Hanging Out With Clapping Fish

This was a big record for me in high school. A double album that probably should have been a 12". "G-Funk" (sorry, all I could find) is still a laid-back summer anthem.

S.P. was seriously remiss in failing to wish all you dedicated readers a Happy St. Patrick's Day this past Saturday. All you bloggartz that love S.P. for his blind fealty towards NYC hip-hop called down the elements in an attempt to make him stick around, and he had to go and get all Snake Pliskin on you. Your boy was stuck in Queens on Saturday, and the deep freeze left him with little motivation to do anything but drink some fine imports and mourn the raping of his NCAA bracket. The first rapper to shout out that Sosa dude from Louisville in a rhyme, maybe about how you, as Scarface, are going to turn the tables on Sosa like A&M did, wins an FMT prize pack. These generally consist of raw hippo meat and old Hothouse Flowers cassette tapes. Slainte. Up Munster.

Big shouts to Rick Mouhanus and his lady Amy for the Queensbridge hospitality this past Friday and Saturday, and anyone in the area probly felt the tremors from the convergence of corpulence that occurred at some bar when the illustrious Furman P. and yours trilly Sordid Puppy met up and drank up. F.P.S. has been drowning fools in Brooklyn since his recent arrival there, and it feels damn good to see FMT and its architects on the rise.

FMT ain't no political blog, yo, but S.P. would like to strongly endorse the stoicism in the face of truly awful news exhibited by Elizabeth Edwards, wife of former Vice Presidential candidate and current candidate for the Democratic nomination John Edwards. If you all haven't heard, after a flurry of media inquiry following Mr. Edwards's cancellation of a campaign event last night, today the couple announced that Ms. Edwards's cancer, previously thought to have been confined to her breast and removed, has returned. It's in her ribcage, and cancer in your bones is bad effing news. Apparently a lot of folks figured Edwards would chuck the race for the nomination in because of the diagnosis, but the couple are on some serious hardbody (no no homo) in their refusal to back down. S.P. is down with John Edwards and Elizabeth Edwards and hopes that they can do like J-Wiz and say "Cancer can blow me." That's what's happnin.

S.P. has never had to deal with the frustration, anger, and mortal fear that must accompany a cancer diagnosis. As some of FMT's more seasoned liseurs may recall, however, your boy has had a fright or two, and another arrived a couple of weeks ago. It is a terrifying and infuriating feeling to imagine that something is growing in your body and that it is trying to 86 you. Your man is all good for the time being, and S.P. definitely ain't looking for no pity -- how could I, when Elizabeth Edwards and countless other cancer patients worldwide face up to their problem with such courage? Human beans do some shitty shit, but also inspire on the deli.

Damn -- what the hell sort of blog is FMT, anyway, man? If you even made it this far through this post, I know you're miffed that you're not getting the same caliber of heat rocks that you did from Slothra's last offering.

FMT ain't just a blog, yo.