
I disagree William, I think that you do have a credibility problem and the sooner you address it, the quicker you can continue becoming not relevant
William,
This is an open letter to you. You need help and we here at Too Old are here to help in any way we possibly can. I know that you need attention. Who doesn’t crave it? But the way that you are going about it will only hurt in the end.
50 already killed you…it might be best if you just stayed hidden or better yet dead. I mean with lyrics like these
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!! We don’t wanna hear your mafia tough talk
That fake fuck boy shit don’t fly in New York…
its better to keep quiet and have people think that you are ignorant, than to open your mouth and prove them right. 50 lyrically destroyed you and whatever is left, Tia is going to get.
At least you have been honest about one thing. The deposition records that 50 got a hold of seem to be true upon further reflection.. When you were telling them that you were not spending all that money, you were right. You were buying your family bootleg gear.
Now, comes the letter that XXL received and put on their website to put you on blast. When will it end? It will end whenever you want it to, but you can’t go around trying to floss if you don’t have it. I looked at the Forbes list for richest African Americans, and I didn’t see you on it.
When 50 Cent isn’t taking baby mothers shopping at the Gucci store, and cleverly assassinating the character of Florida rapper Rick Ross, he’s making trips to the bank.
According to Forbes magazine, Curtis Jackson is the second highest-earning African-American superstar, with an estimated earning of $150 million. This places him behind Oprah Winfrey and in front of movie mogul Tyler Perry.
Most of the rapper’s earnings were raked up by the $100 million sale of Vitamin water. Last year he outearned your favorite rapper on Forbes “Hip Hop Rich List” with a whopping $100 million. Jay-Z came in second with $82 million. Diddy came in third with $35 million.
Then, the XXL Editors received this letter from Louis Vuitton concerning the May 2009 cover of Rick Ross.
Dear Editor:
We were dismayed to see the cover of the May 2009 issue of XXL Magazine, which features a photo of Rick Ross wearing a pair of sunglasses prominently featuring counterfeit Louis Vuitton trademarks. Because the photo has generated considerable confusion among your readers and Louis Vuitton customers among others, we feel it is important to clarify several points.
The first is that the sunglasses Mr. Ross is wearing were not made by Louis Vuitton, and in fact, are counterfeit. Louis Vuitton did not grant permission to Mr. Ross or to whoever did make the sunglasses to use our trademarks. The second is that no affiliation, sponsorship or association exists between Rick Ross or XXL and Louis Vuitton. The third is that counterfeiting is illegal.
Thank you for giving us the opportunity to correct the confusion.
Sincerely,
Michael D. Pantalony, Esq.
Louis Vuitton Malletier
P.S. Have a nice day! William, they are killing you. Hopefully this will get to you in time for you to make some changes in your life. If we can do something to help, please, just let us know…
Sincerely,
The Management of Too Old
Michael Douglas and Oliver Stone reunite for Wall Street 2: Art imitating Life yet again…
April 29, 2009
When looking over the Financial Times, (yeah, I read it, what of it? Ronin is the residential financial guy, but I read to understand what little my 453B is earning) I couldn’t help but to notice what the stock market is doing. Our “Friend” Jason has gotten into the financial game and he talks about earning money for people. He loves to celebrate his accomplishments and brag about getting million dollar accounts for his brokerage firm. (We will not mention them because they do not need your business)
The problem is that this guy is like Bernie Madoff…

He took so many people to the cleaners, it isn’t funny. But, Jason idolizes this guy. He says that he wants to become bigger than Madoff. That is why the inside investor tip of the day is “PASS”… Jason says it as a joke, but inside, you can see him scheming on getting your hard earned loot… Read the rest of this entry »
Slumberland: If you don’t read this book you hate yourself!
January 28, 2009

