Jojo Pellegrino Expounds on Shopper Etiquette

https://twitter.com/JoJoPellegrino/status/281839251660894208

Shopping this time of year is not always the easiest. Just take a trip to the local Wal-Mart, Target, or any other store and watch kinda-decent people turn into reallly-not-decent people. That’s why we’re thankful there’s JJP to help all those people step their etiquette game up. Thanks buddy!

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Duss Smitto Goes IN Vol. 2

I always want to start off by saying salute to all my true Hip hop heads.As I read through some of my favorite magazines and other websites, I see that this game is getting more sour and sour by the minute. The truth about the culture and what it was built on is lost forever in my opinion until these new artists learn their history and what the business is about. Otherwise we’ll always be behind in our own creation.

Look at Lil B. This nigga is a clown. He stands for nothing in the game, He is nothing but a target for a real niggas’ pockets. (laughing) This is why it’s so hard for real artist to get signed now because artists like wack ass Future are just holding up space. Let’s see how many new rappers make it past their first album. It’s so bad that New York ain’t even supporting their own artists at all, but they can play Young Money all day. Lil Wayne’s time is up. He needs to put the mic down and skateboard his life away (laughing).

Busta Rhymes is another one. Who the fuck cares to hear a album from him? These old rappers ain’t no better.

Well until next time. I’m going to review Nas’ new album because I think it’s trash. (laughing)

Holla world it’s SmittNation.

D.Smittoooo

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Duss Smitto Goes In Vol. 1

Welcome to the first installment of a new feature here at We Goin’ In called “Duss Smitto Goes In.” For those who don’t yet know, Duss Smitto is a seriously dope MC and real Hip Hop head straight outta BKNY repping for the Block Exchange crew with STRONG opinions about the music industry and the state of Hip Hop. Since game recognize game we are excited to give him platform to say whatever he wants to say about whatever and whomever he pleases. No holds barred, no censoring, and no worries about hurt feelings. If you’re offended, he might just be talking about you!

Duss Smitto Goes In Vol. 1

I wanna start off by saying what’s up too all my real people who support real Hip Hop.

I made a comment the other day at my video shoot for “That’s Power” featuring R.H. Bless and Cess Wonder about the fuck boy shit I see going on in the music industry that people are scared to speak on. These pay me to play your records DJs who are really pussy, these fake ass A&Rs who don’t recognize real talent and these fuck boy rappers who get robbed every other event they appear at.

This game is disgusting now. Either you’re a under cover homo rapper or you’re just a mainstream pop off dummy. Where are the real Hip Hop heads that live this shit day in and day out? The music that’s being made now is the music that is going to kill Hip Hop.

Labels don’t care who you are only what you can do for them. We are watching our culture be ripped from under us and nobody is doing nothing about it. Some of these new artists get way too much credit for me. Artists like Drake who I think is just ok. He’s not as nice as people make him out to be. Big Sean sucks point blank period. I think I need to hear more from J. Cole but the rest of the new artists are trash. Trust me people are going to remember I said these words.

Until next time Smittnation. Peace.

D.Smittoooo

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That’s Power Video

J-Zone; Literary Genius

Word to the God J-Zone!

“Yawn. Another book from another musician. Let’s guess: He rose from the depths of hell with his talent and went big time. He changed the face of music and made millions. Yeah, a few drug addiction, arrest, and STD stories are sporadically sprinkled throughout for excitement and authenticity, but at the end of it all, he finished his ride a musical legend. He finally gave up dressing room groupies and nose candy; he currently resides with his wife and the children that aren’t illegitimate in Calabasas, CA.

[Insert snoring]

Who can really relate to that shit besides other successful musicians?

My name is J-Zone. If you actually know who the hell I am, either you listen to way too much rap music, you’re a Tim Dog fan, or you stood outside my distributor’s warehouse the day my CDs and records were destroyed. I was on the hip-hop come-up, then I came down – hard. Splat. Some critical success, incessant praise from pop stars and hip-hop legends alike, and then…abysmal commercial failure. I did tours on Greyhound buses filled with wide-bodied, Jheri curled women and knife-wielding gang members. I witnessed my life-long passion for music dissolve in 12 hours and my final album sell a whopping 47 copies in its first month for sale. I left my little-known spot in a small, niche quadrant of the hip-hop world and joined my fellow overqualified stiffs with useless college degrees in the world of dead end jobs. For some sick reason, I find all of the above hilarious and have made an omelette out of any egg that wound up on my face.

