danica whoring it up for go daddy”. Agreed. Glad I’m not the only one who despises her presence on this planet.

“potatoes bra”. Riiiiiight. I don’t even have a snarky comment for this, and the fact its been searched more than once is even more disturbing.

“good celebrities for a celebrity death pool”. And every combination of that imaginable. How about this? WHY NOT TRY BEING ORIGINAL YOU RETARDS. There are also searches for wildcard picks too. Its not hard to think up celebrities that you hope will die in the coming year. Try using your brain, you’d be amazed what you might actually ‘think’. Unless you are this moron: “celebrate deats 2011”. 

“5 facts about north korea”. Only 5? Why stop there. I’ll give you 35 facts, so deal with that shit.

“fructyou”. Umm, fruct you too?

“fancycatfaces”, “tough feral cat”. I love you. All of you. Just, not more than I love feral cats.

“jailbait story”, “kiddie porn comic”. I’ll notify the proper authorities.

“pictures to draw on my starbucks cup”. Again, try being original. Just fucking draw something, its not that difficult. Oh, but I need Google to tell me what to draw.

“Sean Rossman“. Stop Googling yourself, Sean.

And finally..

“Herro Prease T Shirt”. Fuck yes. I’ll start selling hand-made t-shirts by request.

I’m trying out something new these days, since I apparently never keep my promises to write something at least once a week. Recently, I was introduced to a genre of music known as “contemporary shit-hop” or something which requires little to no talent to write a tune..at least that’s what I assume. How I long for the days of Straight Outta’ Compton again.

Today I’m going to break down Tyga’s “Rack City”, which is a lovely song about making lots of money, fucking your grandmother and bitches or something. I will examine each stanza in an attempt to figure out what the hell a “Rack City” might actually be.

Rack City Bitch, Rack, Rack City Bitch
Ten, Ten, Ten, Twenties On Yo Titties Bitch
Hunded Deep VIP No Guest List
T Raw You Don’t Know Who You Fuckin Wit
Got Ma Other Bitch Fuckin Wit Ma Other Bitch

From this first stanza of this song, we see that Tyga is clearly no John Keats when it comes to writing romantic poetry. From what I recall about poetry or rap music in general, is that there is generally some sort of rhyme scheme, which most often takes place at the end of each line in some sort of consistent pattern: A , B , A , B | A, B, B, A | and so on.. Within the first 5 lines, Tyga rhymes “bitch” with “bitch”, “bitch”, “list”, and “wit”. Off to a good start. The first 2 lines (the hook) also throw us right into the fun that is “Rack City” by employing my favorite part of contemporary hip-hop music: repetition. I get the impression that “Rack City” refers to the copious amount of stripper’s breasts that Tyga showers in ten, ten tens of twenties. The next line is not a misspelling. When phonetically transcribed, Tyga indeed says “hunded deep” which I believe refers to his entourage of 100 people or so, and since everyone apparently knows who Tyga and his ‘hunded deep’ entourage are, they clearly do not need to be put on any guest lists! I believe “T Raw” in line 4 is a clever nickname for “Tyga” because there is no other frame of reference in the song except for titties which makes no sense in the context of the song. Basically, when Tyga and his crew step in the club VIP style, you just don’t fuck with it, got it? Because when you see his one bitch fuckin wit his other bitch, boy you best watch out. Moving on.. 

Fuckin’ All Night Nigga We Ain’t Celebate
Nigga Said I’m Too Dope, I Ain’t Sellin It

(Raw?) Fresher Than A Ma’Fuckin Peppermint
Gold Letterman’s Last King Killin’ Shit
Y-Young Money, Young Money Yeah We Gettin’ Rich

 This next stanza gets a bit clever in its rhyming, however we still haven’t really deviated from the A, A, A, A, A scheme just yet, although I’m really giving him the benefit of the doubt on these loose rhymes. Continuing with the “bitch” rhymes we get to “celibate”, “it”, “peppermint”, “shit” and “rich” (what?). I assume at least one person of his 100 person entourage had a thesaurus they let Tyga borrow when they realized he couldn’t think of anything else that rhymes with “bitch”. Anyway, Tyga is by no means a virgin. In fact, neither him nor his crew are celibate and presumably all have sex together. I’m not sure if its with each other, if they run trains, if they do it tandem-style, or if he is just referring to the royal “we”. I guess we may never know. “Nigga said I’m too dope, I ain’t sellin it | (Raw?) Fresher Than A Ma’Fuckin Peppermint”. W-W-What? Where the fuck did that come from? Not that this song had any real direction to begin with, now we are just hitting foul balls to the parking lot and breaking windows. This next line would also make no sense had I not found out that my pint-sized hero has his own line of Letterman jackets called Last King Killin or some bullshit. Which is why y-young money gettin’ rich (and shit).

Get Cha Grandma On My Dick
Girl You Know Who It Is

Indeed, let’s just move on.

 Now we get back to “the hook” of this masterpiece, otherwise known as the chorus. If you are a fan of repetition, then look no further. Rack City Bitch, Rack, Rack City Bitch is repeated about 17 or 18 times along with the ten, ten, ten twenties nonsense. You get the point. Now, on to the second verse!

Imma Ma’Fuckin Star (Star)
Look At The Paint On The Car (Car)
Too Much Rim Make The Ride Too Hard
Tell That Bitch Hop Out, Walk The Boulevard
I Need My Money Pronto

As before, repetition seems to be the key here as we need to be reminded that my little munchkin is a fuckin’ star, right? I mean, look at the fuckin’ paint on his car, have you ever seen a car with paint before, bitch? Its fucking AMAZING. Since we are talking about stars and cars (holy shit..a real rhyme!), naturally we gotta talk bout ‘dem rims yo, they make that ride hard! Unless, he’s referring to an act of gay-sex which really wouldn’t surprise me in today’s rap culture, especially being a product of Cash Money Records. But Tyga is a pimp to the rest of us tho, suddenly, as we focus our attention away from the rims and paint to all of a sudden telling hookers to get out and walk the boulevard and start making this tiny man some money. Whatever, this song hasn’t made any sense from the beginning, why should it now?

Get It In The Morning Like Alonzo, Rondo
Green Got Cheese Like A Nacho
If You Ain’t Got No Ass Bitch Wear A Poncho
Head Honcho, Got My Seat Back
Niggas Starin’ At Me, Don’t Get Bapped
Got My Shirt Off, The Club Too Packed

Ass Poncho?

Alright, I have to admit the clever use of the double entendre in this first line, referring of course to retired NBA star Alonzo Mourning, although I can’t confirm that Alonzo actually “gets it in” every morning. Naturally, we just throw “Rondo” in there because it kind of rhymes with Alonzo and Poncho, and ends in ‘O’ with pronto, nacho, etc. Whatever, congratulations Rajon Rondo. “Green got cheese like a Nacho” is clever, associating the color green of Rondo’s jersey and comparing it ‘cheese’, slang for money–nacho. I know, deep stuff here. This next line is a bit confusing. If a bitch got no ass, why would she wear a poncho? If I correctly understand the physics of a poncho, they don’t necessarily cover the ass, but generally end right around the area where the ass begins. Maybe Lil Tyga just got a little too clever with the ol’ thesaurus for his own good and needed a perfect rhyme for “honcho” as we start to see a little bit of in-rhyming for the first time, yay! For some reason now, we go back to the car reference again (I think) cuz he’s got his seat back, black guys are staring at him, so he issues a stern warning “Don’t get Bapped”. Whatever the fuck that means. According to Urban Dictionary, ‘Bapped’ means “to bump into something, to hit something, to get into a small accident and damage something”. So if you be staring at Tiny Tyga, you best be sure he will come bump into you without his shirt on if the club is too packed.. or something. Again, I think he may be gay. Or if you are staring at him, he’s going to stare back and crash his car. Whatever.

Its Too Turnt, Going Up Like Gas
Goddamn, Pull Out My Rags
Mike, Mike Jackson Nigga I’m Bad
Ra-Ta-Ta-Tat Tatted Up On My Back
All The Hoes Love Me, You Know What It Is

 Finally, this stupid fucking song is almost over, so again why should this last stanza even remotely tie the song together? I had to refer to my trusty Urban Dictionary, much like I do when I try to dissect the meanings of the words of Shakespeare in the Oxford English Dictionary, to look up ‘Turnt’. Turnt can mean “horny, drunk, smoked out, fucked up”. In this case, “going up like gas”, I assume refers to him being horny and his penis may or may not be getting hard. Being as this line follows the whole niggas starin’ / got my shirt off line, apparently it gives him a boner being shirtless and rubbing up against other dues, alright.  So naturally, goddamn. He’s gotta pull out his “rags” (tampons?) cuz like Mike, Mike Jackson (rumored to also be a homosexual of sorts) he’s back. All the hoes (boys) love lil Tyga’s rat-tat-tats on his back. Finally, “You know what it is”. Yes, Tyga, I do think I finally get what “Rack City” is all about. You. Are. Gay.

The rest of the song is the repetitive hook about 70 more times, and he throws ‘hundeds’ around instead of twenties now. But in summation, I thought this song was going to be about showering hooker’s titties with 20 dollar bills and fucking grandmothers, to a revelation that Tyga is a massive homosexual. So there you have it.

Due to growing up with the Internet, I have a short window for caring about things and an even shorter attention span. Joe Paterno died 2 days ago (maybe 3). People die every day. People who have cured diseases, people who have been world leaders, people who have been pivotal in the advancement of mankind, and your everyday nobodys. Its just a part of life everyone needs to accept and move on from.

I can understand being upset over such an iconic figure such as Paterno. Someone who has accomplished so much as a college football coach, has helped countless people become a better version of themselves and helped so many people realize potential they never thought possible. Believe me, I fucking get it.

But where the line needs to be drawn is not twisting this into an outcry of statewide mourning. Gov. Tom Corbett announced yesterday that flags across Pennsylvania must be flown at half-staff in honor of Paterno until he is buried on Wednesday. As mentioned above, while Paterno may have been a ‘legend’ in his own institution, he did not contribute anything of substance to the State of Pennsylvania or to advancement of mankind as a species. So I completely disagree with this sentiment.

So as my Youtube attention span fades on this issue, I just pray that everyone can heal all of these deep wounds that the passing of Joe Paterno may have caused. I know many of you had to have known his personally, as I comb through the many heartfelt grievances on Facebook and Twitter. I also find it kind of pathetic that many of these same people only chose to attend Penn State because of the presence of Joe Paterno. If you chose to spend tens of thousands of dollars per year to major in University Studies so you can watch a football team every week, then you deserve to be shit on by this economy in the real-world. Welcome to it.

Also, accusing the Board of Trustees of causing the death of Joe Paterno is not only the most childish thing I’ve ever seen, but it just goes to show the amount of intelligence the clouts the atmosphere at Penn State.

Despite what you might think, the world doesn’t revolve around Penn State football. And I don’t either. It’s time to move on, so who’s ready to follow the leader?

Oh, and enjoy the Westboro church on your campus. It sucks, but that’s kind of what happens when you cover-up a boy-rape scandal, sowwwwwwy.