Monday, March 16, 2009
Combat Jack Throwback: R.A. The Rugged Man's Sloppy Seconds
My drops have been kinda erratic of late, mainly on account of my kids being home for Spring break (TWO WEEKS!!!) and bugging the eff outta me about this that and the third. Plus, wifey decided this would be the best week to start on her Spring cleaning bullshit. A whole house full of crap is kinda hectic, plus we're aiming to air out the basement so life is hell for me right about now. I got some fresh topics cooking, but unless Chris Brown puts another shoe on Ri Ri, I'ma bless ya'll with some legendary throwback posts, the posts that helped put me on the map and further helped the boy Byron Crawford in becoming the em effin President of the Internets, especially since Miss Info is current reigning King. Four years ago, starting on March 25th, 2005, Byron and I rocked the world with the series "Combat Jack's 5 Gulliest Moments In The Music Industry". Starting today, all week will feature my world famous and award winning 5 part series on my top five gulliest moments in the music industry, all in their remixed glory. To those of ya'll that read these before, I hope you re-enjoy, and for those of you who never peeped, sit tight and enjoy.
#5: R.A. The Rugged Man politely offers his sloppy seconds. I used to work with R.A. the Rugged Man a few years ago. I like dude [||]. Sure he stays dirty as fuck, always has, and has been misunderstood for years (mainly for doing ill shit like actuallly pulling his cock out in front of a female employee, IN the offices of his former label, Jive Records). [||] 2x. Anyways, I could never get over the fact that someone who so aptly epitomized white trailer park trash not only had mad skills as an emcee, but had cats that were really respected in the game co-sign as well as collaborate with him on some joints (notably, pre 1997 Mobb Deep and the late great G.O.A.T., The Notorious B.I.G.). He was an interesting one, especially since dude was an effin expert with regard to all types of slasher, gore and horror flicks. You know, a real wholesome type'a dude.
So dude hears about me and hires me to negotiate a deal for him with a label (I think it was Koch, or some other graveyard label for dead rappers). Anyways, one day, R.A. comes to my office accompanied by some skanky, hittable white trailer trash biker chick. We're discussing business and this chick isn't saying an effin word, silent like a white church mouse. About 25 minutes into our meeting, R.A., out the blue and all spontaneous like, asks me what I think of the chick. I give her another once over and tell him she's decent. He then orders biker chick to disrobe and take off all her clothes, which she does completely (except for her white socks) in the middle of my office, in the middle of the effin afternoon, in the middle of midtown Manhattan. I'm checking her out and R.A. explains that she happens to be one of his many jizz guzzling she whores. As I'm taking this whole experience in, her, blue eyes, round nipples, brown bush and all, a pile of clothes laying in a pile on my office floor, R.A. seemingly coming from a real humanitarian and compassionate place, sincerely proceeds to ask me if I wants a piece and hit. He even offers to wait while me and biker chick do our business behind closed doors.
Now, I love me a piece of steaming hot snatch more than a crackhead loves rocks, but somehow, the image of me getting wet with something already moist from R.A.'s bodily excretions was not appealing. Plus, I wanted to maintain my professional relationship with dude. I respectfully declined, she promptly put her shit back on and me and R.A. naturally resumed our meeting, like this weird shit never took place, and with no further interruptions. Looking back on that shit, that had to have been one of the most bizarre experiences I've experienced. R.A., being the good dude that he is, eventually went on to jerk me on that deal and about 10 thousand ($10,000) dollars that he owed me (still does). He decided, after all the work I had done, that he'd feel a whole lot better hiring a T.I. attorney. I was initially pissed off as fuck, but in retrospect, and after the above mentioned scenario, I can't be mad at him.
NOTE TO R.A.: Dude, if you read this, you know who I am, especially since we stay friends on facebook and shit. Don't go all taking this airing out personal and shit. I still got love for you, my white homie. Forget about how you effin jerked me (even though I haven't) and keep making your music. The world deserves at least one hot joint from you.
Courtesy of Byron Crawford
----------------------------------------
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Combat Jack Throwback: Pete Rock Is Not A Snitch!
Still spring cleaning. So in the meantime, and as promised, here's a throwback of my world famous, award winning blog series recapturing my Top 5 gulliest moments I experienced first hand in the music industry, shit you won't hear about anywhere else on the whole effin planet but here!