I pin my cross-hairs on everyday bullsh*t just as accurately as I do the dysfunctional ways of the music biz. I ask the public at large questions like “Are men the new women?” and “Is going out on Friday night worth it when you’re a socially homeless man in a deceptively segregated New York City?” Chapters dedicated to cassette tapes, defunct record stores, the SP-1200 sampling drum machine, hip-hop recording studios of the 1990s, and overlooked rap artists like The Afros, Mob Style, and No Face all point to my fascination with the obscure. You may also enjoy this book if any of these eight statements speak to you:

1. You feel it’s perfectly acceptable to wear a clip-on tie with Master P’s face on it to a corporate job interview.

2. You have a college degree that got you two choices in the real world: the broom or the mop.

3. You had the opportunity to work with the legendary musical heroes of your childhood; then your broke ass got sued by one of them for copyright infringement.

4. You’ve stuck a fork in dating in America and are now looking into blow-up dolls due to their low maintenance, low noise level, and low cost (an air-body beats an airhead).

5. You’re sick of “couple accounts” on Facebook (Fellas, if you allow your girl to create one page for the both of you, her dick is bigger than yours.)

6. You’re sick of hearing all this bourgeois “Eat, Pray, Love” bullshit on dates. I want NYC’s crime rate to return to the 1990 statistics for a week; then you’ll really be praying to travel someplace expensive to “find yourself”.

7. You’ve considered returning to using the pay phone because you’re sick of 35-year-old women sending you “LOL”s and emoticons via text message.

8. You don’t stand a chance in life doing anything that doesn’t involve purchasing a Mister Softee ice cream truck, but truly believe that one day you will run for mayor and win.

So yeah, Root for the Villain is a book about the music biz and everyday bullshit, but it’s anathema to books about the music biz and everyday bullshit. A collection of memoirs and think pieces written by a curmudgeonly commercial failure who is somehow laughing hysterically at both himself and the stupidity of the world large probably won’t become a New York Times best-seller, either. Be honest though, you need something to place drinks on when you have company; at worst, my book is a perfect cocktail coaster.”

Chapter from J-Zone’s forthcoming book, Root for the Villain: Rap, Bullshit, and a Celebration of Failure.

I need a land line bitch.

It’s only right; cell phones are throwing a 140 mph fastball at mankind. My recent field trips into the technology-driven jungle of night life have caused my sex drive to wane to the point that my hand is more enticing than being in the presence of a new and steadily growing breed of creature:

The Gadget Ho
(Despite the examples given, Gadget Hoes can be male or female.)

Some Gadget Hoes prefer Androids, some prefer Blackberries, and some prefer iPhones, but a Gadget Ho is a Gadget Ho, no matter the weapon or gender. In simpler terms, a Gadget Ho is a cell phone slut.

Long before Gadget Hoes roamed the Earth (and us cavemen spiked drinks and mingled with sloppy drunk broads as protocol), man’s main nemesis in the pursuit of a woman had a heartbeat. She didn’t require a charger, but she had a battery in her back that was juiced by a pack of undesirable scallywags. She was none other than the infamous Huddle Ho. You remember the Huddle Ho, don’t you? She met you, she talked to you, she liked you, but she never left with you. Why? She had a huddle with her three wide and fried friends in the ladies room, where they told her how she could do much better and you weren’t worth her number. They were on the verge of going home alone, so they put a cease and desist on your pound party to make us all equally miserable. After the restroom huddle, the Huddle Ho came back with her buffalo trio in tow and the vibe was never the same. You were with your hand that night simply because those lousy, sloth broads decided that your time was up. Men got hip and began to combat that with some offensive strategy, implementing three of their own friends to occupy the Huddle Ho’s cock-blocker brigade. Those were the quality days of old, when the involvement of humans leveled the playing field. Unfortunately, man can’t trump technology; the Gadget Ho is sending the Huddle Ho the way of the pterodactyl. Picture this:

