Seriously, how cool is Uncle Rapi*?
—Rapi

Nobody that spends as much time as you do in Springfield, Ill., can be cool. Even the legislators don’t kick it there after sundown. And if you try to get me to refer to you as my uncle again, I’m gonna have you registered.

Do you think the Lakers will take the Playoffs this year?
—Tyler

My closeted Laker-hatred was almost pushed to the limits this past summer; for a moment I feared that I might unravel in the face of the bandwagon fandom that built up in Los Angeles during the playoffs. There are die-hards here, and I can dig that. Wait, actually, no, I don’t dig that either… because the night the Lakers lost game one of the finals was probably the worst Project Blowed workshops we’ve have had since I moved here. Some of the best resident rappers were listless and defeated… grown men kept consoling each other. It was very sad.

Damn what can you ask Open Mike that possibly couldn’t be over-analyzed with a pin-point precision and that hint of cynicism. Hmmm…Thats hard because I’m the same way and know that any question I ask in turn I could write a paper on. Just for the simple fact I would have so much to say on it. Fuck and I mean fuck. Alright, Alright, Since I love music so much and tapping someone’s brain is a satisfying experience in only their could be an interesting thing to be learnt. What’s your greatest accomplishment in this wide vastness we could call the shit stain of the universe? (and I only say that because of all the stupid ass people that inhabit this rock) … Simple one part question, no college essence need apply. … Peace
—Erik

Thanks, Erik, and since I’ve cyber-known you for some time now, I’ll temporarily switch off my college “essence.”

My greatest accomplishment is the little guy turning slow backflips in my wife’s uterus. He’s 23 fetus-weeks old and he’s a miracle because for some reason I was convinced that my nuts were broken.

His name is Asa Black Lanoix-Eagle, and he’s doomed to a life of incomplete scantron bubbles.

He also has an enormous penis. Even the doctors say so…

What x-man did we figure i was?
—Jenae

You know what, Ms. Cashrocket, I don’t remember which mutie we named you after. I don’t even think I remember which one I was. Some back-story is necessary: as undergraduates, all of us kinky-haired, socially-critical, alternative-negro types would coalesce into a small, strange family. It had various incarnations throughout my tenure at SIU and I’m certain some form of it still exists today. Two things will always remain constant among these groups:

1. There will be a ratio of about three-and-a-half guys to every girl. This is significant because invariably at least one of the girls will end up having some sort of sexual relations with at least two of the guys. This will cause temporary or permanent branches in the family tree depending on how quickly the rumor mill can confirm who the sex was better with.

2. The groups’ members will at some point decide that each member needs to have a codename. The average nerdiness of the cabal will determine the source of the taxonomy. I, for instance, have been in a superhero group and a group that compared its lady-getting techniques to different kinds of dessert.

My name was Pound Cake.

Do you write music for a specific audience or do you write music exclusively for yourself? Which do you think will make you more successful? Honestly. … I’ll hold off on the kudos…
—Tamarra

There’s a thinly-veiled “your music is odd” comment buried in that question, but I’m gonna ignore that for now.

I do write for a specific audience.

You know what else?

I know full-well that those people aren’t gonna be the people that are likely to hear what I do. That’s my own little pet conundrum right now. I know that there are enough middle-aged, disillusioned rap fans out there for me to entertain and make a comfortable living catering to, but I also know that as of this moment, there’s absolutely no way for them to hear what I’m doing until somebody (anybody?) sees fit to apply what they learned in Marketing 101 to what I do.

Not many people see the revenue value of irony anymore. And most entertainment entities do business in a way that leads me to believe that they don’t believe the negro mind to be capable of enjoying anything sophisticated.

In the meantime, to the fifteen or so of you out there reading this, know and understand that I will continue to MySpace you to death.

When you don’t go to work, do you still wake up and go to Robeks in the morning?
—Nancy

Yeah, actually I do. But not even just Robeks. Jamba Juice, Simply Wholesome, Surf City and every other frosty entity I insult in the last verse of “Smoothie King (Premeditated Folly)” receive quite a bit of mine and the wife’s hard-earned pocket change. I’m woefully and hopelessly addicted to any brand of smoothie that comes in a big cup (No Odwalla, Naked Juice or Muscle Milk for me. Bottled fruit is for infants).**

* - Rum Cake
** - Lies, I drank a hundred Naked Juices today alone. I have the world’s healthiest urine.