Costumes are only for Doom, members of Funkadelic circa '70-75, and Shock G, but years ago I got a pass to take part in the dress-up tradition. Aside from Strawberry Shortcake in 2nd grade, my dopest & greatest, the best I ever had, was Felicity from Austin Powers, with the blue onesie and the boots. It was '99 and I mean I really shut it down (it being "the bitch"), costume-arily speaking. All that time I spent '60s-fying my hair, smoothing it and adding curl at the bottom and volume at the root, was not in vain, 'cause I got lots of Fun Size Snickers for my efforts plus free booze at the bar. Thanks, America and your diluted pagan traditions! Also, I feel that enough time has passed that I can now say to the 1999 version of me with great certainty: YOU'RE CORNY and STOP THAT. (Oh and: Rawkus will go downhill soon, fast and hard. Prepare yourself for the heartbreak. Rifkind isn't the dude you think he is!)
PS, even my mom knows I'm gonna do a Gravediggaz post on the day of ghouls and witches. No surprises here. Hi Mom!
(And just in case he reads HeightFiveSeven: HI RZA! Loved you on Tavis, babycakes! That part about ODB not understanding the meaning of his life - I sighed and almost cried. I have so much to tell you about chess and the former Soviet bloc! And what about Karzai's brother getting paid by the fucking CIA? CALL ME.)
The death trap, Rizzy says, is that mental trap of being consumed by the streets. Ash Roth nods and says exactly, RZA. You're speaking directly to me, my dude.
RZA could never be terribly convincing as a blood-&-guts guy even with those sharp canines, but Prince Paul pourin gravy all on your brains, callin out snakes and liars and the A&R who couldn't understand the product, is always believable. (Poor A&R, you're always doomed in rap songs. Maybe change your ways?)
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