The music is blaring, people are congregating in small pockets of the club, a handful are even dancing. Not the Gadget Ho. She finds a small cranny of the club to bury herself with her Asthma pump (read: cell phone) and engage in who knows what. As Cyber-Hussy sets the stages for early carpal tunnel onset, texting away with a marshmallow-eating grin on her face, I’m forced to wonder what she’s writing and receiving that’s so fuckin’ amusing that she just can’t engulf herself in it in the comfort of her own home, on a park bench, or in a shit-infested Porta-Potty on the Vans Warped Tour. Is it a stock tip from Randolph & Mortimer on the next frozen orange crop? Did T-Mobile get a street date for Detox from Dr. Dre himself? Or is it simply a seminar in the lingo that only people born post-1990 can fully understand? You know, LMFAO, SMH, ROTFL, OMG, IDK, and FML, among other odorless brain farts.

The Gadget Ho is unfortunately a victim of her own lifestyle when attempting to breast-stroke in the river of actual human interaction. I discovered this when I began to chat up a cute 27-year-old broad worth a 12 minute episode at an NYC lounge. I wasn’t expecting much intellect from the tramp when she was telling me a story about her move to NYC from Wyoming, but then the spokes fell completely off the Cadillac hub cap.

“It was hilarious, I was ROTFL,” she said in a deadpan tone and sporting a still grill. The whole exchange had the same effect on my sex drive as the thought of Rosanne Barr butt naked eating a gyro on my living room sofa would. C’mon bitch, did you not want to roll on the floor and laugh, so you gave me text shorthand? I probably would’ve earned a stripe on the uniform had I possessed the patience; I opted to go home and watch Hogan’s Heroes for the remainder of the night. Yes, I’ve gotten that shallow and impatient in my old age. If I wanna smash a robot, I’ve got Rosie from The Jetsons on speed dial. If you really get the urge to roll on the floor and laugh, just do it you dumb broad.

I often recall the days of pay phone pimpin, when $0.25 gave you a few minutes to convince a girl to come outside. Additionally, one of those minutes was lost if her parent answered the phone and stalled you. That meant your rap had to be fierce, because you were fresh out of pocket change and thus couldn’t extend the talk time; you got right to the point. Nowadays, I’m receiving a bunch of LOLs, “winks”, and smiley faces from some cheese bus bimbo who’s well into her 30s. I guess the “wink” means I can just come right on over and place my nuts on your forehead, right? It doesn’t? Well Gadget Ho, 86 the fuckin’ emoticons, pick up the God damn phone and tell me what the fuck you’re trying to say. Otherwise, I waste three hours doing back and forth texting just to find out you want to put me in the Friend Zone.

It seems as if every thought and statement now has a 140-character limit, regardless of whether it’s spoken or written. If you don’t have to speak or write in complete sentences to maneuver your way through the day, you eventually become as inept as the Wyoming Wench was. She offered me her seven digits (real OGs still say “seven digits”; if you say “ten digits”, you’re a fuckin’ fruitcake), but a Gadget Ho encounter destroyed my social gumption for the night.

The Gadget Ho has even jumped on the fitness bandwagon, joining gyms with monthly fees that can reach $100. She must get a kick out of hopping on the treadmill to send text messages throughout her entire workout, because she can easily punch in an “LOL” or two when the God damn treadmill is only on level 2. That would explain why her text messaging package has increased each year, but she’s a bigger piece of streak-o-lean than she was when she first joined the gym in 2002.

Gadget Hoes and the holidays

When the holiday season is in full swing, you know what that means. My enemy is in full attack mode. No, not the long lines in Wal-Mart, Black Friday, or milquetoast Christmas Music (somebody play the Death Row Christmas album for once), but holiday-related mass text messages from the Gadget Ho. The Trifling Triumvirate of Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years never fail to provide you with proof of which Gadget Hoes really shouldn’t have your phone number.

First off, anybody who takes one specific day to acknowledge or do something is a little queer in my book. There are 365 days in a year. If you’re only thankful, giving, or adhering to a “resolution” on one of those days, you need help. I don’t celebrate anything because I’m ornery most of the time, but when I want to give thanks, give a gift, or set a goal; I’m not looking at the calendar.Additionally, having somebody’s phone number is a privilege, a sign of respect. Don’t assume that they have unlimited texting in their phone plan. They shouldn’t have to sign up for it because you want to save time when doling out arbitrary greetings, either. I’m sick of getting texts like these:

– Happy Turkey Day all!!!!
I only eat turkey on odd-numbered Mondays in July.

