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Rapper Boasts About Average Penile Length In New Song

A blurred out image of the penis, which no one wanted to see anyway.

A blurred out image of the normal penis, which no one wanted to see anyway.

Some suburb in MN—Rapper Steven Anderson decided over the weekend to mention his 5 7/8″ long reproductive organ on his newest track, tentatively titled My Penis is Right In Line With The American Average.

“For the opening line, which can make or break a hip-hop song, I was thinking something along the lines of ‘My five and seven eighths/always satiates.’ It drops right in with the beat, and people will be like ‘What? That’s not very big. But it’s not little either.’ I’m not married to the idea, though,” Anderson said from his Toyota Camry.

In hip-hop tradition, when a membrum virile is mentioned, it is generally for the purpose of revealing great size, as well as giving a mention to the owner’s dexterity and control over the piece of anatomy, a fact not lost on Steven.

“Not everyone is hung like a goddam horse, alright? It’s just how it works,” he said. “I’ve got this weener, like most guys, and it’s just your basic weener, nothing more, nothing less, and I want people to know that.”

The reference to the mid-level junk, which is nothing to write home about, was finally given the go-ahead by Anderson after a late-night writing session in which he wrestled with the idea of whether or not people would like to hear music about his in-no-way-out-of-the-ordinary dong.

When asked if the size of his log might attract ridicule from rival rappers, or the fact that he drives a Camry, rents a middle-unit townhouse, and holds a day job in data entry, Anderson responded: “You know what? I’m just a normal person with no defining qualities, and I don’t think it’s a point of shame. The fact of the matter is, today’s average American penis doesn’t get a lot of clock in hip-hop. But the very fact that it’s not special, that makes it special among the masses, because there are millions of men just like me, and they’ll buy into this. No one makes fun of a guy for being 5’10”. That’s average. Besides, I make up for it in other ways, if you know what I mean.”

When told “No, I don’t know what you mean, please elaborate,” Steven ended the interview.

 

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How To Translate Rap Lyrics, Volume Three

The third installment (here’s Volume 1, and Volume 2) of an ongoing symposium aimed at helping those not familiar with, and/or intimidated by, rap/hip hop music. It’s simple: I present the original lyric, and then offer up a cleaner, easier to understand alternative. Let us begin.

Lyric: I’m star studded/You muh-f*ckas not gon’ be able to cut it/Listen, b*tch, I’m a tough act to follow/Suck my d*ck and here’s a n*ts*ck to swallow          -Mad Child of the group Swollen Members, from the song Watch This

Translation: I embody the physical properties of a giant burning ball of gas/You people who engage in sexual intercourse with the woman who gave birth to you are not up to snuff/Hear ye, woman who I respect no more than a female dog, it will be a formidable task to put together a performance superior to the one I have just displayed/Place my phallus in your mouth, and when you are done with that, begin work on my scrotum

Lyric: I never gave props to MC’s who don’t deserve it/Never smoked rocks, never had guts to serve it/Never had a glock, never seemed to be worth it/Never had I thought life was gonna be perfect           -Spawn, formerly of Atmosphere, on the song Multiples

Translation: If I find the work of my colleagues in the rap wing of the music industry leaving something to be desired, I will not acknowledge their efforts with praise of any kind/I’ve always been a bit wary, and yes, afraid of hardcore street drugs/Owning a firearm with the potential to harm others has always seemed immature and trivial to me/I have no misconceptions about my place in this world – I know that things can and will go wrong at times, and it is up to me to be responsible enough to deal with these situations as best I can when they arrive

Lyric: Basketball is my favorite sport/I like the way they dribble up and down the court/Just like I’m the king on the microphone, so is Dr. J and Moses Malone/I like slam-dunks, take me to the hoop/My favorite play is the alley-oop    -Kurtis Blow, Basketball

Translation: There are manifold ramifications to the choices we as a country must make at this juncture. For instance, while tensions with those pinko commie bastards run high (this song was written in the early eighties), we ourselves must not overcompensate by becoming a bunch of Ayn Rand-ian Objectivist a**holes. Therefore, let’s enjoy the game of basketball.

