Tuesday, February 14, 2006


I hereby petition for entry into the Flipmode Squad. I've never made any bones about my affection towards all things Busta -- I think that 1998's "Extinction Level Event" was a great album, and the man's ability to brew up lethal singles (like last year's "Touch It" with Swizz Beats, for example) is uncanny. Hell, I thought his acting turn in Joe Carnahan's "Narc" was gritty and enjoyable. His crew, the Flipmode Squad, goes into all the hottest clubs around to find out what the hottest shit is -- and only THEN do they keep it real. In short, they're just plain squidaud, like me.

I like to hop skip jump, makin' ya flip -- dislocate your hipbone, vertabrae slip. But I can no longer do this alone. I need entry into the Flipmode Squad. I need to pass the courvoisier. And you have to keep your hands where my eyes can see.

This is a critical time for Busta -- with the grim events of the last two weeks, I think Trevor Smith could use some different advice in his corner. A Rhymes/Salad union under the Flipmode banner could be mutually advantageous.

Motherfuckers would soon find that if you talk too much, you get hit with a tree-branch, courtesy if the FlipCaesar Squad. So whaddya say, Busta? Why don't you come over to the crib in Chelsea and discuss it with me. I'll have hummus and carrot sticks ready, and the wife has a bowl of great schwag to share a hit off. This is a no-risk proposition -- and think of the possibilities!

This is serious -- we could make you delirious. You should have a healthy fear of us, cause too much of us is dangerous.