– Merry Christmas everybody!!
I don’t celebrate Christmas, I celebrate Groundhog Day.

– May you all prosper and reach your goals and resolutions in 2011!!
Where was this good will in June of 2009 when I needed it? Why do I have to wait until New Years to get a $0.15 good luck charm from you? Better yet, if you want to start going to the gym to lose some weight, why not go in October and stop ordering the God damn party plate today?

Every year around November 21st, I inform everybody of my disgust with these mass text messages so history doesn’t repeat itself. After getting a $24 and $14 bill for texts alone in December 2008 and December 2007, respectively, I was cornered into getting a 400 free text a month plan to save some money. These days, I’m typically closing in on my 400 free texts around December 2nd, when the cycle’s end is 17 days away. Between Thanksgiving and New Years, I watch my 400 texts dwindle down the drain via disingenuous greetings, many from people who got my number from some other rap personality without my permission. If you ask me for my number and I look at you funny, I’m sizing you up to see if you’re the type to send mass texts. If I give you my e-mail instead, you know what time it is. I anticipate going over my 400 text limit by about 47 texts in December and I get charged the standard $0.15 a text when I pass 400. Let’s do some arithmetic:

47 Text Messages @ $0.15 each = $7.05

About half of these texts are from people whose numbers aren’t saved in my phone, so I have to call them back to see who they are and cuss them out. About 90 percent go to that robot voicemail message in which the bitch only tells you “222-403-0712 is not available”, because the culprit is scared to put a personal greeting on the outgoing message. Then they text me again while I’m leaving a voicemail, like “What’s up?” What the fuck do you mean, “What’s up?” Pick up the God damn phone, dick mouth.

That’s an additional $0.15.

Most of these texts are during peak hours, so I get charged for approximately 22 one minute calls before 9PM trying to get reimbursed my 15 cents via phone call. I have 600 anytime and free nights and weekends on my plan. I usually use about 587 minutes in the winter months because I like toleave some room and not get charged $1.25 per minute for going over 600. Therefore, I run a risk of going over my anytime minutes by approximately 5 minutes.

5 minutes @ $1.25 per minute = $6.25

Taxes and fees for the aforementioned activity are about $1.75
$7.05 + $0.15 + $6.25 + $1.75 = $15.20

That’s $15.20 spent for no reason at all. I’ve been victimized for having a cell phone and Gadget Hoes having my number. Texts pile up like L blocks in a game of Tetris when Christmas rolls around, and if I up my plan, that’s another $10 per month and $120 for the year. At the end of it all, that’s $140 including taxes and surcharges. I can hear y’all talkin’ shit about me right now:

“Yo man, Zone is mad cheap. He’s pitchin’ a bitch over $15.”

Yes. I’m very cheap, but peep this: If you walked into White Castle and the cashier asked you for $15.20, but you didn’t ask to buy any food, would you just give it to him simply because you were in there? What about if you go to CVS and you want $15.20 worth of vitamins? Every human being should have vitamins, but your $15.20 went towards something that you received against your will. Can you still get those vitamins without the $15.20?

People who don’t abuse their phones are beaten into purchasing unnecessary features these days. That’s like owning an iPod and being forced to buy Jewel’s latest album on iTunes because 70 percent of the world bought her shit. Let that marinate for a second. In the meantime, here is a list of things I can do with $15.20:

– Get a shape-up and have some bread left over for a new toothbrush,
one of the good ones with the bristles that reach deep into the gums
and massage them.

– Fill 1/3 my tank with Mobil 89 Premium gas.

– Cop a 6 pack of Adidas athletic crew socks at Marshall’s and still
have money left over to buy a newspaper.

– Order the Fat Boys’ Disorderlies and Dolemite’s Avenging Disco Godfather on DVD (including shipping) at Amazon.

Every holiday season, I send my mission statement out to the Gadget Hoes early, hoping to thwart some of this crap. But I swear on a stack of James Brown 45s, I’m sending out invoices from the publish date of this book forward for any Gadget Ho behavior that shows up on my phone bill. Try me if you think I’m bullshittin’.

