There doesn’t seem to be anywhere else to bring this up, but I hope everyone gets over to the FDL-Bites-SN’s-Style contest. I know it’s cool of them to give props but the Sucka quotient thus far is staggering. My theory is, the winner is somewhere in this comment thread.

Wankster, wankster, that’s what they’re yelling
It’s not about reality, it’s all about a salary
Wankster, wankster, that’s what they’re yelling
Hoping you xenophobic motherf_ckers hear what I have to say

*That couplet was for Gavin.

How far you going back, Chris Clarke?
Way back
As we go a little something like this

Plus, her server is slow as hell. Bitch.

One last try — Is this what you’re looking for?

This would’ve been back when Tupac was one of Humpty Hump’s backup singers. Thanks again, though. You clearly understand how painful this can be.

Dammit, I’m gonna be up all night trying to figure out what song that’s from.

Tupac, “Never B Peace”

Dammit, I’m gonna be up all night trying to figure out what song that’s from.

Stupid nostalgia-steeped interweb postings.

Anyone who makes those movements anymore immediately reminds me of Steve Martin in that insufferable movie where he pretends to be going out with queen latifa or whatever.

And yes, it is proper to want to hurl various objects at her.

And admittedly, I haven’t kept up with the hip-hop scene in the last few years (haven’t kept up with new music at all, actually), but do serious, actual, non-ironic rappers still do that arm thing Malkin’s rockin’ in the picture? Kanye West and Ludacris and all those cats? Only people I ever see doing that are upper-middle-class white suburban yuppie spawn* during their “ironic” humor rap outfits that, oddly enough, never see anything in the crowd other than upper-middle-class white suburban yuppie spawn. Friend of mine does some shit like that, makes me wanna throw things at him.**

*Which Malkin is, mind, if only in terms of spirit.

**Of course, my standard ranch reaction to anything involving Michelle Malkin involves a desire to hurl objects at her, faux rap nonsense or not.

You down with GOP?
(Yeah, you know me)

Now someone else write the verses. I can’t do it.

We should start having a weekly wing nut rap battle.

[Intro:]

You’re back now at the jack-off hour this is DJ, Sleazy Chick
On W-Bush, right now, somethin new, by Snoop Doggy Dogg
And this one goes out to the soldiers, from all the guys
at Halli-bow-wow, cuz we gonna make it a little Goldstein
here tonight, this is DJ Sleazy Chick, from the nation that
slaps you across your fat ass, with a fat dick

[Verse One: Rove Dogg]

When I met you in 2000 babe
Before you closed down yo mind
I had respect for ya, nation,
But now I take it all back
Cause you gave me all your rights
And ya even kissed my ass
Leave your number with the cabinet
And I promise baby, I’ll give ya a call
Next time I’m feelin kinda kinglike
You can come on over, and I’ll break you down
And if you can’t succumb, that day, baby
Just sit down, and wet all yo drawers.
Cause I have never
met a vote
That I love
in the whole wide world

[Verse Two: Kurupt Cheney]

Well, if Kurupt gave a fuck about a law I’d always be broke
I’d never have no motherfuckin countries to smoke
I gets loced and looney, bitch you can’t Do Me
Do we like John Kerry, you hoochie groupie?
I have no love for hoes
That’s somethin I learned in the pound
so how the fuck am I supposed
to pad this bill, just to wreak my will
I know the money’s mines, I’ma steal a couple more times
And then I’m through with it, there’s nothing else to do with it
Pass it to the KBRs, now you hit it
Cause Iraq ain’t nuthin but cash to me
And y’all know, that riches are all for me
Who gives a fuck, why don’t y’all pay attention
Approach it with a different proposition, I’m Kurupt
Leahy, you’ll never be my only one, trick ass beeeitch!

[Chorus: (repeat 4X)]

It ain’t no fun, if the homies can’t have none

[Verse Three: Snoop Bushie Bush]

Guess who back in the motherfuckin house
With some dumb laws for the motherfuckin South
Dobs recognize, Falwell do too
When women get uppity and pull a voodoo
What you gon do? You really don’t know
So I’d advise you not to trust that Roe
Silly of me to fall in love with a bitch
Knowin damn well, I’m too caught up with my grip
Now as the sun rotates and my game grows bigger
How many riches gonna come to this Decida named Snoop
Bushie, I’m all the above
I’m too swift on my toes to get caught up with you schmoes
But see, it ain’t no fun, if my homies can’t get a taste of it
Cause you know I don’t love em

[Verse Four: Abu G]

Whoa!
Hey, now ya know, inhale, exhale with my flow
One for the torture, two for the riches
Three to get ready, and four to hit the switches
In my Gitmo, bustin’ nads to be exact
With Hitchens on my side, and lib bitches on back
So back up snitch cuz i’m strugglin, so get
on your knees and then start jugglin
Bush’s motherfuckin nuts in my mouth
It’s me, Abu G the A.G. with the clout
Whoo!

[Chorus]