Lyric: I don’t have no trouble with you f***ing me/But I have a little problem wit you not f***ing me/Baby you know I’m gonna take care of you/Cause you say you got my baby, and I know it ain’t true     -Ol’ Dirty Bastard, from Baby I Got Your Money

Translation: I would have no objection if you chose to engage in coitus with me/Although, if you were to decide against it, I would be somewhat vexed/Girl, I have the resources to support you physically and financially*/You claim to be carrying my offspring, but I know for a fact that you are lying

*Editor’s note – “take care of you,” in the arena of rap and hip hop, can also imply the threat of manslaughter, which could be applicable in the case of this lyric, due to the accusation that the woman is lying about being pregnant with Mr. Bastard’s child.

Lyric: I got the golden egg plus the goose/80 proof Absolut mixed with cranberry fruit juice, ginseng boost/I got your neck in a noose    -RZA of the Wu-Tang Clan, from the song Reunited

Translation: I have harnessed great wealth, as well as the means to ensure more of it in the future/By partaking in this potent alcohol and berry blend, with the added invigoration of a stimulating plant root/I feel as though I am capable of anything, up to and including physically dominating you

The Pig – A Sitcom

The next time you’re in Minnesota, take a trip south down ol’ Highway 52. You’ll pass through Cannon Falls, where Nirvana’s In Utero was recorded, Rochester, home of the Mayo Clinic, and Chatfield, a worthless toilet of a town whose only use is the liquor store. You will then run the final, foul stretch through Amish country where the locals, in an attempt to undo generations of inbreeding, will occasionally proposition outsiders for their baby gravy. Make it through all that, and you will arrive in Lanesboro, where the next great sitcom was recently born.

While in this town, my friend Rickson brought to my attention that, for the right price, I could get involved in a “Greased Piglet Catch.” This activity is exactly what it sounds like: the locals grease up a young, muscly piglet and release him into some sort of enclosure, where he is chased around by toothless rednecks, or none-the-wiser tourists. Alledgedly, the nubile body of the piglet, combined with the low viscosity of whatever greasing agent is used, make for an extremely tough catch. We never did make it out to one of these displays of small-town debauchery, but I had questions.

I asked my pal Rickson whether or not I could keep the pig if I caught it. He shook his long, disgusting red hair, and said something, I don’t really remember what. We were drinking beer that I got in Chatfield. But anyways, at some point we developed the idea for a TV show where I catch the pig and it comes to live with me, eventually turning my apartment into a “sty.” A sitcom such as this provides countless opportunites for hilarity:

-In accordance with every great sitcom, there would obviously be sexual tension between the pig and I. Maybe we’ll drag that out for a while, in a classic “Will they, won’t they?” sequence of events. Maybe the pig and I will date other people to try to make each other jealous, masking our true feelings and tightening the tension even further, culminating in a hammy, snorting explosion of emotion in the season finale.

-Maybe we get in a fight, and I stuff an apple down its throat and roast that sucker.

-Actually, I don’t see any possible way this thing would make it through a whole season, ’cause at some point I’m gonna be eating that pig. There’s no way I would let a supple meal of ham, pork chops and bacon walk around on four legs through my apartment without eating it.

-Or is there? If I was able to catch one greased up, saucy little piglet, I’m confident that I could do it again. Then that one can mate with the one I have, so then it’s like a never ending Icee machine, only with pig. Delicious, delicious pig.

-Maybe some hippie-vegetarian spider weaves the words “Some Pig,” “Terrific,” and “Humble” in a web above my bed one night. Out of spite I slaughter the pig, then wrap the spider in its own web, and run it over with my car.

This is just a brainstorm, the whole thing will be fleshed out at a later date, probably in time for pilot season.

Here’s the Blong. This is possibly the first hip-hop song ever, from 1968. It goes with the swine theme from today as well. Pigmeat Markham – Here Comes the Judge. So so funky.

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