First thangs first, y'all. I fucked up last week when I gave out my internet name. I said it was GetChaWickedOn@aol but it's GetYaWickedOn@aol.com. Man, it took me a grip to figure that shit out, too. I would sign on and not even one ninja would say what's up to my ass. I was thinkin', "Damn I can't even get a 'Wud up?'" Then I was in a chat room and some ninja was tellin' me I was a fake because my name is spelled differently than the real Violent J's. I had to explain to him that the real Violent J is really a stupid fuck that don't even know how to spell his own name.
Now that y'all got my name, let's play some fun-ass, follow the leader Internet games y'all.
Health news: My wrist is completely re-broken (by the doctors) and hemmed up in a cast. I'm having all my homies sign my cast and then I figure I'll give it away if anybody wants it. I ain't sittin' here saying my cast is a fresh thing to have or anything, but I seen people sell our dreadlocks on e-Bay before, so fuck that. In that sense, my stale-ass arm cast is the shit. It's the very thing that held my arm comfortably and healed my wrist.
As for my back piece, they got me in a back-brace-piece-thing. It straps all around my back and chest and my (extra thin and ripped) stomach. (Yeah, right). It kind of holds my whole spine in place. Both the cast and the back-brace-piece will be off my ass by Hallowicked on the 31st. And at then, just to prove that I'm in full 100% top physical condition, I'll re-join with the WWE and "bitch punch" Brock Lezner out of the ring, right lickity split.
Well the diamonds just don't stop falling on our lives. Only the eyes of the realest Juggalos can see them falling. Esham's home. This is incredible news that you will respect more if y'all read my book, Behind The Paint. I'm going to tell you 5 things some of you may not know about Esham.
No 1. There would be no Twiztid, Blaze, ABK, Jumpsteady or Insane Clown Posse, (just to name a few) if there was never an Esham, flat fuckin' out. I'm not saying that all these guys wouldn't be out there rapping and in the game and all that. I'm only stating the fact that Esham created the mother fuckin' wicked shit. Esham took the wicked shit to the fuckin' absolute extreme and made it his forever. All wicked. Nothing but the wicked. I'm talking never taking the mask off. Not just making a few scary songs and the rest do the same fuckin' thing the world's doing (Geto Boys style). I'm talking Esham came out of nowhere, alone, by himself, going by only his real name, totally insane on every fuckin' lyric. Esham created a style of rap that has lived, spread and grown throughout Detroit's undergroud rap scene to this very day. Every wicked shit MC rapper there is out there, most I'm sure don't even know this, but WE ALL owe respect to the very man that started what it is that we do.
No 2. I remember hearing about Esham for the first time. 1990. I wasn't even rapping yet (I was scrubbalo thuggin', but that's another story to be told in my book. I'll be doing some fresh B. Dalton book-signings and errrythang).
Anyway, I walked into this tiny lil' ghetto-ass record store on 5 Mile, in Detroit. I was looking for local, Detroit rap, because at the time, I was collecting local shit. Any and all I could find. I had mad shit, like two of them big-ass tape cases full. I knew about every rapper and who was down with whom. I collected that shit and I studied the fuck out of them tapes and covers. I walked into this store and asked this guy if he had any local shit and he pointed out Esham. I'll never forget this. Most rappers only had singles out. One and then you'd never hear from them again. But Esham had fuckin' 4 tapes out, and I had never even heard of him! One of the tapes had a picture of him on the cover sitting in a car, wearing clown paint. I was floored. I thought, "Holy fuck man, who the fuck is this guy?" "Does he wear that fuckin' paint all the time?" I asked the dude that worked there. "No, but he's on some whole other shit though, he raps about the Devil." The whole Esham thing straight up blew me away. He's got 4 fuckin' tapes out and I ain't ever even heard of him! He was deep, DEEP underground. I was shocked. I looked and his cassette tape and it was blood red. I remember thinking, "That shit is crazy as fuck! He raps about the Devil? What?" I also remember thinking, "Man it would be fresher though if he wore that fuckin' paint shit all the time. I know would if I was a fuckin' rapper!"
