Pretzel Day translates 50 Cent

I have been friends with rapper 50 Cent for several years. We grew up in the same neighborhood in rural Effingham, Illinois. We were practically connected at the hip. We did everything young boys from Effingham do. We milked cows, washed the pigs, collected eggs from the chickens, sheared some sheep, saddle the horses, shot the bison, and teased the rabbits. (The first two things were farm related tasks, the last five are all euphemisms for hooking up with women.)

Anywho, as you know, around Fifty’s seventh birthday his dad sold his farm and moved his family to Jamaica. I tried to visit him a couple times, but I didn’t have his Jamaican address. A few more years passed and I realized Fifty now resided in South Jamaica in Queens, New York. “My b,” I told Fifty.

After I figured out his new location, I went out there to visit him. He had fallen into a new crowd. A fast crowd. I went out there to celebrate my birthday and things got out of hand. He kept calling me “Shorty.” He kept asking me to drink Bicardi, but I was all like, “Yo, Fifty, we’re like nine.” He told me to eff myself. I was pissed. But enough time has passed and my wounds have healed. We’re friends again. Not like we were before, but maybe we’ll get there one day.

I know plenty of white people don’t understand rap. I get it. It’s confusing. While I myself am technically white, my background with Fifty allows me to understand him in ways others who share my skin tone cannot. I will now help you all understand Fifty Cent’s “If I Can’t.”

Rod Blagojevich Goes Off the Deep End

We all remember the weird kid from our kindergarten class. For whatever reason, this student didn’t quite fit in. Think Minkus from “Boy Meets World.” Those of you Dane Cook fans (I’m looking at you, Jay and Peter) know this as the “Obby” phenomenon.  Cook identifies the outcast from our youth as one with an “Obby” name, like “Bobby.” If you were wondering, my name is spelled with an “ie” at the end, eliminating any possibility I was the weirdo in your class (rather, I was the jock).

Most of these kids grow up to become normal adults, with a scattered pedophilia here and a drug addiction there. But one outcast has soared above the rest. Rod Blagojevich, please rise.