Monk God retweeted
Why do women say they want their man to open up but the minute he opens up or drops a tearโฆ
Monk God retweeted
An undercover NYC police officer pulls a gun on a man trying to move between subway cars
Monk God retweeted
Still one of the greatest black church bands ever.
Randy Watson and "Sexual Chocolate" will be performing at Super Bowl 2027 btw.
Monk God retweeted
Eating while black in America will have the police harassing and threatening to arrest you for recording racism by an old Karen bitch.
This woman and eating her food when some dried up old racist bitch started giving her shit for sitting there and when she started recording the dried up old bitch, the dried up old bitch weaponized the pig police to make her leave.
FUCK
THE
POLICE
Monk God retweeted
A 3-year-old Florida soccer phenom gains over 1 million followers, $50K in donations, sponsorships, shoutouts from Jay-Z and Ms. Rachel, and training offers from pro soccer stars just days after being kicked out of a game for being โtoo good.โ ๐๐ฝโค๏ธ
Monk God retweeted
Bob Marley & The Wailers "Roots, Rock, Reggae" recorded in a studio in the Netherlands in June 1976.
Monk God retweeted
If you walked into your local county building tomorrow and started filming, what do you think would happen?
Would you get the treatment seen here?
On June 24, 2022, First Amendment auditor Dan Warmus entered the Wyoming County Government Building in Warsaw, NY, to film publicly accessible areas and file a FOIL request at the County Clerkโs office.
He signed the visitor log as โDan, Erie County.โ Wyoming County Sheriffโs Deputies M. Sage and S. Omans (older female deputy) confronted him, blocked his path to the clerkโs office, and put hands on him while directing him away.
Warmus repeatedly said โDo not touch me,โ demanded body cameras be turned on, stated he was not detained, and accused the deputies of battery and violating his rights in a public building.
Capt. Erik Tamol and then-Sheriff Gregory Rudolph later arrived.
At one point a hallway door was locked. Warmus eventually signed in with his real name, gained access, and continued filming (including in the Board of Supervisorsโ room).
The county later removed the sign-in sheet.
Sheriff Rudolph announced his retirement days later.
Warmus sued the County of Wyoming, Rudolph, Tamol, Sage, and Omans in federal court (Warmus v. County of Wyoming et al., W.D.N.Y.).
The case was dismissed with prejudice in March 2024 via stipulation (consistent with settlement).
โShould law enforcement be trained specifically on First Amendment auditor encounters?
โShould county employees and deputies be allowed to decide who gets access to public building spaces based on how they sign in?
Monk God retweeted
In August 1994, an underage marriage certificate nearly destroyed one of the most promising new labels in music.
Aaliyah Haughton was 15 years old. Her producer, R. Kelly, was 27. Her debut album was titled Age Ain't Nothing but a Number.
The album was not just a pop release. It was the flagship asset of Blackground Records, a label built by Aaliyah's uncle, Barry Hankerson, specifically to keep 100 percent of her management, publishing, and master revenues inside the family.
In their 1994 interview on BET's Video Soul below, R. Kelly explains how Barry Hankerson brought him in to develop Aaliyah, right before they discuss her age and the album title.
When the illegal marriage leaked, it created an immediate existential crisis for the label and its distributor, Jive Records.
Facing severe media fallout, potential legal exposure, and an impending PR disaster, Hankerson executed a swift corporate containment strategy.
The marriage was quietly annulled, R. Kelly was completely cut out of her future projects, and Hankerson severed ties with Jive, moving Blackground's distribution deal to Atlantic Records. The scandal was buried and Aaliyah was rebranded alongside Timbaland and Missy Elliott into a multi-platinum global superstar.
Commercially, the maneuver saved the brand. Structurally, it trapped the artist. Aaliyah was managed by her mother, signed to her uncle's label, and bound by contracts negotiated while she was a minor. She had zero independent representation.
When Aaliyah died in a plane crash in 2001 at age 22, the complete ownership of her master recordings remained with Blackground.
For nearly two decades, her catalog stayed off major streaming platforms because of rights disputes and family control. Only recently have deals begun to change that.
The label built to protect a child star from the industry ended up owning the gate to her legacy.