The cousins of the Gadget Ho: Flash Ho and Cosmo Ho

Camera phones and digital cameras have also taken over nightlife. This leads me to the cousins of the Gadget Ho: the Flash Ho and the Cosmo Ho.

Bitch, I know you just joined Facebook and you just hate that picture of yourself you were tagged in because you were caught off guard. Now you want to get the ever so clever shot of you and your raggedy, salmonella bird-ass friends all together holding your $15 Cosmos.

“OMG!! We’re all here, this is awesome, let’s take a picture!” the Flash Ho will scream. First, she’ll summon the bird patrol (who are all holding their Cosmo glasses with the little umbrellas in them) to meet her in a corner of the club. It’s only right; the Flash Ho is the ringleader of the Cosmo Ho gang. When all of the Cosmo Hoes are all present and accounted for, Flash Ho will look my way.

“Excuse me, can you take a picture for us?”

If I tell the Flash Ho that I want my knob buffed in exchange, am I wrong? Quid pro quo, ho, my name ain’t Hiro. The first time I was asked to do that, I obliged. I figured maybe it would open up conversation with the Flash Ho or one of the Cosmo Hoes, but the Ho harem left shortly after. Their sole purpose for coming to a lounge with a $5 cover was to have a few wall photos. Of course the other Cosmo Hoes in the picture would all comment on Twitter, MySpace, Google Plus, Yelp, and Facebook about how good the others look, but how they themselves look so fat, “LOL.”

Resurgence of Wu Tang, Vinyl and other great things.

There is a funny scent in the air and no, it’s not the after effects of Tub Girl unleashing a massive pressure filled liquid deuce. There seems to be a scent of rawness lingering in the air. Is it me or are talk show hosts holding up the vinyl albums when introducing their musical guests? Is this because it’s easier to see the artwork due to a larger canvas or is it because vinyl is starting to make a serious comeback? Has music gotten so accessible through poorly mixed mp3’s (with terrible cover art) that artwork and warm recordings are now being sought after again? I watched this Raekwon video and thought to myself “Wu Tang was almost left for dead a few years ago”. After years of some lack luster releases, inner turmoil and the mainstream youth looking towards their favorite dope boy to spit some nursery rhymes, it seems as if Wu Tang has almost reclaimed it’s spot. Are they not everywhere these days? Rae has gotten critical acclaim for OB4CL2, Meth, Rae and Ghost are dropping an album on Def Jam, RZA is busy with a million different ventures and every Wu show is practically sold out. It’s very interesting to see how the music industry is morphing. The internet has allowed equal opportunities between major and independent artists as well as giving equal shine to older emcees who are still going strong. There used to be a stigma about being on an indie and now its embraced more than ever. I know I’m rambling on and not saying the ridiculous shet you love WGI.com for, but there seems to be a bright future for Hip Hop. I can actually see the day where the listener resorts back to vinyl. It sounds great, it creates to an actual listening experience (flipping to side B), the cover art is considered to be actual artwork and you have to purchase the vinyl. I’d like to see it’s return. The days of instant gratification, shitty sound quality and terrible artwork should be left in 2009. As listeners, we want to appreciate the entire experience. So again, I may be wrong, but it seems like there is an appreciation for good music and nice warm sound. Let’s continue to support our favorite artists and there will be a return to the days of really enjoying an LP from front to back while sifting through the credits and gazing at the artwork.

Don’t worry, my next posts will be filled with ignorance and filth.

JPizzle’s Top 10 Albums Of 2009 In No Particular Order

Tame One and Del the Funky Homosapien- Parallel Uni-Verses– My hip hop awakening in the early 90’s heavily revolved around both Hieroglyphics and Artifacts so when it goes without saying that when I saw Tame and Del were making a collaborative album I was excited beyond belief. The album does not disappoint. Both Tame and Del are bugged dudes with bugged out rhyme styles so the chemistry is definitely there and Parallel thought does his thing on beats bringing traditional beats to ground the two mc’s when their stream consciousness rhymes could get away from the listener.


