The spirit of the village voice is like, fuck the establishment, which is so weird because now they were owned by an establishment.

So my union rep was, you know, a guy who had been there for like 40 years and he was like,

tell him how you feel. This is your moment. I was like, it's an honor and a privilege.

Like, I can't really fucking pitch a fit because I'm like 27. I've been here two years.

I've had like eight cover stories. Like, I've got laid off the same day as like Nat Hentoff who had been there literally 50 years.

Who's that?

He was a prolific writer for the village voice and like, he was so old school that he literally facts in his article because he hand wrote it and then like the assistant had to type it out.

Really? Yeah.

So it's naked post-house flavor from selling all the wreckage.

Here I am, here's the streets of New York. Flavor Flaves, known for his vines, car.

Through and through the full of folks and employee me. New York Post can destroy me.

Grab a public enemy, rap star, peace lover.

With the headline of a fucked up cover. After pie took the plate, New York Post gets a story straight.

Mother fucker.

It always seems that they make all neighborhood new bad.

Here's a letter to the New York Post.

Yo, ain't work the paper printed on.

Down in 1801 by Alexander Hamilton. That's 190 years of continuous fucked up news.

Yo, walk and play the game, two from play the game. Your flame, read on.

Get the G-E-Z-Jet. Flavor Flaves is your best jet yet.

My old people owes them a business.

Why would you be wearing ash on your forehead when you're an adult?

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