Author: The Fly Hobo

you tell me.

HERE YOU GO

MY MAMA SAID I WRITE TOO GOOD. SHE SAY I TOO SMART FOR PEOPLE. I NEED TO NOT BE SMART NO MORE. EVERYBODY NO GOT COLLEGE DEGREE SO I DON’T TALK GOOD TO THEM. MY NAME A.J. AND I LIKE RAP SONGS AND FALCONS THROWING BALL BUT THEY LOSING. LAWD IT LOOK LIKE I SHOUTING AT EVERYBODY. that better? no more shouting. i want to talk about new eminem cd. Its good. he rhyme words so good. i want to describe how good cd is but i no be over heads. cd good.

marshall say words i no be able to say to y’all. mother say you too stoopid to understand. me disagree but me don’t know better. i just say words good and you no understand says her. she say relate and dumb down. i relate and dumb down. me no yell because big words too much for you. i think you smart but mom say you not. so me want to relate to you so me say words stoopid. me used to want to be smart and clever…no…no clever. me used to be tricky with words. that stoopid mom? me dumb down for the dumb people. me personally think you smart but mom say you not. mom say be stoopid so me be stoopid. me like marshall cd. cd good. you should listen cd. cd good like kendrick and nas.

A.J. Armstrong is smart. A.J. Armstrong tries to write smart things for people he knows are smart enough to understand it all. He is also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities; a site that isn’t afraid to be smart. Thanks, mom.

The Dissolution of Jay-Z

Thank God Nasir never made hundreds of millions of dollars. I’m happy Marshall still cares. I’m talking, of course, about Eminem and Nas. They are arguably two of the most influential and recognizable rap artists ever. Along with Jay-Z, these three represent an era of rap music that I really didn’t think was possible when I was younger: aging rappers still every bit as viable as their younger counterparts. They are all over 40 and selling just as well- if not better- than any other current rapper. Nas’ 2012 release, Life is Good, earned him another Grammy nod. Eminem is releasing The Marshall Mathers LP 2 on November 5. Both of these artists are still rapping at incredibly high levels. Why then, can’t the same be said for Jay-Z?

I might as well preface everything by stating firmly I have never been- nor will I ever be- a huge fan of Jay-Z. I have his entire catalog but I don’t CHERISH most of it. For every classic (Reasonable Doubt), there’s a total clunker (Vol. 3…The Life and Times of S. Carter, anybody?). With that being said, I’d be a delusional hater if I didn’t acknowledge that the great musical moments far outweigh the less stellar. The dude has been around this long for a reason. After listening to his latest release, Magna Carta…Holy Grail, I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.

I’ll keep my review of Magna Carta… brief: I hate it. I hate his super simplistic lyrics. I hate his endless references to his opulent lifestyle. I hate that 16 STELLAR instrumentals were wasted on this effort. However, what I hate the most is his willingness to bow and conform his flow to what’s “hot” today. It wouldn’t be as offensive if Mr. Carter hadn’t been so insistent about being the leading trendsetter in Hip-Hop. Clearly that isn’t the case anymore if he’s out here rapping like Young (insert name) from the South.

Magna Carta…, to me, confirms what I had suspected for a few years now. Jay-Z doesn’t care anymore. And why would or should he? The man is worth millions upon millions of dollars. Jay has been known to phone in whole albums at times (Vol. 2: Hard Knock Life was a literal sleepwalk for him), but this feels different. What I heard the three times I ran the album (because I just couldn’t take it after a certain point) was a man just done with trying to make art. Tom Ford reference here, Givenchy name-drop there…we get it, dude. You have a lot of money. And I also get that this has been Jay’s thing since day one but the difference here is that there’s no creativity to it. “Imaginary Player” was dipped in sumptuousness too; he just made it sound so INTERESTING.

So has Jay-Z fallen off lyrically? Yes, but only because of his lack of interest. If Shawn Carter wanted to craft another Blueprint-like masterpiece, Shawn Carter could craft another Blueprint-like masterpiece. But why would a man that has everything care to put forth that kind of effort? What kind of fool still actually CARES about making good music at this point? The people are going to buy it, regardless. How dare he make an effort to make the purchase worth it, right? I even have a name for it: The Kevin Hart Syndrome. You made the people listen to you and now that you have their ear, fuck what you babble into it.

