Blog Posts by Will Abramson

We were halfway to Bernadino when my blood started to boil. Butterflies buzzed in my belly as we entered a maze of orange cones, angry cops, and Cletus the inbred parking attendant.

"Excuse me man, we've been all over this parking lot and no one can seem to tell us where press parking is..."

Imagine a toothless hairplipped redneck with a lissthp stammering, "P-rass, puh puh Prass? Nah sir, this here's the parking lot."

"Yea I know, where's parking for the press?"

"Prass"

"No, Press, like media"

"O, I sure don't know sir, yuh you'll have to ask somebody....somebody else...somebody that works here..." he trailed off.

"Thanks Cletus!"

We arrived just in time to see Pharoahe Monch stalking the stage like a lion, all swagger and passion. His voice commands like a general's so when he drops knowledge you have no choice but to stand at attention. The man's creativity and conviction are contagious; the crowd reacted on instinct, nodding their heads in agreement. He ran through all the heaters