Raekwon- Built Only for Cuban Linx II- The triumphant return of a legend! If anyone doubted Raekwon as one of the nicest in the game or his ability to produce another classic after 95, they were silenced by this beast of an album. Insane production, Rae’s trade mark criminology raps and ridiculous features from Ghostface make this a must in any discerning listener’s top 10 for the 09.


Wu-Tang Chamber Music- Pure uncut Wu greatness! All of the Clan shows up along with guests such as Masta Ace, Cormega, Sean P and AZ to combine over some ill vintage Wu styled production. This one is for the true heads. Plus RZA drops mad knowledge throughout. Bonus!


Cormega- Born and Raised- My favorite MC hands down released his long long awaited new joint and it was beyond worth the wait. Production from legends like DJ Premier, Pete Rock, Large Professor, Havoc and DR Period combine with Cormega’s poetic brilliance to create by far one of the nicest albums of the millennium thus far. If you haven’t copped this do so immediately.


Maino- If Tomorrow Comes– Hi Haters! Say what you will about Maino but homie brings mad intensity and emotion to his raps and for an album on a major label, his debut conveyed surprising depth. Yeah I know, he stays squarely within the bounds of traditional thugged out conventions but I think he does it with a style and flair severely lacking. Plus he will cap a mahfucka for disagreeing!


Souls of Mischief- Montezuma’s Revenge– I’ve admitted I’m a Hiero Stan so it’s no surprise so see Souls of Mischief’s Prince Paul assisted new joint on my list. Classic Hiero style is here with that 2K9 twist. Souls once again prove that they have possibly the best chemistry as a group in hip hop. They kill it hard body style without question.


Kurious- II– Call it pure nostalgia, but it brought a tear to my eye to hear Kurious’ new album after his classic (in my book) 93 debut. Kurious definitely still has it with his rhymes and his style and flow is old school in a perfect way and stands out from most other MCs these days. Dope guest appearances from MF Doom and MC Search make this a perfect album for any true school head.


MC Esoteric- Saving Seamus Ryan– To be honest I was never much of an Esoteric fan until this album. This is dope storytelling in the vein of Masta Ace where the whole album forms a cohesive narrative. Unlike many rappers where they aim to make sure you fear them, Esoteric comes off like a cool dude going through the trials and tribulations of the average person. The production is ill and handled by Esoteric so it fits perfectly with his steez.


Slaughterhouse- Slaughterhouse– The super group of Royce Da 5”9, Joe Budden, Crooked I, and Joell Ortiz came with an album of nothing but furiously ill shit talking and witty rhymes. Most of the tracks are non-conceptual battle tracks and boy are they great! The production compliments the group by not drawing too much attention away from the rhymes. And by the way, Crooked I maybe MC of the year based upon his performances on the album. He mutilates the mic every single time.


Foreign Exchange- Leave It All Behind– Not a hip hop album per se, but Leave It All Behind is by far the “romance your girl” album of the year. Phonte of Little Brother dips into his smooth talking R&B persona and combined with Nicolay’s sublime production and dope guest spots produced one of the best albums of the year. It’s definitely a break from the first Foreign Exchange album but one pulled off brilliantly.

Do Like JPizzle….

cormega-2

And cop Cormega’s Born and Raised today!! Shit, today should be a national holiday! If you love hip hop and recognize the real, make it happen!

This will be great.

kimbo-price-450x434

It really boggles my mind that people still find Jay-Z intimidating in the realm of lyrics like he’s some talent to watch out for. I actually heard BP3 and my consensus is that Jay-Z is the most straight forward, bland rapper to be given such high praise. There is nothing creative about what he says and nothing thought provoking. When I hear the lyrics on OB4CL2, I say to myself, “this man Rae is a lyrical assassin who’s taken his time to perfect his craft and stay original”. With that being said, Sean Price is another artist who takes his time with the pen to give the listener creative, funny and well written rhymes to digest. This is the artwork for Kimbo Price, the prequel to Mic Tyson. How could you fear Jay or Drake’s lyrics when there are true talents like Sean to be weary of. I never understood that.

Jeezy misses every button except one on cover of XXL

xxl117cover-youngjeezy-450x613

This is either an honest mistake or a human being that has no care in the world. How could you forget to button the rest of the shirt? Then again, I’m too lazy to wipe half the time, when I’m on the bowl.