I don’t hate Jay-Z. I just want him to quit and never rap again, that’s all. Yeah, it’s stupid that I still care about the art at this point, what with 2 Chainz and Future…doing whatever it is they call themselves doing, but I do. Jay-Z is rap’s Michael Jordan (and not in the sense that he was the greatest ever, so you Jay Stans stop. Just stop); we admired his dominance for so long that we have effectively convinced ourselves that his stint with the Washington Wizards HAD to be a success as well. It wasn’t. I live in D.C. Trust me, it wasn’t at all.

Shawn, your mark on the culture is indelible. You had fans from Delaware to Idaho wearing Yankee caps, unaware of how much I hate them (because it’s clearly about me at this point). You were why I wore a button-up on my first date in college. You’re why Rick Ross has completely ran with this whole Maybach theme. That’s kind of hyperbolic…Rick Ross clearly hasn’t run with anything EVER. You get my point, though. We owe you for keeping the culture going. Let us buy you a cake and a gold watch and exchange your microphone for a brochure for some beautiful Miami condos. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think Marshall has something to say. Ok…bye.

A.J. Armstrong is the rap fanatic debating your top ten at your houseparty and the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

My Beautiful Mistake

I followed my heart but every time I do, it gets me lost and left in the dark/But I think it’s clear this time, I guess; we’re just not compatible…

We were terrible for each other. I get it; we were both so self-destructive that we needed each other to justify why we were so fucked up. Our intoxication was killing us and we didn’t care. We kissed with numb lips and altered emotions. The arguments took such a toll that you finally realized how unhealthy our encounters were. It would be for the best…if I weren’t so worried about your wellbeing.

I didn’t even know you were in so much pain the first time we decided to deal with each other. You hid it just as well as I hid mine. You laughed with the same halfhearted smile creeping along your face; it fooled me at first. The jokes didn’t mean anything to you, either. I never noticed and kept feigning confidence and goofiness. Who would have thought a friendship birthed out of keeping up appearances would become something much more? Our arms show the stress of life’s obstacles and each alternating puff alleviated us from it all.

The worst part is that I barely remember. Every vodka-chased pill and loosely rolled Swisher Sweet was more than temporary bliss. Everything was so hazy; it was picturesque in such a terrible way. Descending into a hellish trap never seemed so desirable before. Judgment wasn’t allowed to exist in this glossy-eyed microcosm. Every vulnerable and slurred sentence only spoke to the shared injury we wrongly attempted to run from. Every blank stare became so irresistible and made everything that followed so uninhibited. Desperately holding onto someone falling off the same slope felt oddly comforting.

It is what it is…

I cling to the memories, trying to leave out the toll it eventually took on us both. The final argument was unhealthy and both our stubbornness was only fueled by the intoxication. The very thing- our thing- that made us close tore us apart. Our hands never stayed off each other but this final encounter was created out of the wrong passion. I whispered terrible things and grabbed for your neck clumsily. I saw fear in those dilated pupils and can only now cope with those actions properly.

In our self-destruction, everything was so impulsive. I just hope the death of our friendship provides a healthier lifestyle for us both. Our relationship wasn’t created in sobriety so I never act on my many passing thoughts. Those hazel eyes and slender legs came with a price I almost killed myself in paying. All of those altered times meant everything yet left no moments I can specifically recount. Clarity didn’t come easy because of what I barely remember and I can only hope you feel the same.