#4. Pete Rock Is Not A Snitch (Prior, #5)
Back around 1993, Pete Rock was a producer God in the greater New York City area. Shit, dude was God worldwide! He also happened to be in one of the hottest rap groups (Pete Rock & CL Smooth (although I never understood what the eff CL was saying). His remixes for legends like RUN-DMC and Public Enemy further cemented his status as a legend in this Hip Hop game.
Around that time, a lot of of music industry players hailed from the Northern town of Mount Vernon (Puffy, Heavy D and the Boyz, Pete and CL). Anyways, Pete, being the good hardworking and industrious dude that he is, was trying to put a local rap group called the the YG'z (short for “Young Gunz”) on. He provided these dudes with a lil' cash, supplied them with ample beats and even got them a record deal with I think either Uptown or MCA. Problem was these cats were really turrible. Kinda like Big Shug and Group Home status when they got hooked up by the homie Premier. In addition, word on the street was that these cats were all like ex-cons, stick-up men or professional crooks or some other shit like that and everyone who knew them knew damn well that they had no effin business being in the music industry other than the fact that they knew Pete. They even had a single or something called that come out and it stank like cabbage and chitlins stew. Cutting losses, the label dropped them. Back on the street, slanging, purse snatching and what not, they started leaning on Pete. Hard too. I guess they figured Pete was gonna continue funding them, “riding” with them or whatever the fuck real thugs think they man's an 'em is supposed to do. Pete, however, realized that these cats were a bad investment of time and energy and tried his damned best to cut these bad news bears off.
That summer, I attended a Mt. Vernon "family day” kinda picnic. It was one of those picturesque days, like in a Dr. Dre or Fresh Prince music video, and everyone was there enjoying Heavy D's special barbeque chicken and ribs. Pete, with chicken in hand, was posted up in the piece, rapping to some dime pieces on a huge ass picnic blanket when the YG'z show up. Once dudes got there, shit kinda got tense, music turned down low, you know how dramatic thug life be. So one of the YG fellows request Pete's attention. As Pete promptly got up to talk, the YG sneak swings and knocks Pete Rock in the jaw with an uppercut, catapult launching dude clean over the huge ass picnic blanket spread. The chicks is screaming, cats are scrambling to get out of there, kids is crying, Pete is convulsing on the ground with barbeque sauce all over his bright yellow Cross Colours jersey on account of how his brain got shut down cause he was knocked the fuck out and the YG'z are steady and dilligently rifling through his pockets Debo style. Heav and the rest of the “Mt. Vernon” crew don't really say shit, looking in each and every direction except Pete's (I guesss because the YG'z were really that gully). Eventually, Pete gets up, makes it to his feet, dusts hisself off, recovers, immediately realizes what just took place and automatically jumps into a sprint OJ-style Hertz car rental commercial style, across the picnic grounds with the YG'z hot on his tail. [||].
From what I understand, this extortion shit went on for quite some time. A few months later, like around winter time, I was on my way to attend some music industry black tie event in Manhattan. When I get to the venue, I see Pete running the fuck my way in a tuxedo, knees to chest. Doing my best not to get bowled over, I move out of his way. A few seconds later, I see the YG'z (not in tuxedo) running after him, also kness to chest style. Where I'm going with this is that during the entire time that dudes are hazing Pete (let's say a period of like 9 months), Pete never ever contacted the authorities. He took his multiple beatdowns and terrorizings like a man. Pete might even be on some additional legendary shit as he might have actually been the pioneer of this whole current "stop snitching" movement that's become the ghetto code from hood to hood. I really respect that. He may be a lot of things, but one thing no one can ever say about the man is that the Soul Brother #1 ain't nevah snitch.
Courtesy of the homie Byron Crawford.
The Original Latte Body-er!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Combat Jack Throwback: Diddy Will Kick Your Ass On Ptwitty TV Live!
It's Spring time Bitches!!! As promised, here's a throwback of my world famous, award winning blog series recapturing my Top 5 gulliest moments I experienced first hand in the music industry, shit you won't hear about anywhere else on the whole effin planet but here!
PREVIOUSLY: #5, #4
#3. P. Diddy Is A Gorilla Pimp
Let's take it back to Spring 1995, New York City. Bad Boy Entertainment is hip hop's number 1 label on the East Coast and the G.O.A.T. Biggie Smalls was still alive. Jessica Rosenbaum (this Jewish chick who promotes hip hop functions) threw a weekly dinner dance event at a club called Esso's where all the "beautiful" hip hop industry folks could gather, talk mad shit and waste ungodly amounts of money on liquor, party and bullshit.
