aight tho

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ol' earth shootin dope in her veins

he never had it all / the kid loved basketball!

had a favorite song

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have it, or grab it, or go?

this album contains some great moments in gloomy-funk audio.  that coffee-fuzz funk. those instrumental dementia breaks.  lotsa drum-outs.  we got the pool pah classical “sour soul” lifted from the soundtrack for “the flasher”, which never got a releasal.  later on, gershon kingsley gets messy all over the title track.  a great song about sunday mornings, by some guy who i don’t know, is included too.  but mostly i don’t know jack-nothin about  this record.  maybe i’m a idiot.  you cuh help me?  the back of the record says this thing is made in canada by “clowny clown productions”.  it also implies that these fools have put out seven records prior to this release, as it’s listed “cclp 08”.  oh yea?  aight tho, i’ma let you let me think that, hercules.  i ain’t stuck in no terrifying place, you god damn idiot you.

don’t be clowny clown clowns, you silly sill sills!  oughtta smack somebody lately.  hey - you heard the one about your mother?  it’s the same as the one about whether the glass is half full or half empty.  filthy! anyway gang, you know what it means when i look to see if your mom’s ass is robust?  it means i’ma bust RO ASS!

here it is nitwit

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fuck that! run! cops got… GUNS!

fuck that! run! cops got… GUNS!

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choc blacula says "hello" dummy

Amex Centurion card(caesar was a fair man).

I hate how when I’m trying to type the word ‘nigger’ into my iPhone it always suggest the word ‘bigger’. It catches on after a few times, but then it soon forgets. I’ve had this phone for a while now and typed many a thougt into it. It should know by now that I’m terribly racist.
I wish that when I actually typed a word that has a close spelling to ‘nigger’, it would suggest ‘Nigger!’(yes, capitalized and with exclamation point). I guess I wish my phone was racist.
Matter fact, I wish all machines were racist,  for instance, the ATM. When a black goes to the machine to get money, the atm should laugh at him and say, “you sure you wanna do that? I mean we don’t give tens here buddy. I don’t wanna check your balance and you got exactly $20 dollars, then I wen’t through all that for nothing.  Look, I don’t think they do loose cigarettes here and if they do they’re definately not menthols…what? whttp://www.tumblr.com/new/texthat’s  that you say? Your a doctor? Sure, sure you are fella. On What corner in Brownsville?”.
And when machine does says this, it doesn’t say it in a dry Williamsburg waspy crackerass cracker way, but in a jew’ed out Don Rickles way.


[ed. note: i was going to post this with minor edits like add a comma somewhere, but i decided that would be trite.  but i asked choc if he was alright with that.  i also told him what he wrote made me feel nervous. to which he replied…]


Nervous? Why? Ok, use it and make changes, but the chink who wrote it will be mad.

And to answer your other question; [ed. note: i didn’t ask any other questions] if your [ed. note: i would have whitely/rightly changed something like that to “you’re”, but fuck that aight, i’m not saying anything, i’m just sayin tho] at an AIDS benefit cause of your girlfriends catholic guilt and one of the beneficiaries offers to shake your hand, it’s ok to give him a pound instead. But, have some wet wipes and a torch lighter ready, I mean, it’s still contact.
Me personally? I would just give them the old elbow bump in lieu of the fist cause there’s fabric over dat. If the dude’s name is Tremaine, don’t touch him at all, run! He is aids! If anyone protest to these actions, just flip it on them and tell them they’re not hip to the ‘jazz’ and are out of touch with the urban youth demographic they’re trying to reach.
If your girlfriend calls ‘bullshit’ on you, give a fag a pound and dare her on the spot to put your finger in her mouth. If she takes the bait, tell her that some ‘fag’ touched your cock in the bathroom and for her to ‘double up’ on the dare!

Yours till the money runs out
-Choc Blacula

P.S.- Do not touch any of the food there!
Not even the deep fried bacon rapped cocktail weiners!

you cannot find choc blacula anywhere and i suppose he might not exist.  otherwise i would tell you to find him here, here, or just plain here.

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i teach the truth to the youth!

ol dirty bastard died five years ago today.  two days before his 36th birthday.


return to the 36 chambers:  the INSTRUMENTAL version

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bunk was a liar.

don’t bother me none.  i ripped this for you.  like i plan to rip the heart out of that god damn sleeve of yours.  bunk lost his teeth in a fight, maybe.  he might be ten years older or younger than you think.  this copy is pretty beat up, but it plays ok.  maybe you like that pop and fizzle.  i don’t have any clue.

players are the yerba buena jazz band and featured singers are bunk and sister lottie peavey.  remastered by the good time jazz record company.  released posthumously in 1953.

red vinyl 45

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art.

art is your blog’s trick knee.  when you fall over and hurt your poor little, stupid little ankle ego.  you falls down and hut you self.  you gets up and walks it off.  so when your blog falls off, just put some art on it.  15 minutes on.  15 minutes off.  art is your ice for your bum blog.

man, shut the fuck up.

don’t be dick suckers.

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oh, debts!

i always owe a lot to everybody around me.  like the bank, for instance, who just today, this very morning is being a total dick potato.  well, spud, it’s time to grow some eyes and see life for what it really is, i do suppose.  consider this, a zamboni machine that initiates musical backdrops to your daily goings about.  i cover as much ice as i can.  but i fancy the score, and hide in the wings waiting for my opportunity to strike.

moral less, if you have been reading this blog you may have noticed the mo-dettes made an appearance already.  well, the zamboni man put them up on his blog too.  and since i love’s that record, i want to make sure that you get one of my all time favorites….

mo-dettes

so pay attention!

later on, i’ll introduce you to my friend bunk

the bunk

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choc blacula says "hello"

ever get the feeling that the whole world turned into vampires and you may well be the last person in los angeles that is a real human?  yea, well, anyway, did you have to kill and bury your family?  i know, i know… shit is hard for you.  pause.  might as well soothe your demented soul with some ron grainer orchestrations.  you’ll alternate between being soothed and inspired by this collection of old haunts.  provided by my good friend, whom i never ever see anymore.  he was last spotted on the corner of meeker and union in scrilliamsburgh, as evidenced below:

proof!

so listen here spongey-head motherfucker:  if you like robert matheson, cole porter, thelonious monk, vincent price, will smith, charlton heston and rosalind cash, then this tape is most certainly for you.   don’t play me like i got a flower-pot head.  read into this...

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i know how modern you are

why don’t you update your music library?  the inspirational-bachelor/spiritual-botanist sound is very today.  cosmically speaking, i think it fits you.  la aventura de las plantas was a french and spanish tv series.  the music has a full range of emotions for the listener to discover and relate to.  this is very much wednesday morning music and quiet thursday evening music.  perfect for devising your mad schemes.  upon listening your day-to-day is really going to brighten up and blossom.  of course, toward the end you will realize you have no emotions.

this is really tamarind-music. perhaps a fresh and spry marmalade on english muffin should fit the splendor and thoughts of joël fajerman.

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