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Monthly Archives: September 2010

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Will Smith has been a lot of things in his life. He started off as a loveable miscreant run amok in an affluent California community, mixing follies of youth with tough life lessons. Next, he served as the human race’s first ambassador, albeit informally, to visitors from another planet. Along the way he was twice nominated for the Saturn Award for Best Actor (?). Yes, he has worn a large pair of ears under many hats.

But can The Fresh Prince, with all of his achievements, be considered a bona fide badass? Let’s explore arguments for and against, shall we?

Arguments For!

1) Will Smith Works the Booty

Yes, you read that correctly. Will Smith works the booty. This isn’t that spectacular, you say. I too have worked the booty on several occasions, you say. But have you worked the booty in a public setting? On stage in front of hundreds, nay, thousands of screaming fans? Unless you work in the Red Light District of Amsterdam the answer is probably no. But Will Smith has. And it shook the room. The good stuff starts 21 seconds into the video.

Standin’ in a crowd of girls like a (sic) island

I see the one I want I said, “Come here cutie”

I flip her around and then I work that booty

Work the body, work work the body

Slow down girl you’re ’bout to hurt somebody

It appears that the booty was worked with a voracity that risked bodily harm to spectators in the immediate vicinity. That, my friends, is some pretty badass booty working.

**Also, check out the rigidity of FP’s dance moves. What’s the deal?

2) Will Smith’s real life butler is Geoffrey from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air

He’s actually more of an indentured servant. I think it has something to do with Caribbean law, an expired visa and the awesome power of NBC and its parent company General Electric. I’m not really sure. But Will Smith eats a lot of mash potatoes…nearly a third of his own body weight in hand-mashed taters each day. And Geoffrey has terrible rheumatoid arthritis, which makes the 19-hour mashing shift unbearable. It takes a full-time surveillance team to ensure that Geoffrey doesn’t commit suicide. After all, who else would make Will Smith’s mashed potatoes?

But Will Smith doesn’t care, because Will Smith is hungrySo terribly hungry.

Help me, sir!


1) Will Smith Is A Closet Scientologist

Will Smith has time and time again rejected accusations that he is a practicing Scientologist. However, the Fresh Prince owns and operates a private school for affluent California children. One of the courses students take, in addition to Jiggynomics 101, is Study Technology. Study Technology is the Scientological approach to reinforcement of certain learning principles aimed at cleansing a student or student’s……blah blah blah. Check out the article from ABC News here. He’s basically a black Tom Cruise.

Just know that Will Smith’s music career was inspired by Scientologist founder L. Ron Hubbard’s soundtrack for Battlefield Earth. If you haven’t heard that soundtrack you’re in luck because it’s available for download on Rebuilt Tranny right here!

Take a little taste, if you dare:

2) Will Smith’s From Philadelphia

Yes, this is a real setback for Will Smith obtaining his Class A International Badass License. As you may or may not know, Will Smith’s ”from West Philadelphia, born and raised.” He spent much of that time doddling away in the copious slide n’ swing haunts dotting his neighborhood.

Technically, Philadelphia is a real-deal urban metropolis complete with the typical urban woes: drugs, prostitution, and of course violence. Philly is the 6th most dangerous city in the United States according to the highly reputable Morgan Quitno Press. So Will Smith probably did suffer a few bumps a bruises from the local Ruffians. Black Magic and Cherry Bombs were common practice on West Philly four square courts throughout the 80′s.

West Philly playground bully Billy “Bus Stop” Tonalito

So what’s wrong with Philadelphia? It’s often referred to as the ”City of Brotherly Love”. I’m sorry, but that just isn’t badass. Well, I guess it could be, if you were one of these guys:

Big Willy Style

So, is Will Smith a stud or a dud?

You make the call.


>>>Click here to download Code Red at 320 kbps


A1 Somethin’ Like Dis 4:08
Producer – Pete Rock
A2 I’m Looking For The One (To Be With Me) 4:35
Producer – Markell Riley , Teddy Riley
A3 Boom! Shake The Room 3:49
Producer – Mr. Lee
A4 Can’t Wait To Be With You 3:51
Producer – Will Smith
Vocals – Christopher Williams , Nuttin’ Nyce
A5 Twinkle Twinkle (I’m Not A Star) 5:23
Producer – Jeff Townes
A6 Code Red 3:30
Producer – Pete Rock
B1 Shadow Dreams 4:05
Producer – Hula & K. Fingers
B2 Just Kickin’ It 4:11
Producer – Hula & K. Fingers
B3 Ain’t No Place Like Home 5:08
Producer – Xavier Hargrove
B4 I Wanna Rock 6:19
Producer – Jeff Townes , Victor Emanuel Cooke
B5 Scream 4:31
Producer – Dallas Austin
B6 Boom! Shake The Room (Street Remix) 4:30
Producer – Mr. Lee
Remix – DJ Jazz , Jazzy Jeff* , Victor Emanuel Cooke

If you’ve been watching any local television stations lately you’ve probably noticed a terrible wave of slime and filth creeping into the commercial breaks. Tis the season, once again, for political attack campaigns! From now until November you get to hear all sorts of bogus statistics from bogus reports by bogus Committees or Bureaus or Centers for Goobernatorial research on Back Alley Hand Job Growth.

