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   Now in our tenth calendar year
    PCR #508  (Vol. 10, No. 51)  This edition is for the week of December 14--20, 2009.

"Up In the Air"  by Mike Smith
Time Warp Toy Box ’09 – Part 3  by ED Tucker
Ninja Assassin  by Jason Fetters
Intro 2 Lampin' .... My Letter To Tiger Woods  by John Miller
Chad Ochocinco: Nfl’s Black Sheep? .... Steelers Out? .... Holmgren Returns .... Cowboys Vs Saints .... Bob Greise Says Lose One .... Tiger Woods: Athlete Of The Decade?? .... .... by Chris Munger
Guess Who Died? .... The Year That Was Part I .... .... .... .... .... .... .... My Favorite Films, Part 2 by Mike Smith
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Lampin at the 6th Borough by John Miller

Intro 2 Lampin'
Some readers may be a little confused by the title of my column, so I decided to take a few minutes to answer a few questions and ease any confusion.

First of all, I really don't have a clue what the hell the word "lampin'" even means. I assume it has something to do with chilling out. My first introduction to the word was track three, "Cold Lampin with Flavor" from Public Enemies', It Takes A Nation Of Millions album. I would later hear the term used in other songs from other artist and before long it became a part of my regular vocabulary.

"The 6th Borough" is a term I heard used by ESPN's Tony Reali in reference to the New York Yankees spring training home in Tampa. The phrase was kind of catchy and original so I adopted it as a nickname for the Bay area. I guess another title for the column could be "Chillin' in Tampa Bay", but that is completely lame and I wouldn't be caught dead writing under the title of something so bland and unoriginal.

There are no real goals or motivation for this column, per se. Mainly I would like to occasionally reach readers out there surfing the information super-highway in search of the types of subject matter I myself would like to stumble across. Or, if nothing else, give casual readers of the PCR a disturbing insight into the exploits and hijinks of a hoodlum in his mid-twenties with too much free time on his hands. A few of the subjects I shall broach are my love of sneakers, concert adventures, life as a cult-cinema fanatic, and whatever wildly exotic events unfold in my standard day-to-day activities.

My Letter To Tiger Woods

Dear Tiger,
Honestly Tiger, up until this past week I could really give a fuck less about you. But since your name has been left for dead and picked apart piece by piece by media opportunists and scavengers, I have actually grown a little bit of respect for you as a celebrity and as a man.

Let me start by asking that you please stop apologizing to people you don't know, for shit that isn't their business. This is a matter that needs to be worked out privately between you and your token wife that the "yes men" surrounding you demanded you marry so that screwballs in middle America will feel more comfortable buying Nike golf gloves and Cadillacs from. Lets be honest, your whole marriage is a sham, a publicity stunt and should from now on be acknowledged as such.

If I were you I would just openly admit that you enjoy sticking your love stick in as many whores as you can, what man doesn't? I know I do, hell, if I were the first billionaire athlete with access to unholy amounts of skankoids and expensive trim merchants at my disposal I'd never stop pune-banging either. Married to a token wife or not.

As far as the bimbo wearing your ring is concerned, stop apologizing to her also. I have a hard time believing she didn't have an understanding that this was part of the deal to begin with. What broad is so egotistical to believe that her stuff is slamming enough to keep the world's most over-hyped celebrity happy enough not to browse the buffet table every now and again? Living a glamorous life as the propped-up wife of a megastar and never having to deal with real dilemmas ever again isn't enough for her? Let that unappreciative golddigger go and publicly embrace your manhood.

Lastly, don't let the media O.J. you, my dude. There is nothing Americans loathe and fear more then a non-threatening black guy that turns out to be a regular Joe. Drop the Carlton act and be yourself. The sponsors are gone and you're free now. Tell the PGA to go fuck itself and make a YOUTUBE video of you wiping your ass with all of those corporate contracts. They need you more than you need them. If a major company doesn't want to do business with you then their competition probably does. One way or another you will always be a major attraction, nobody swings a golf club like you and probably nobody ever will. Controversies like this come and go, eventually a middle class white girl will get abducted or Brad Pitt will fist-fight Tom Cruise, and before you know it, you'll be a distant memory in the minds of a public with short attention spans.

You've been a sell-out your entire career. For once, keep it real.

John Miller

"Lampin' @ The 6th Burrough" is ©2009 by John Miller.  Webpage design and all graphics herein (except where otherwise noted) are creations of Nolan B. Canova.  All contents of Nolan's Pop Culture Review are ©2009 by Nolan B. Canova.