ninety9:
fek:
“Y’all act like you’ve never seen a white person before. And yet, here we are, a decade removed from The Slim Shady LP […] literal sense. And let’s face it, you probably haven’t heard “frat” used as a word to positively describe a lot of music since Otis Day & the Knights.”
— The opening shot from Pitchfork’s Asher Roth review. Great stuff. Seriously.
Things I didn’t know about FEK: he reads Pitchfork (this is where Maura interjects: it’s not that bad). Dude, you think you can roast me? Related: when is the anni of FYM?
We were a year old, like, twenty days ago. Get with the fuckin’ program, Gramps. Also: thanks for fucking up our lives entirely. Why didn’t you tell us it’d come to this?!?!
Related: we still exist in the shadows of the light of the whatever. Related, too.
tempted to think that meeting us for drinks is a dirty ploy to take us down, make us stop, nu? well: eh. we ran out of gas. it’s hard on the back making points and talking gibberish even we don’t understand.
The Following YM delegation will be there in full effect. We look forward to it. 
also, please don’t jump us. we’re pretty defenseless.
youngmanhattanite:
FYM: One of our crew is up for a drink. Spitzer’s at 10pm tonight? No dodgeball, please. This scene is bad enough as it is.
This reminds me of that “assmble your crew” Prince basketball bit that Chapelle did. “Game: blouses.” No winners.
The FYM crew is committed throughout the weekend, unless 11 to 12ish tomorrow night works. We all have our individual caves and shitholes and late night-ish jobs to crawl back to, you know. But we’re glad to take you up on the offer.
Well, I guess it’s that time for us, too.
Seacrust, out.
i know. i eat shit-on san loco every night. you’d think they could come up with something better. can’t man up for the showdown, can they?