You’ll also have to bear witness to unflattering photos of a candidate’s opposition, preferably when the (Nancy Pelosi-worshipper/John Boehner-stroker) is eating, sneezing or squeezing out yesterday’s Pickle Loaf and Pepper Jack on Pumpernickel.

There will also be pics of confused and shriveled seniors who were duped by Washington Fat Cats into paying a penny-out-of-pocket for a Hoveround.

There will be handshaking. Oh God, will there ever be handshaking.

Pleased to meet you!

Candidates will be seen smiling, with sleeves rolled up, while rubbing elbows with factory workers to feign giving two shits about the working man. And, in some instances, those factory workers will be tragically topless.

There will be bullshit. Heaping helpings dumped on our heads from the left and the right. And before we know it we’ll all be drowning…and buddy, your vote ain’t no life raft.

So, if you’re fed up with all of the terrible, frothing political crap spewing from your television, apply a few drops of this salve directly to your ear drums. It comes in the form of common sense wisdom, poems, and jokes delivered in Southern drawl by former North Carolina Senator Sam Ervin.

If you’ve never heard of Senator Sam let me give you a real quick tutorial. He was instrumental in heading the committees that exposed the illegal and unethical practices of the two biggest dickheads in 20th Century American Politics: Senator Joe McCarthy, Founder of McCarthyism and the Red Scare, and Richard Nixon, Dickhead Numero Uno.

And, as a “Country Lawyer”, as he liked to call himself, he loved telling a story or two about good old Southern moonshine. Here’s a short one from the album.

But he also liked to stay hip with the times. Here we find him reciting the lyrics to Paul Simon’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” after giving a little prologue about what friendship is all about.

I invite you to download this album, pour yourself a stiff glass of Old Weller 107 Bourbon, and relax as your absorb a little southern comfort from good ol’ Senator Sam


>>>Click here to download Senator Sam At Home to MP3


A1 Zeke And The Snake 1:40
A2 Friendship 1:50
A3 Bridge Over Troubled Water 2:32
  Written-By – Paul Simon
A4 The Fault Of Conformity 1:50
A5 Southern Heroes (“Defeat May Serve”) 1:50
  Written-By – Edwin Markham
A6 If 1:50
  Written-By – Rudyard Kipling
A7.1 Grow Tall, My Son 1:23
  Words By – Loonis McGlohon
A7.2 Through The Years
  Music By – Al Ham
A8 Cousin Sue And The U.D.C. 1:23
A9 The First Amendement 1:05
A10 John And Mandy And The Strikin’ Clock 2:53
A11 Myself 0:33
  Written-By – Edgar A. Guest*
A12 Philosophy Of Life 2:02
B1 The Hymn Book And Link Shaw’s Singin’ 2:06
B2 The Old Rugged Cross 3:45
  Arranged By – Al Ham
Written-By – George Bennard
B3 Thoughts On Religion (“More Faith In Honest Doubt”) 2:18
  Written-By – Alfred Lord Tennyson
B4.1 If I Had A Hammer 1:45
  Written-By – Lee Hays , Pete Seeger
B4.2 America The Beautiful
  Arranged By – Al Ham
B5 Comments: Elbert Hubbard, W. C. Fields, Josh Billings 0:47
B6 General Jim Leach And The Mount Vernon Hotel 3:10
B7 Country Ham 0:10
B8 Jus’ Right Likker 0:34
B9 The Greatest Hunger Of The Human Heart 2:56
B10 Thoughts On Shakespeare 0:30
B11 Joshua 1:34
B12 The Drunk Driver 1:04
B13 God Give Us Men 1:20
  Written-By – Josiah Gilbert Holland
B14 The Last Verse Of Our National Anthem 1:25

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Since 1976 Cincinnati’s held it’s annual Oktoberfest festival at the heart of downtown to celebrate the city’s German heritage. Over the years Oktoberfest in Cincinnati, or Zinzinnati as it’s known during the festival, has steadily attracted more and more visitors. Now, with over 500,000 people annually, Cincinnati’s Oktoberfest celebration is the biggest North America and the second largest in the world behind the big daddy partei in Munich.

The beer, the brats, the oompa bands and the girls in short German dresses it a pleasant affair for everyone in attendance…well, almost everyone. Last year, during “The World’s Largest Chicken Dance,” I bore witness when things went horribly, horribly wrong for one tiny dancer.

Weird Al: Harbinger of Death

It was seemingly a typical Oktoberfest day on Fountain Square. As usual, I arrived early to make sure that my favorite beer, Christian Moerlein Fifth & Vine, would be in good supply while I built up a hefty level of trunkenheit to thoroughly enjoy the kitsch that is Oktoberfest.  I don’t know about you but watching dachshunds wearing big styrofoam hot dog buns race is a hell of a lot more enjoyable if you’re kicked back with a few dozen pints of lager.

Looka me go! Mein torso ist so streamlined! Züm züm!