In addition to his growing record empire, Diddy was making his name as a producer and one of the many artists he produced a song for at the time (I don't think I ever heard it) was Brooklyn rapper Positive K. K seemed like a cool dude, ran with Audio Two and MC Lyte and even scored a nationwide hit with a single called "I Gotta Man." Anyways, I'm sitting at a table with my folks and Diddy and his weed carrying entourage make a grand entrance. Shortly thereafter, Positive K walks in dolo. Diddy sees K and approaches him. Apparently, Positive K (or, more specifically, his record label) hadn't gotten around to paying Diddy his producer fee (which was something like 5 thousand dollars) and Diddy was heated.
In addition, I heard that both Diddy and K were in Los Angeles a week earlier and when Diddy stepped to K about his dough, K was like "You? Nigga please, I'll get atcha when I get at ya, Bitch!" So, at Club Esso's, when Diddy steps to K again, he asks "Yo nigga, you got my money?" K looks at Diddy like "whatever nigga" and starts to walk away when Diddy whips out his cell phone (phones at the time were about the size of a brick) and starts whupping on K's head like it was a Dora the Explorer piñata at a 6 year old's birthday party!
So the place goes crazy, chicks are screaming, folks are scrambling around and Positive K is steady getting his head pounded out by Diddy and his cell phone. Shit was hectic B.
So, after Diddy feels like K had enough and asks him "whose my bitch, K, WHOSE MY BITCH?!!!" K wimpers out "uncle" through some broken and bloody teeth. Diddy then steps away from K's crumpled up body and Diddy's bodyguards (he only had like two at the time), each scoop K up by his armpits and tosses his broken ass out the club and onto the sidewalk. The party resumes, we all get pissy drunk and that's the last time I heard anything about Positive K (if anyone knows what he's up to these days, please let me know what's good with dude).
Now I know Diddy has moved on to become an international star, known and loved by millions. I even caught dude live last night on his Ptwitty TV Live telecast last night. I would love to see some unlucky fellow like 50 Cent or Soulja Boy mouth off to Sean Combs, just to get their effin asses beat like a broke ho' in front of millions and live on Ptwitty TV. That would be mighty special.
Combat Jack Throwback: R.A. The Rugged Man's Sloppy Seconds
My drops have been kinda erratic of late, mainly on account of my kids being home for Spring break (TWO WEEKS!!!) and bugging the eff outta me about this that and the third. Plus, wifey decided this would be the best week to start on her Spring cleaning bullshit. A whole house full of crap is kinda hectic, plus we're aiming to air out the basement so life is hell for me right about now. I got some fresh topics cooking, but unless Chris Brown puts another shoe on Ri Ri, I'ma bless ya'll with some legendary throwback posts, the posts that helped put me on the map and further helped the boy Byron Crawford in becoming the em effin President of the Internets, especially since Miss Info is current reigning King. Four years ago, starting on March 25th, 2005, Byron and I rocked the world with the series "Combat Jack's 5 Gulliest Moments In The Music Industry". Starting today, all week will feature my world famous and award winning 5 part series on my top five gulliest moments in the music industry, all in their remixed glory. To those of ya'll that read these before, I hope you re-enjoy, and for those of you who never peeped, sit tight and enjoy.
#5: R.A. The Rugged Man politely offers his sloppy seconds. I used to work with R.A. the Rugged Man a few years ago. I like dude [||]. Sure he stays dirty as fuck, always has, and has been misunderstood for years (mainly for doing ill shit like actuallly pulling his cock out in front of a female employee, IN the offices of his former label, Jive Records). [||] 2x. Anyways, I could never get over the fact that someone who so aptly epitomized white trailer park trash not only had mad skills as an emcee, but had cats that were really respected in the game co-sign as well as collaborate with him on some joints (notably, pre 1997 Mobb Deep and the late great G.O.A.T., The Notorious B.I.G.). He was an interesting one, especially since dude was an effin expert with regard to all types of slasher, gore and horror flicks. You know, a real wholesome type'a dude.
So dude hears about me and hires me to negotiate a deal for him with a label (I think it was Koch, or some other graveyard label for dead rappers). Anyways, one day, R.A. comes to my office accompanied by some skanky, hittable white trailer trash biker chick. We're discussing business and this chick isn't saying an effin word, silent like a white church mouse. About 25 minutes into our meeting, R.A., out the blue and all spontaneous like, asks me what I think of the chick. I give her another once over and tell him she's decent. He then orders biker chick to disrobe and take off all her clothes, which she does completely (except for her white socks) in the middle of my office, in the middle of the effin afternoon, in the middle of midtown Manhattan. I'm checking her out and R.A. explains that she happens to be one of his many jizz guzzling she whores. As I'm taking this whole experience in, her, blue eyes, round nipples, brown bush and all, a pile of clothes laying in a pile on my office floor, R.A. seemingly coming from a real humanitarian and compassionate place, sincerely proceeds to ask me if I wants a piece and hit. He even offers to wait while me and biker chick do our business behind closed doors.
Now, I love me a piece of steaming hot snatch more than a crackhead loves rocks, but somehow, the image of me getting wet with something already moist from R.A.'s bodily excretions was not appealing. Plus, I wanted to maintain my professional relationship with dude. I respectfully declined, she promptly put her shit back on and me and R.A. naturally resumed our meeting, like this weird shit never took place, and with no further interruptions. Looking back on that shit, that had to have been one of the most bizarre experiences I've experienced. R.A., being the good dude that he is, eventually went on to jerk me on that deal and about 10 thousand ($10,000) dollars that he owed me (still does). He decided, after all the work I had done, that he'd feel a whole lot better hiring a T.I. attorney. I was initially pissed off as fuck, but in retrospect, and after the above mentioned scenario, I can't be mad at him.
NOTE TO R.A.: Dude, if you read this, you know who I am, especially since we stay friends on facebook and shit. Don't go all taking this airing out personal and shit. I still got love for you, my white homie. Forget about how you effin jerked me (even though I haven't) and keep making your music. The world deserves at least one hot joint from you.
Courtesy of Byron Crawford
----------------------------------------
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Combat Jack Throwback: Pete Rock Is Not A Snitch!
Still spring cleaning. So in the meantime, and as promised, here's a throwback of my world famous, award winning blog series recapturing my Top 5 gulliest moments I experienced first hand in the music industry, shit you won't hear about anywhere else on the whole effin planet but here!
#4. Pete Rock Is Not A Snitch (Prior, #5)
Back around 1993, Pete Rock was a producer God in the greater New York City area. Shit, dude was God worldwide! He also happened to be in one of the hottest rap groups (Pete Rock & CL Smooth (although I never understood what the eff CL was saying). His remixes for legends like RUN-DMC and Public Enemy further cemented his status as a legend in this Hip Hop game.
Around that time, a lot of of music industry players hailed from the Northern town of Mount Vernon (Puffy, Heavy D and the Boyz, Pete and CL). Anyways, Pete, being the good hardworking and industrious dude that he is, was trying to put a local rap group called the the YG'z (short for “Young Gunz”) on. He provided these dudes with a lil' cash, supplied them with ample beats and even got them a record deal with I think either Uptown or MCA. Problem was these cats were really turrible. Kinda like Big Shug and Group Home status when they got hooked up by the homie Premier. In addition, word on the street was that these cats were all like ex-cons, stick-up men or professional crooks or some other shit like that and everyone who knew them knew damn well that they had no effin business being in the music industry other than the fact that they knew Pete. They even had a single or something called that come out and it stank like cabbage and chitlins stew. Cutting losses, the label dropped them. Back on the street, slanging, purse snatching and what not, they started leaning on Pete. Hard too. I guess they figured Pete was gonna continue funding them, “riding” with them or whatever the fuck real thugs think they man's an 'em is supposed to do. Pete, however, realized that these cats were a bad investment of time and energy and tried his damned best to cut these bad news bears off.
That summer, I attended a Mt. Vernon "family day” kinda picnic. It was one of those picturesque days, like in a Dr. Dre or Fresh Prince music video, and everyone was there enjoying Heavy D's special barbeque chicken and ribs. Pete, with chicken in hand, was posted up in the piece, rapping to some dime pieces on a huge ass picnic blanket when the YG'z show up. Once dudes got there, shit kinda got tense, music turned down low, you know how dramatic thug life be. So one of the YG fellows request Pete's attention. As Pete promptly got up to talk, the YG sneak swings and knocks Pete Rock in the jaw with an uppercut, catapult launching dude clean over the huge ass picnic blanket spread. The chicks is screaming, cats are scrambling to get out of there, kids is crying, Pete is convulsing on the ground with barbeque sauce all over his bright yellow Cross Colours jersey on account of how his brain got shut down cause he was knocked the fuck out and the YG'z are steady and dilligently rifling through his pockets Debo style. Heav and the rest of the “Mt. Vernon” crew don't really say shit, looking in each and every direction except Pete's (I guesss because the YG'z were really that gully). Eventually, Pete gets up, makes it to his feet, dusts hisself off, recovers, immediately realizes what just took place and automatically jumps into a sprint OJ-style Hertz car rental commercial style, across the picnic grounds with the YG'z hot on his tail. [||].