So now that you know what it looks like there should be no excuses. If you recall, this past summer I suggested that you hate yourselves if you don’t see the movie The Wackness. Well, those of you that saw it should now trust my advice, and for those that didn’t, this may be an opportunity to redeem yourself (with yourself, who currently hates you). We’ve been repping Paul Beatty on the blog for his other two novels, Tuff and White Boy Shuffle – both fantastic reads. His new novel, however, is, in my opinion, his best yet. Slumberland is the story of DJ Darky, a man searching for the final touch to complete his creation: the perfect beat. A search that takes him from Los Angeles to a small bar in Berlin. Dj Darky is insightful, composed, insatiable, neurotic, enigmatic, brilliant. and a veritable encyclopedia for all things musical. The book has been described by another favorite writer of mine, Adam Mansbach (Angry Black White Boy), as “an epic mash-up of race, music, culture, history, and everything else worth throwing on a turntable.” Paul Beatty spins this deliciously hilarious, inspiring, and hypnotizing tale of music, race, politics, sexuality, and the meaning of life (set against Germany before and after the destruction of the Berlin Wall) with such rhythm and effortless grace he sucked me into the world of DJ Darky and the curious nightlife of both pre and post-unification Berlin.
Without divulging too many of the priceless gems Beatty sprinkles throughout, I thought I’d hit you off with a few choice quotes (as if the above praise hadn’t already convinced you to immediately run to your local bookseller):
I remember everything I’ve ever heard. Every dropped nickel, raindrop drip-drop, sneaker squeak, and sheep bleat. Every jump rope chant, Miss Mary Mack Mack hand clap, and “eenie meanie chili beanie oop bop-bop bellini” method for choosing who’s it. I remember every sappy R&B radio lyric and distorted Hendrix riff. Every Itzhak Perlman pluck and squishybackseat contorted make-out session. I can still hear every Hey you, You the man, and John Philip Sousa euphonium toot and every tree rustle and street-corner hustle. I remember every sound I’ve ever heard. It’s like my entire life is a song I can’t get out of my head. (pgs. 14-15)
Next time I’ll tell you about how whenever two black quarterbacks face each other in a football game, black America gets a collective migraine because we don’t know which team to cheer for. (pg. 93)
and one more to close this show…
The twilight was uniquely uninspiring. The sun looked wobbly and slumped toward the horizon like a carsick child sinking deeper and deeper into the backseat. Its last act of consciousness, this solar hurl of refracted light, the colors of which were so putrid they scattered the birds and the clouds, and left the moon to clean up the mess. (pg. 133)
Rabbit truly at Rest John Updike (1932-2009)
January 27, 2009
When I was a student in high school at John F. Kennedy, I lived with my grandparents. They were real salt of the earth types. My grandmother never met a hard day of work in her life. She was up at 5am gardening or cleaning something up. She expected that everyone else would work as hard as her. Not many people could match her stamina.
Growing up with her and my grandfather was heard, as they were sometimes trapped in the 50’s when I wanted to live in the 80’s. One weird thing about living with her is that I was never given a house key. The rationale for this policy is that I would lose it, and someone would be able to figure out that the lost key opened up the door at 4608 Cypress and that they would be able to steal their wealth. What make this difficult is that someone would always have to let me in the house when I got back, meaning that it was easy to keep tabs on me.
One the many patented excuses I would use was that I was studying at the library. Once I hit my senior year, it became easier, as I had a job at the Act One and Two Cinemas in Berkeley. Closing meant that some nights, I would not get home until 1am and then turn around and go to school. But, before those good times, I used the public library excuse for all it was worth. Just getting out of the house was liberating to me. Read the rest of this entry »
E’s song of the day
January 24, 2009

We here at Too Old respect a variety of musical genres, and I must say I’m ashamed that I haven’t dropped any Jazz on you at any point in the ever-expanding history of E’s song of the day. Our boy Ronin has a smooth little jazz piece as one of his ringtones, but that isn’t today’s song. No my friends, today, I’m dropping a track that I just read being big-upped in the new book, Slumberland, by one of my favorite authors of the past few years, Paul Beatty. Steve has quoted his work in previous blogs, but I would like to include the excerpt from Slumberland to introduce this song:
“Stolen Moments” is Oliver Nelson’s signature tune, a song I find to be the ultimate mood setter; it’s a classic jazz aperitif. Oftentimes, when I play hardcore underground hip-hop or punk gigs, after three or four especially rambunctious tunes the mosh pits begin to resemble the skirmish lines of Bronze Age battlefield, the warehouse windows start to shake, the record needle starts to skip, the women have that “I’m down with the pogrom” whatever-motherfucker look in their eyes, and I know the party is one more Wu Tang killa bee sting or Bad Brains power chord from turning into Attica, I play fifteen to twenty seconds of “Stolen Moments” to ease the tension, keep the peace. Its incongruous beauty brings about the wry existential lugubriousness of the Christmas Eve carol coming from the enemy encampment on the other side of the fog-covered river in a hackneyed war movie. “Stolen Moments” is that type of intrusion, a lull in the fighting, a time to finish the drink and forgive and forget. The people know I’m providing a respite from the real by granting them a temporary gubernatorial death-row reprieve before I hit them with the next piercing Mobb Deep fuck-you falsetto, Bounty Killer lick shot, or soul-splitting, pre-sellout, angst-ridden, Biohazard scream.
I knew immediately that “Stolen Moments: would be the Slumberland’s signature tune; a smooth midtempo song, it would provide a sticky, almost humid, langourous background to an already sexually charged atmosphere.
- Paul Beatty, Slumberland, pgs. 81-82
READ THIS BOOK! And enjoy the music…
E’s song of the day
January 22, 2009

Last night I saw a preview for the HBO show Big Love, and it had this sweet bluesey little tune . I’ve been on a bit of a blues kick lately because I’ve been reading this sweet new Paul Beatty book, Slumberland (which I highly recommend). I did a little research and found it. This jam is nice a nd mellow for a rainy day in the Bay Area. Today’s song: the Black Keys, Lies. Enjoy…















and let’s get going. 



