Ain't no love...

...in the heart of the cityyyyyyy....

It's a muggy NYC-summer and the economy is done. It's hot in these streets. In these conditions, many a wilder gets lost in the struggle.

People are losing their jobs, and rents continue to rise. I'm paying so much that I can't even maintain my daytime diet of orange juice and cigarettes because food prices are bloated and Newports cost $10 a pack (loosies have gone up to 75 cents, WTF!).

(My night time diet: Add vodka)

So imagine my surprise when I read an article about one of my favorite politicians, an icon of NYC and someone whom I believed to be a man of the people, Charlie "the-human-chimney" Rangel, that says he has four rent-stabilized apartments in NYC. Damn, son. Why do I feel like I'm watching an episode of The Wire (best TV show ever.com) right now?

C.Rangel, you're not wildin'. You have 4 baller cribs for below market value in the best city in the world, while I'm scrapping together payment for one? What a dick move. Have an affair, pipe a tranny, get some hookities, sniff an entire 8-ball before you address congress: I would love you for that, but 4 apt.'s?!? COME ON KIDDO!!!!!!!! That's fake wildin'.

Your credibility is down right now brotha. This information, coupled with Sr. Obama's apparent shift to the center, and I'm running out of politicians to root for. Here I am, a 20-something y/o male, who wakes up every morning fighting the urge to skip work and go get a pint and a random slut, battling to convince myself to keep it half-way honest, while the people I'm supposed to have faith in dumb-out on a reg basis. The final straw would be if I found out that Bill Clinton wasn't running through all those hoes in the oval office, and was actually faithful to Hillary (thank god for young women attracted to power).

But I digress. Back to the lesson at hand. Some people, i.e., myself, are in the struggs right now. It's summertime and we are losing our focus. Bring back the cold days of late Winter/early Spring, with a good old fashioned E.Spitzer/Emperor's Club VIP wildin. Serious wildin. REAL WIDLIN. What do you want to bet that E.Spitz has hit rock bottom right now: sleeping on the couch in his mom's basement, waking up from short naps to sip from that handle of smirnoff, smoking camels and calling high school ex-girlfriends from the house phone? You get 1-1 odds, 'cause I'm probably right.

Bring back those good old days, 'cause I need some inspiration, and this dude is just fucking shit up. In the meantime, I'm going to watch this Jesse Jackson jumpoff on repeat until somebody steps their game up: