If I buy a church for my born-again mother, please trade/save me from the Miami Heat before the start of the '08-'09 regular season. I also promise to dissociate myself from the bug-eyed Ursula, Star Jones.
And Kool Keith aka Keith Turbo aka Keith Televasquez aka Keith Korg aka Matthew aka Dr. Sperm aka Dr. Octagon aka Dr. Ultra aka Dr. DOOOM aka Black Elvis aka Poppa Large aka Mr. Green aka Mr. Gerbik aka Mr. Orange aka MC Baldylocks aka The Fourth Horseman aka Blonde Man aka Clean Man aka Shark Man aka Elephant Man aka Alien Man aka Jimmy Steele aka Willie Biggs aka Big Willie Smith aka Willie Natural aka Reverend Tom aka Mike Stanley aka Larry Lopez aka The X aka Rhythm X aka X-Caliber aka X-74 aka Fly Ricky the Wine Taster aka Rico from Puerto Rico aka Funk Igniter Plus aka Robbie Analog aka Sinister 6000 aka Crazy Lou aka Lonnie Hendrex aka Light Blue Cop aka The Kid in the Commercial aka Joe Kingpin aka Black Linen aka Elvin Presley aka Deli Boy aka SK8 Johnson aka Platinum Rich aka Exotron Geiger Counter One Plus Megotron aka Activity aka Exxon aka Captain Kool aka Captain Black aka Exotron Geiger Counter One Gama Plus Sequencer aka Robert Perry aka John Clayborne Cousin of Jimmy Hicks aka Mr. Nogatco aka Tashan Dorrsett aka Naquan-aka-Underwear Pissy aka The Best MC in the World aka Keith Thornton wants to holla at some people, so I lend him the microphone and the stage:
"Why are you looking hard with a hood on and Timberland boots, staring at me for one hour, when you could walk up and shake my hand? Why?
Why are you making those mean faces in your videos, with the fish lens effects? Why?
Why do you walk in the clubs with 30 people around you and stand in the corner with big bodyguards for no reason? Why?
Why do you pull up in valet parking with your Benz that is rented, fronting on a cellular phone that doesn’t work? Why?
Why are you smirking up your face, making obnoxious facial scenes like I supposed to be scared? Why?
Or, perhaps this is the resultant lingering stench from fantastically publicized infidelity? Dismiss all the vain, judicial grandstanding and media mayhem. Kobe has already turned in his best Dimmesdale, and if A man could afford a $4 million 8-carat, purple diamond bribe like a Filet O’ Fish sandwich during promotional Fridays throughout Lent, then he might fancifully dunk his McNugget in a spread of sauces. Under no circumstances would ChinoTrojan transgress the Seventh Commandment, and I adamantly decry such primitive impurity. Nevertheless, I do occasionally indulge in the unwholesome pleasures of a classic Filet O’ Fish and 20-Piece.
But, I digress.
A man can be an artist…in anything, food, whatever. It depends on how good he is at it. Kobe’s art is basketball. He’s a man on fire painting his masterpiece. Bada baba ba, I’m lovin’ it.
And y’all thought Chuck Norris was the reigning All-American badass. Don’t get me wrong – I can hum the theme song from The Delta Force (1986) on cue and would never graze Walker’s smooth ostrich boots. However, the current front man for Total Gym did turn a bit soft when he started Nair-ing his back after critical remarks assailing his hirsute appearance in The Way of the Dragon (1972). Granted, he resembled a lycan suspended in transmogrification, but what’s the big deal? At least he can boast that Bruce Lee singed his hairy hide while The Dragon was breathing fire (RIP).
ChinoTrojan pecks the hand of The Don of Movies. ChinoTrojan tips his 12-gallon hat to The Texas Ranger. ChinoTrojan salutes The Dragon with a Jeet Kune Do bow. ChinoTrojan incessantly licks his upper lip as tribute to The Mamba.
From Kobe to Marty to Chuck to Bruce and back to Kobe. *pant* Talk about a drill in blog-and-weave. When you ride shotgun with ChinoTrojan, the destination takes a back seat to the expedition. Tell Ma and Pa to lock up the Mossberg, pour another nightcap, pop in that Terms of Endearment (1983) VHS, and get cozy on the couch because ChinoTrojan will always bring you back home safely by curfew.
Yours truly once dispatched $13 worth of highly processed grub, saturated with heat lamp radiation, from an AM/PM convenience store, then crowned this tour de force with a decadent Choco Taco just because I felt like it. (Do the math; that’s a lot of burgers and corn dogs.) It’s a feat that rivals the accomplishments of a single baseball player hitting for the cycleand pitching a no-hitter in the same ballgame—immediately after dominating the Triathlon earlier that afternoon. ChinoTrojan receives acknowledgement to this day for this glorious exhibition of human triumph. “No way! Dude, you’re the guy who”—Yes, I am he. The relevance? Give props where props are due.
“I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let’s face it.” – Terry Malloy, Elia Kazan’s On the Waterfront (1954)
The voters of the NBA are drowning in their own miserable denial. What a blessing though, because it is not too late to atone for recent offenses by doing the classy thing. If your mouth forms a skewed oval when shoveling your nose, let me get an “Amen.” Don’t you be in denial too, folks. And you stay classy, Kobe Bryant.
Pardon the sprawling network of interlacing stretch marks, brimming vats of excess fatty tissue, and crimson patches of gauzes and sutures. This site is being nipped, tucked, stapled, contoured and resurfaced for aesthetic and functional melioration. ChinoTrojan.blogspot.com has scoffed at anesthesia and will retain full consciousness throughout multiple operations, thus my sincere hope is that you are pleased with the progress. ChinoTrojan deeply appreciates your visit in the face of massive swelling and bandaging! Back to my scalpel...
for your steadfast support of ChinoTrojan.blogspot.com !
Triathlon earlier that afternoon. ChinoTrojan receives acknowledgement to this day for this glorious exhibition of human triumph. “No way! Dude, you’re the guy who”—Yes, I am he. The relevance? Give props where props are due.