Well, last year everyone had the same idea as me and started getting loaded early. Men, women, grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, baby daddies and baby mommas were all getting sauced ASAP so the incessant sound of the clanging glockenspiels would induce pleasure rather than a Rhine-load of pain. I even saw a few stroller-rollin’ babies rockin’ a bottle of the brew, jimmy-rigged with a rubber nipple. Granted, they were mostly drinking weak-ass Bud Light, but still…babies need to drink responsibly.

Somebody get this little dude a stein, stat.

It got to the point that by early afternoon the entire crowd of half million was entirely shitfaced. Those that weren’t puking into the gutters were doing all sorts of terrible things. I witnessed furious leiderhosen-on-leiderhosen dry humping on Vine Street. On 5th I spied kids using the aforementioned wiener dogs as footballs in terribly accurate reenactments of Carson Palmer’s playoff game knee snap. On Walnut I saw one guy poop in a tuba. And everyone was spilling their beer–precious, precious beer–all over the place. It was horrendous.

Convicted Tuba-Pooper

Everything was getting real at a maddening pace when, suddenly, a voice came over the PA system from Fountain Square’s main stage. “Listen up you sons of bitches, I got something to say.” It was Nick Lachey and he was wasted. Well, wasted wouldn’t really do it justice. It would be fairer to say that there was a life-size marionette of Nick Lachey up on stage being operated by an amateur puppeteer. The only thing that held him up was two Thai women in shiny golden dirndls…at least I think they were women; they looked pretty buff. But I digress.

“I’m Nick Lachey, you pussies, and it’s (hiccup) it’s time for The World’s Largest Chicken Dance!” The crowd let out a tidal wave of cheers, burps and ticklish laughter in response. “Nick Lechey says get up to the stage and shake your tail feathers, you Midwestern hillbilly shits….uh, I mean sexy Cincinnatians!” And with that cordial invitation 500k drunken wahoos (myself included) stormed Fountain Square and somehow lined up single-file, row upon row…hungry for Nick Lachey’s command.

Hometown Hero, Dance Führer

The music started instantly. “Duh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh, duh nu nu nu nu nu nuh, duh nu nu nu nu nu NUH, *CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP *” went the battle cry. And on it went; over and over and over. As time elapsed the pace gradually increased. It was imperceptible at first but with each chicken-like movement I could feel the lactic acid building from wing to beak. When I thought I could take no more I looked up at Nick Lachey with eyes that screamed, “Why Nick Lachey, why?” He only responded with laughter and another crank of the PA’s tempo knob.

This is where things get blurry. It’s a pretty emotional memory, so bear with me. I remember there was a younger married couple in front of me doing the poultry jig. In between the two there was a young boy in a stroller, no older than two, destroying the contents of a 2-foot glass boot stein. When the song started the couple were spaced a safe distance from their tipsy toddler. But as Nick Lachey turned the Chicken into a Wild Turkey the couple lost all bearing of time and, more terribly, space.

Without warning the woman, a curly-headed brunette wearing jort overalls, started kicking her Keds high with each clap. One of these wayward kicks landed squarely on the right temple of her sauced son. This sent him flying to the left, and into the path of the prematurely balding husband. He too, at the whim of Nick Lachey’s demonic knob fiddling, found his legs with a mind of their own…stomping and stomping to their own delight. Their son, now passed out from a combination of drink and traumatic stroller tipping trauma, never saw the Reaper’s cold hand. The husband’s top-siders came down on the crown of his son’s skull and out spilled the memories of a first birthday, of first snowfall, of his first German pilsner.

But the man, wearing tortoise-shell glasses prescribed for myopia, didn’t stop stomping. The music had complete and utter control of him. If anything, his speed increased…controlled by the twitching fingers of Nick Lachey.

And you may ask yourself, “Why didn’t I read anything about this in the papers?” Well, the reason is both simple and disgusting. The latter half of Cincinnati’s summer had been a particularly dry one. Because of this the concrete tiles on fountain square were particularly porous. Mix this with the fact that the chemical engineer with P&G didn’t stop clucking and kicking until his son, from head to toe, was completely liquified. Simply put, the aqueous remains of his son were thoroughly absorbed by the tiles of Fountain Square. His parents’ inebriation was so complete they plum forgot they had a son, skeletal system and all, when they sobered the following week. It’s a tragedy from top to bottom, yes sir.

So, this year when you visit Zinzinnati’s Oktoberfest, make sure you pour some Doppelbock out for Little Billy. It’s been a while since he’s had a good German draft.

Dig In!

>>>Click To Download German Beer Drinking Music on 320 kbps MP3


1. Ein Heller Und Ein Batzen

2. Die Blauen Dragoner

3. Oh, Du Wonderschoener Deutscher Rhein

4. Schwartzbraun Ist Die Hazelnuss

5. Unter Dem Doppel Adler

6. Morgen Marschieren Wir

7. Steig Ich Den Berg Hinauf

8. Waldeslust Ich Den Berg Hinauf

9. Das Schoenste Auf Der Welt

10. Glaube Nicht Ans Rehbocknest

11. Wenn Die Soldeaten Durch Die Stadt Marschieren