Kids and God don’t get along. I think they used to, back in the day, when priests scared the love of God into them with big fiery paintings, birch rods, and punitive fondles. But then it all went a bit too far; fondling turned into fucking and the state had to step in. Without the diddling, though, Christianity didn’t know where to turn and in its confusion wound up rapping at youth clubs and sponsoring evangelical rock bands.
I live in the Westlake neighborhood of Los Angeles. If it sounds unfamiliar to you, you’re not alone. Even some of my peers who have lived here for years aren’t quite sure where or what it is.
No one roots for natural disasters except assholes. When 350 homes are destroyed and a pair of folks die—the current tally in the horrendous on-going wildfire in Denver which, at last update, is only 45% contained—one really shouldn’t be feeling anything but heartbreak at the devastation, hopefully enough to lop a beer or two off a night’s intake and donate the resulting mini-windfall to relief efforts.
But the fact that it’s taking place in Colorado Springs, a mecca of terrible people who spend a good portion of their lives blaming victims, there’s a certain delicious irony to the whole thing.
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Uganda’s president only recently learned about hip-hop, which is surprising because he’s actually pretty damn good at it. Yes, while Sweden has to deal with a king who has a team of men paying women to hang out with him, President Museveni let loose a real panty-dropper of a rhyme at a rally in Uganda a few days ago. You don’t need cash when you’ve got rhymes like that.
Read the rest at Vice Magazine: OUR PRESIDENT IS A HIP-HOP GOD - Viceland Today