Besides the time I let the Aziatic One know that Pieces of a Man was a piece of crap, here are a few times I remember when an artist and his entourage were angry enough to want to bruise my two dimples. (My conversations with Curtis and the Benzino face-off will be omitted at least for the time being. Ha!) I wonder what the statue of limitation is for getting your ass kicked for something you wrote? Oh well.

Dres (from Black Sheep)
We all know what majestic masterwork A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing was but I had the unfortunate job of being the first one to inform my fellow Queens brethren that his second album Non-Fiction was a true shit sandwich.

It was a write-up in One Nut magazine, an independent publication based in Connecticut owned by a gentleman named Barry Wade. Barry would pay me about 30-50 dollars to review as many rap albums I could get my hands on. Fun fact: When I retired from that gig, kris ex filled in the kid’s shoes. Sorry exo!

Anyways, the story goes Dres was up at Mercury Records (yeah that really was a label) and he read the review and after threatening his publicist Chris Chambers from OutKast fame for my number he called my crib irate. I still lived with my parents then and my grandma was on the other line, I clicked over and the fun began.

I remember he kept yelling “One Nut? You’re one nut! You’re one nut!” This was followed with the usual when he and his peoples see me it’s on sight. Back then, dude was rolling with The Legion. Jingle jangle my ass—those was some big-ass niggas. And I think one was from my projects, Woodside which had me extra p-noid. I remember being at a Jive show where Keith Murray’s crew got into it with R.A. The Rugged Man (then Crustified Dibbs) and I Dame dashed it towards the E train when Molecules came through the door.

Sadat X.
This is actually the only real time (knock on wood) that a rapper actually put his hands on me. Basically, the story goes, I shitted on the Wild Cowboys album not once, but twice. In CMJ magazine where I wrote a regular column and Vibe where they paid me for a review. In retrospect, I regret doing it but back then I needed the dough. I also used to be paid by labels to write artist bios but I would still turn around and write a bad review of their albums if warranted. Anyways we had some mutual acquaintances (if you know what I mean) and X felt my critical attack was personal. So he called looking for me at the ego trip offices and eventually we bumped heads at that year’s Vibe Music Seminar. The irony is that night we both had on some crispy Yankee fitted caps and while I was sitting with my peoples at a table X approached. He barked in my ear, and when I rose up he snuffed me on some schoolyard shit. My ego trip crew rose to my defense and X got some back-up himself in the form of Duck Down’s BCC. The wild cowboys were in Bucktown but thankfully security shut the shenanigans down.

There’s more. But it seems like I’m dwelling too much on the past. I’m gonna come up with some current shit. Stay tuned. No flipping!