I bought all 4 tapes and the rest is history.
No 3. Esham dosent talk much about it but from about 1990 to 1995 Esham was hellified Satanic. 666-style. I'm talking about in his music. His tapes were horrifying and he had the entire city terrified of his ass. He didn't like that people thought it was all too REAL. His conscience was catching hell. People took it too far, way too far. In 1994 Esham decided to do one more, fat ass, DEVILISH album and that would be it. No more. Closed Casket. In fact that is what the album was called, Closed Casket. After that, he kept it wicked as fuck, but without the mention of Satan Clause and Lucifurry Balls.
Now, no matter what he does, people are still afraid of his ass, well BOO!!! Mother fucker! Because he ain't no fuckin' devil worshiper. What the world doesn't know is this that Esham is an Entertainer, and that's it. He is a regular ninja, it's just that his raps are so fuckin' believable and scary and wicked that they got everybody and they mama's panties in a bunch. Well now that Esham is with us, he wants to set the motherfuckin' record straight. After Esham drops his greatest hits type album called "Acid Rain", on October 15th, next in line for him is the big one. THE ALBUM. He has named his next album. His debut, full length album on Psychopathic Records is going to be called Redemption. The "Unholy" is no more. It's raining way to many fuckin' diamonds right about now.
No 4. Esham was on the Warped tour last year and was jumped, beat the fuck down and put on a fuckin' stretcher by Feminem's homies She12. Esham spent a grip of time hemmed up in the hospital because of them fucks. Why? What was the beef? Because Esham reps the wicked shit like ICP and is down with us. Not to mention, Esham and Feminem have been at war lyrically since way back when Feminem was still rappin' as "Slim Fuck Ass."
No 5. Since 1990, Esham and his brother James have owned and run an independent record label called Reel Life Productions. For years Esham as been selling hundreds of thousands of tapes and cds through his own company. (In other words, doing it all themselves with no gettin' signed to any fat labels and made famous). Esham and his manager/brother James were and are still muddafuckin' self made zillionares. They did it just like we did at the Hatchet, ALL BY THEMSELVES.
At first we at Psychopathic studied Reel Life's moves to learn the ropes. Esham would release EP's in between each album, so we did the same fuckin' thing. We built our structure off Reel Life Productions. We always tried to be one step ahead of them, but it took us a long ass time to even hang. Esham, James and Reel Life Productions were always them "other guys". They watched us, too. It was like straight up competition for all involved, thus it's referred to by us rappers as "The Game" and I ain't talking about Triple H.
Unfortunately, in 1994 Esham's brother/manager/business partner suddenly caught a heavy case and was sentenced a griiiiiiiip. Reel Life Productions was fucked up. When this happened, we were still in our panties over at Psychopathic, so we couldn't help. Esham dropped a couple albums on his own and then basically had no choice but to sign with another label. Well little did he know at the time but that label sucked dead body balls (ewwwww).
Well, just recently that shitty label Esham has been signed to finally folded and he was set free. WE SNATCHED HIS ASS. 10 years in the making. Finally. Man y'all, if these diamonds get any bigger it's gonna start hurtin'. People might wonder how Esham feels signing with the label that was basically his competition for so many years. I can tell you on my end that it's about more than that. It's about Homies. Even, I had to ask him how he felt about it all though. And I swear to God this is what he told me, while we were just chillin' and burning a jib in the car:
The way I look at it, in 1991 two shiny-ass, sleek Corvettes took off out of Detroit representing the wicked shit. ICP's was black and Esham's was red. Both of them we're sleek and fast as fuck and they both smoked everybody else in the fuckin' dust. They were down with each other all along but they just happen to be competition, and this is a race to the fuckin' top of the game. Both cars were without question fast as fuck and they were the shit at what they did no matter who won. Suddenly BLAAAM! The engine blows on the red Corvette. Esham's fucked in the game. Muthafuckin' unexpected faulty wiring. Damn. But to everybody's suprise the black car, ICP's car, stops, backs up and picks up Esham and they all ride off together as a team, the way it should of been from the start.
