Underwhelming Contest Held For New York City’s Best Butt

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For the most part, New York's Best Butt Contest appears to be more like, "Oh, she has a nice butt," than "Damn! She got a big ass!" Only 68 women showed up, maybe because the prize money is just $2,000, which in New York will only get you a value meal, a week's stay at the YMCA, and one of those fake gold choker chains that Puerto Ricans wear when they're playing stickball.

The contest was sponsored by a plastic surgeon who's looking for a new model, though contestants had to be natural. I bet they would have gotten a much better response if Juicy J would have hosted it. Anyway, the winner (who I feel is pictured directly below) will be announced later this month. (New York Post)

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Oh, OK.

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-Dewan Gibson

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Raekwon & Ghostface Perform ‘Daytona 500,’ Minus A Key Lyric

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Good stuff. Reminds of their far under-priced $20 shows. At the 2:13 mark you'll notice that Raekwon and Ghostface no longer say Jesus or Joseph during the classic line: "I slap box with Jesus, lick shots at Joseph." Besides that they're the same ol' Wu, in rhymes and attire. That vest is never coming off Ghost.

Also, Raekwon and Ghost are trying to crowdfund an Only Built 4 Cuban Linx documentary. More info is available at FanBack.

-Dewan Gibson

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‘Watermelon Brother’ Freaks Out China’s Subway Riders

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A drunk guy has been riding Beijing's subways with a rotting watermelon on his head. Locals are calling him "Watermelon Brother" and very few brothers are there to ask, "What you mean by 'brother'?" Anyhow, I guess you do what you have to do to stand out in a country of 1.4 billion. (Shanghaiist)

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-Dewan Gibson

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U-God & GZA Make A Video Under A Bridge: ‘Heads Up’

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A kind-of-late video from U-God's shamefully overlooked album Keynote Speaker. By the way, in addition to writing some of Wu-Tang's most intricate lines, can we also credit GZA for originating the Boosie fade? He's had some variation of it since the '90s.

-Dewan Gibson

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Snoop Dogg Performs In A Fighting Cage While Surrounded By Derek Zoolanders

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Snoop performed at Milan Fashion Week as models for Philipp Plein showed off a bunch of outfits that A$AP Rocky and my little brother would wear. (That's one or the other pictured below, I get 'em mixed up sometimes.) Man, Big Snoop's changed a bit since he showed up to the MTV Awards with a couple of strumpets on leashes.

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-Dewan Gibson

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Remind Me To Never Again Drive Across Country With Three Feral Children

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I’ve said a lot of crazy things to my fiance while drunk but “Let’s drive to Cleveland” is probably the worst. It’s not so much the city; Cleveland’s cool. It’s my hometown and one of the nicest places in the United States. Maybe not the entire United States, but at least among cities on Forbes’ Most Dangerous Cities list. Still, it’s a 2,400 mile drive from our home in San Diego. Doable? Of course. Sensible considering we’ve accidentally had three children in the past three years? Not so much.

The goal for the first day of our trip was to make it to Phoenix. My fiance, Amber, and I wanted to enjoy a one-night stay in a four-star resort for around 65 bucks. This is typically the going rate in Phoenix during the summer because it’s Phoenix in the summer. We also figured the kids could easily handle the five-hour drive: an hour or so of napping, maybe two hours of hypnosis via electronic devices, a bit of crying alleviated by threats and sugar bribes, and we’d be there in no time. Yeah, right.

Less than two hours into the trip the uprising began. All three boys were crying and yelling--relentlessly. We can usually calm them with a toy or a titty, but they weren’t interested in the former and Mom couldn’t flip the latter over the headrest and into the second and third row child seats. Our only option, as voiced by our almost three-year-old, the group’s default leader due to age and linguistic ability, was to respond to his shouts of “I wanna get out!” and pull over.

After a short stop to stretch and eat at a fly-ridden In-N-Out, we got back on the road. Our two oldest boys, seemingly satisfied by our peace offering, a rare delicacy called “french fries,” expressed nonverbal agreement to cooperate for the last three hours of the drive. And I know they tried. They’re nice boys, and I’m not just saying that because of the tax credits they provide. Though I suppose all parents think their children are sweet, even as they grow older and get “involved with the wrong crowd,” or, more specifically, become the wrong crowd. Just 15 minutes later the the contract was broken.

We were five people in a 6 x 15 Mazda minivan filled with luggage and hysteria. The boys’ manic screaming drove me crazy. Tension grabbed the back of my neck and traveled down my spine. I felt helpless. I looked at Amber and said, “Think we should just turn around?” Neither of us had the courage to answer. There was nothing I could do or say to calm the situation. We just needed to get there, but there was three hours away. And that became my focus: “Just get to Phoenix...just get Phoenix.” I was in a zone...until a cop’s flashing lights appeared in my rearview mirror.

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