A.J. Armstrong is a relieved friend of both and the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

My First Poem

“The Mandatory Poem About Black Love and Black Women That Every Black Poet Feels Compelled to Write Because of Some Ridiculous Ideology That Makes This Subject a Prerequisite Point of Conversation Amongst a Pseudo-“Enlightened” Group of Neo-Soul Negroes That Show Up at Poetry Readings in Shirts Made From Hemp With Their Unkempt Dreadlocks Flailing Over Their Faces as They Eat Ostrich Burgers With a Fork and Knife as They Trade Condescending Glances Amongst Each Other as They View Me Wrist-Deep in a Plate of Hot Wings Covered in Excessive Amounts of Old Bay Seasoning in a Booth Next to Another Group of “Artists” Clad in Chicletas Reciting India.Arie Lyrics as They Prepare to Give Their Excruciatingly Long and Drab Depictions of the Magical Prowess of Afro-centric Sensuality in an Attempt to Stay in Their Manufactured, ‘Love Jones’-Inspired Microcosms While Real Poets With Valid and Creative Spins on Daily Life Are Eschewed by Those Who Believe Social Consciousness Exists Only After Reading Cliffnotes of the Works of Amiri Baraka and Shunning Traditional Bodywash in Favor of Bathing in an All Too Common Aura of Inflated and Unwarranted Sense of Self-Pride in Urban Awareness Because Their Bathroom Sinks Contain Ambi Products Free of Dyes and Other Ingredients The White Man Apparently Places in Products Solely to Keep Niggers From Realizing Their Truly Annoying Potential to be Pretentious at Their Newfound Nubian Awakening While Maintaining a Patronizing Tone for Any Black Man That Actually Takes Pride in Being Honest With Himself.”

(Insert poem here.)

A.J. Armstrong is not a fan of Bohemian A-Holes. He is also the creator of the Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities.

Welcome to Goodbye

“I’m done. Eff this. Pack that computer up, pack that cord, pack tha-…all that sh*t! I’m done! I retire…” (Me, 25 minutes ago)

I officially announce my retirement from writing and blogging. I enjoyed myself for the better part of two weeks but it’s time to move on to other endeavors. Maybe I’ll start a non-profit with Drag-On and The Dixie Chicks. It’s pumpkin season; maybe I can hustle some of those off Route 29. Don’t worry about me; I have options, son.

I just know this blog thing isn’t for me. It’s a young man’s game nowadays and I don’t watch nearly enough Basketball Wives…or whatever you people watch and tweet about while I read them and take my frustrations out on some poor Grand Auto V hooker. It’s all good, though. I just realized that none of y’all need me. Why read when Draya thinks for you (she’s such a pretty little terrible woman) or…or…one of those other non-Draya broads does something mildly entertaining? Pardon my side note, but SIDE NOTE: why does Draya even do anything?? Just sit there and be the cute little bird you are. Sit there and wait for me to make some money and realize how shallow I really am and you’ll never have to be stupid in public again. I’ll even get you a Twitter coach so you can avoid those ‘aw, bless her little ignorant soul’ moments.

Well I’ll be damned; my deviance proves why I’m not needed. It also could have provided a tragic example of why I’m SO VERY needed. The Fly Hobo might not be for Draya-heads but there are a lot of y’all that only want to be stupid for that one hour. The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities is for you. Basketball Wives (or Love and Hip-Hop…whatEVER) is good but The Fly Hobo is for the children! The Fly Hobo is for that woman standing in the lobby of the Atlanta Ritz-Carlton waiting for Derrick Rose or Matt Kemp to get off the elevator. The Fly Hobo is for anybody that dances to 2 Chainz, laughs at Gucci Mane, laughs even harder at Drake, and does super unmentionable things to Nicki Minaj videos. The Fly Hobo’s world has Taylor Swift blasting through the speakers, throws parties with the Bieb, and eats sunflower seeds on the train. Word, son.

I’m totally retired still; I’m never coming back. BUT if I ever contemplated it, I need a few things from y’all. I need y’all to agree with me, argue with me, learn with me, laugh with me, and think with me. Lord only knows what will be posted on this blog; just roll with it all. Don’t make me do that Stewie Griffin Incredible Hulk walk away. Just go ahead and follow this blog, the Twitter page (@TheFlyHobo), and whatever other social media site I stalk Draya on (I mean…I’m not the only one. But I WILL be the last one hahaha…I mean…*ahem*…). Look, I just want to get enough money to get my girl a Twitter coach. Ok…bye.

A.J. Armstrong is the still-retired creator of the Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities