Season's Bleatings.

Still more solid than a New Orleans levee or a Bush crony alibi.

How has everyone's holiday been? Disfunction-free, I hope. Or at least something that can be laughed at looking back at the home movie (though jeering at surveillance video in court tends to ruin testimony). Once again, I got nothing I asked for for Christmas but, rather, pity, rage, and disgust. How truly Catholic a celebration.

So...now that I've set an ire record for this blog, back to the secular and seckled-down shit. Since Verizon's been playing with my emotions (I don't like people playing with my phone!), I got a coupla-coupla links previously unexploited, for y'all's nerding pleasure.

"Media-assassin" Harry Allen, Greg Tate, Pete Rock and a whoooole lotta others politic about sampling in a new INCREDIBLY FRESH-looking documentary entitled Copywrite Criminals. And just like Cam (or, perhaps, completely unlike him), they really mean it when it comes to creative license.

Grimetime: An intimate photo essay by Simon Wheatley shows London's council estate youth on their daily graft. Not so different from Stateside, eh? The sounds a bit jankrofied but the shots are worth the sacrifice. (via Spine Magazine)

Lemmefindoubt...50 kept his crack in girlie draws? No promo.

I haven't been being much of a sneakerfiend (no, not Overfiend, you sick fuck) recently, but I really must have these. I mean, they got a dude flying a kite on 'em, fa Chrissakes. Only thing hotter would be a print of young Hassidim spinning a dreidels...challah at me, Nike execs.

Who gives a cares about The DaVinci Code? It's all about the Chappelle Theory. This is what the Hollywood game is missing! (thanks, HiphopMusic.com)

Spank Rock x Disco D = Nasstiness.