Uncle Meg

What the fuuuuuuudge!? 

Fuh realz!

I LOVE being alive in these days... AH, these refreshing days.

Like cold champagne straight from the bottle while dancing on the graves of the careers of Mel Gibson and Paula Deen. 

While middle America clutches its wrankled nuts and clinches its hemoroid-ridden and Arby's stained anuses, I, my friends, am breathing easy.

Why this sense of calm amidst the frenzy of the present? Why this serenity while America becomes a moshpit at an All American Rejects concert (sponsored by Old Navy)? 

Because Uncle fucking Meg is on the case. Who is Uncle Meg, you say? 

I asked that very same shits, y'all! 

Uncle Meg is a hip hop artist from Brooklyn, NYC, who is also genderqueer, and I'll be damned if Uncle Meg ain't got a hard ass doom rap video full of maggots and mother fucking birthday cake!  I'm hooked. Uncle Meg has a bunch of videos, and I went and watched ALL THEM SHITS! And now my love wanna pop like Taylor Swift. 

While we as a Facebook-addicted nation argue endlessly about this and that and this and that, real artists are simply doing what the fuck they do. That's not to say you can't be active, you can't be informed or participatory, you can't block Aunt Gladys in a fit of progressive indignation, but the argument isn't the end of it. The point isn't the argument. The point is that the argument is paisley fucking wall paper to the art! We live in a time where I can unabashedly ADORE a genderqueer rapper! 

I love how far the genre has come, I love how far our country has come, and despite the blood in the streets and how much farther we have to go, I love how much farther we have to go. But more than any of that fucking shit, I love dat bass and dat cake and dem raps!

Cake, bitch!