I see you Kilroy, even when you're incognito, no not that incognito --
I'm talking about a different incognito -- the kind that places you in
hip-hop raiments (ghetto fab muumuus, i.e. maternity shirts and
oversized ball caps with ropes on the bill; for ballast I suppose?)
Kilroy doesn't need to drop a few honey flavored throat lozenges, he
doesn'
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need you to throw your hands in the aya and wave them like you just
couldn't possibly caya. Kilroy refuses to be seduced by the smoke &
mirror worlds of Big E and Puff E. Instead he rewrites the Canterbury
tales, works in a topical rash angle. He starts a Jamaican Basketball
Association on the battered, Schlitz stained courts of Samuels. He
mimics the falsetto of a certain blue haired nun singing whitebread
spirituals in a church above a school, inside a cul-de-sac?(reproduced without author's permission)