When I heard that I was so touched, my peehole started crying.
ICP has taken over the Psychopathic hotline! It ain't goin' to be updated daily, but we will try our best. The number is 714.647.2465. We will update that shit real soon!
Story time.
I figured I'd throw in a story for ya. Oh what the hell, I'm in
a written mood anyhoot.
It was a fresh night about 8 months ago. Matt Davis from Psychopathic was being crowned Warrior and the party at Psychopathic was in effect. We had fuckin' Sabu wrestlin' Patrick, Rudy was boody, Zug Izland played, it was the fuckin' shit. I was having myself a sip of that sause, ya know, maybe a lil' toak of that smoke, whatever, all I'm saying is that we was all in good spirits, because the party was hype, and the next day we were leaving for Dallas in a convoy to begin recording the 6th Jokers Card.
Well people started going home and whatever, and me, Patrick and Too Tuff Tony all jumped in my car and we headed over to Syn's house. As we were driving down Grand River Ave towards down town, I seen this super hottie chillin'. I almost rolled the car when I seen her. She had on my trademark style shits. She looked like a lil skater freak. Rockin one of my favorite style girly stomach shirts with the fuckin' underwears pulled up over the hips, hell yeeeeah. It aint my style at all to just step to a bitch, but I was on that sauce, so I had game. I pulled right up to her in a parking lot and blocked her way. I was like "Suuuuuuup byatch? How you doing baby?" She started to say something but I quickly and politely put my finger up to her lips and was like "Shhhhhhhhhh, I only need to know 2 things from you... 2 thangs.... Your name and how you want it." (Actually, I don't remember exactally which one of my devastating pick up lines I used, but I can guarantee it was something creamy).
She had to explain to me and my two stupid homies that she was a working girl, a child of the night, a professional "date" if you will, or even if you won't, she's still a fuckin' hooker (and by the way, what was up with that lame ass "creamy" word I used a minute ago. Fuck man, that sounds nasty. I'm a fuckin' old weirdo. I'm a 30 year old fuckin' pervert that uses words like "creamy".)
Once she told me she was a hooker I quickly rendered her services. "How much?" I axed her. See this was the thing, I've seen my far share of hoes around growing up in the D, and I'm telling you, this bitch did not look like a hooker. She looked like she just walked out of a fuckin' Kottonmouth Kings concert. She was young, hot, sexy, and somehow much to my surprise only $40 bucks. So I said "Let's do this? You got a place or are we creepin off in them bushes or something? Maybe a dumpster or something? Whut up?"
Luckily she had a room at some cheep ass hotel right across the street. BLAAAM! Me and No Doubt walked into her room and Patrick and Too Tuff Tony had no choice but to wait out in my car because I drove.
Once I was inside her crack head hotel room she said "Ok, what do you want?" Know, I would of quickly gotten topped off right quick, I mean, I don't have any morals or anything like that, however in this case I had to pass because I could almost see the AIDS hangin' off her lip. I wouldn't even wanna stick my boot in her mouth, let alone my beautiful, dick piece.
But I must admit, I was taken by this girl, but I can find sex anywhere. I know most people think of me as the ugly fat one of the group, and that might be true in some ways, but let me tell yall, I can get chicks too. I'm saying I done pretty good. I respect and love every single bitch I fucked. Past, present and future. I'm not just saying that either, I respect, love, and remember everyone of those bitches! Straight up! Both of them!
Her mouth looked like she had a squirrel in it from all the nut hairs on her teeth. I could tell she was tired, and probably blew out from 30 or 40 ninjas that night. Plus sex just wasn't my goal with this girl, that's too easy. When I looked at her I seen the human being underneath her crack head exterior. I had to know all about her. I asked how much to have her for the night. She banged on the wall and some sort ninja lookin' like Ja Rule came in the room. She told him that I wanted her for the night and he looked at me, and he knew I was paid. He axed me "is that your caddy out there with them fellas in it?" I was shocked by his voice. He looked like Ja Rule, dressed like Ja Rule but talked like Michelle Le. I was steady wondering where the fresh ass grizzly bear voice was. "$400 bucks and have her back by 6:00am." He told me.
