Fvck The New Yorker, Fvck Jewish Emotionalism

The New Yorker is known for going very deep. This is shallow. In literature-speak, about 20,000 words is long enough for a mini-novella, but that’s something I told Nas’ manager the first time we spoke on the phone.

Unfortunately, Dude_Br0 had no idea who I am now any more than he did back then; yet, the bottom line is that Nas and I can manage business opportunities in Tanzania if Mr. Jones so chooses to take up this area of the world. It’s entirely up to him. See below as to what I spent doing between 2009-11, only to have WME-IMG international agents go radio silence like a couple of bitch-made, greedy assholes that they are.


Nas, my nig, that jitter-bug you pulled when we briefly chopped it at The Parlor upon seeing me, nigga… yeah, that part. Come out the woodworks and catch a flight. Just remember, I do not need you. Ever. You need me.

Facts on the ground are that I can reach out to anyone at Live Nation and build a House of Blues Dar es Salaam with Russian money. Just. Like. That. When the CFO of Najja Enterprises USA LLC in the U.S. is a Tanzanian national residing in Irving, Texas, you do as you f*cking please. Or don’t.

I’m sure I will add to this post later. Too busy living my chill civil life in America instead of manufacturing nonsense from a proxy-war-mongering standpoint. The New Yorker has not been credible, in my eyes, since Kelefa Sanneh published a puff piece on Earl Sweatshirt.

I’m out.



Author: MrKandyba

Father, award-winning investigative journalist, content producer, bio writer and aspiring author. Proud alumnus of Cal State Northridge journalism department. Completing graduate certificate in public relations at University of Maryland University College to go with one in int'l trade.

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