From what I understand, this extortion shit went on for quite some time. A few months later, like around winter time, I was on my way to attend some music industry black tie event in Manhattan. When I get to the venue, I see Pete running the fuck my way in a tuxedo, knees to chest. Doing my best not to get bowled over, I move out of his way. A few seconds later, I see the YG'z (not in tuxedo) running after him, also kness to chest style. Where I'm going with this is that during the entire time that dudes are hazing Pete (let's say a period of like 9 months), Pete never ever contacted the authorities. He took his multiple beatdowns and terrorizings like a man. Pete might even be on some additional legendary shit as he might have actually been the pioneer of this whole current "stop snitching" movement that's become the ghetto code from hood to hood. I really respect that. He may be a lot of things, but one thing no one can ever say about the man is that the Soul Brother #1 ain't nevah snitch.
Courtesy of the homie Byron Crawford.
The Original Latte Body-er!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Combat Jack Throwback: Diddy Will Kick Your Ass On Ptwitty TV Live!
It's Spring time Bitches!!! As promised, here's a throwback of my world famous, award winning blog series recapturing my Top 5 gulliest moments I experienced first hand in the music industry, shit you won't hear about anywhere else on the whole effin planet but here!
PREVIOUSLY: #5, #4
#3. P. Diddy Is A Gorilla Pimp
Let's take it back to Spring 1995, New York City. Bad Boy Entertainment is hip hop's number 1 label on the East Coast and the G.O.A.T. Biggie Smalls was still alive. Jessica Rosenbaum (this Jewish chick who promotes hip hop functions) threw a weekly dinner dance event at a club called Esso's where all the "beautiful" hip hop industry folks could gather, talk mad shit and waste ungodly amounts of money on liquor, party and bullshit.
In addition to his growing record empire, Diddy was making his name as a producer and one of the many artists he produced a song for at the time (I don't think I ever heard it) was Brooklyn rapper Positive K. K seemed like a cool dude, ran with Audio Two and MC Lyte and even scored a nationwide hit with a single called "I Gotta Man." Anyways, I'm sitting at a table with my folks and Diddy and his weed carrying entourage make a grand entrance. Shortly thereafter, Positive K walks in dolo. Diddy sees K and approaches him. Apparently, Positive K (or, more specifically, his record label) hadn't gotten around to paying Diddy his producer fee (which was something like 5 thousand dollars) and Diddy was heated.
In addition, I heard that both Diddy and K were in Los Angeles a week earlier and when Diddy stepped to K about his dough, K was like "You? Nigga please, I'll get atcha when I get at ya, Bitch!" So, at Club Esso's, when Diddy steps to K again, he asks "Yo nigga, you got my money?" K looks at Diddy like "whatever nigga" and starts to walk away when Diddy whips out his cell phone (phones at the time were about the size of a brick) and starts whupping on K's head like it was a Dora the Explorer piñata at a 6 year old's birthday party!
So the place goes crazy, chicks are screaming, folks are scrambling around and Positive K is steady getting his head pounded out by Diddy and his cell phone. Shit was hectic B.
So, after Diddy feels like K had enough and asks him "whose my bitch, K, WHOSE MY BITCH?!!!" K wimpers out "uncle" through some broken and bloody teeth. Diddy then steps away from K's crumpled up body and Diddy's bodyguards (he only had like two at the time), each scoop K up by his armpits and tosses his broken ass out the club and onto the sidewalk. The party resumes, we all get pissy drunk and that's the last time I heard anything about Positive K (if anyone knows what he's up to these days, please let me know what's good with dude).
Now I know Diddy has moved on to become an international star, known and loved by millions. I even caught dude live last night on his Ptwitty TV Live telecast last night. I would love to see some unlucky fellow like 50 Cent or Soulja Boy mouth off to Sean Combs, just to get their effin asses beat like a broke ho' in front of millions and live on Ptwitty TV. That would be mighty special.