What a fuckin rip off, huh? $400 fuckin' dollars. That's bullshit. It was already fuckin' 2:30 in the morning, plus the ladies know that Juggalos fuck all night and the next day, but I wasn't planning on fuckin' anyway so I paid the pimp. I gave Ja the loot and right then, there was a knock at the door. It was one of Ja Rule's homies and some older business looking ninja that was on of Ja's repeating customers. Ja and his homie broke the business guy off with three little bags of heroin, three $20 dollar crack rocks, and he also asked for 2 sluts to be sent to his room. I was just chillin' in the corner of the room with my hoodie up and this business ninja just must of thought I was with them because he was ALL ABOUT IT no matter who was listening. Finally they all left and it was me and my future hooker wife finally left alone again in her crummy hoe-tell room.
We finally left but not before she smoked a rock or two and straight up shot a gang of heroin in the bathroom right in front of me. She was nipples out about her addictions. She gave no fucks, she was just like "All right, hold up before we go, let me top this pipe off a lil something". I was like "Sure bitch, shit. Do what ever you gotta do!"
I took her out of there. Where did we go you ask? A hospital? A rehab perhaps? Maybe to her parents seeing how she was only 20 maybe there still around and they can help her? Nope. I took her to Syn's house and there she smoked 3 more rocks, shoot some more heroin and passed out on his bathroom floor. I woke her up and tried to sober her up some to talk to her. She was so pretty and it was such a damn shame man, flat out. She explained to me that she needs to take heroin all day long or she'll get sick. I asked her about the crack, and she said that's just a lil' extra flavor she's about to try and get hooked on too.
She explaind that she got hooked after high school but then got all cleaned up, only 3 months ago her boyfriend was shot and killed, so she fell off the wagon so to speak. She said she's only been a hooker for a month (looking like she did, I'd say that equals out to about 4000 dicks).
Well, my good side suddenly kicked in and I started thinkin'. Man, I could take her with me to Dallas tomorrow and clean her ass up. Slap her ass in a rehab, then a gym, and lastly a salon and she'll be a fuckin' 100 percent hottie ready for the world, round two.
I started breaking it all down about who I was and what I could do for her. She even informed me that she had been to 2 of my shows back in the day at the Ritz in Detroit. I asked her how it all went down hill. She said her father was a Detroit Circuit Judge and her sister and bother were both lawyers. She grew up in Bloomfield Hills, Mi, which is a fancy ass neighborhood out here. Her story was a mad interesting one. Just hearing that was why I paid to be with her. She's at least got something to say even if its just "gimmy a rock".
On the way back to her stale ass hotel room I tried to save her with all my might! "Come with us to Dallas and start all over again with me! Just be ready at noon tomorrow and Ill come by and get ya. I'll take you with us and I'll put you in a Dallas rehab center and come visit you everyday and as soon as you get fixed up we can maybe even start fuckin!" She seemed only half interested the whole time, as if part of her wanted to save herself and part of her didn't care about life enough to try. But I kept drilling in into her head again and again tomorrow at NOON! Be there and make a good change for yourself!
I carefully explained to her that I will come to her room at exactly noon tomorrow morning, and she just has to come with me and I'll do the rest for her. I told her she don't need shit like clothes, or money, I even offered to bring her enough heroin to get her down to Dallas in one piece. I gave her the ultimate ultimatum. All she has to do is walk out that door with me at exactly NOON tomorrow morning and it's on. I fully explained to her that I am willing to flat out save her life and show her the world.
The following morning was she there at 12 o'clock noon? Was she ready to take a step in the right direction? Was she brave enough to be standing there ready to leave with me for Dallas for a new beginning?
I wouldn't know. I over-slept until 6 PM the next day, and then we headed from my house right to Dallas.
That's the end of my story. Sorry it ended stale, but at least I'm keepin' it treel. (The Nightquils are a bitch!)
Violent J
