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Rucka Rucka Ali

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twitter.com/itsRucka:

    Introducing RUCKA’s WORLD… the COMIC!!!!

    Introducing RUCKA’s WORLD… the COMIC!!!!

    — 1 year ago with 2 notes
    #rucka ali  #ruckas world  #comic  #funny  #pizza delivery  #puppet  #nuckas 
    Nice to be Featured on Amazon. Finally a Brotha makin it on the Internet.

    Nice to be Featured on Amazon. Finally a Brotha makin it on the Internet.

    — 2 years ago with 5 notes
    #rucka  #ali  #ruckasworld  #my names obama  #funny  #nuckas 
    The Hypocrisy of Hurricanes (and it’s Racist)


    Seven years ago, America was hit by a real bitch of a hurricane named Katrina. She drenched New Orleans and flooded the homes of many folks. You might be thinking, “Great! They can spend the next seven years making insurance claims.” But here’s the catch: They were BLACK.

    Lives were torn by this tragic weather. People were drowning in the streets where they had previously only gotten shot. FEMA, a government flood-relief program, rushed to the scene with hopes of helping, only to find that the people floating in the giant puddles were not White. “This is a catastrophe,” a statement issued by FEMA read, “and we wish that we could do something to help the situation. Unfortunately, the people in the water are African-American, and fetching them out might imply that they cannot swim. Our hands are tied.”

    A handful of celebrities with projects to promote began raising awareness of the travesty in New Orleans. Mike Myers, star of Austin Powers 3: Out of Ideas, appeared on TV alongside young Christian rapper Kanye West to beg ordinary middle-to-lower-class people for monetary donations. Kanye West, previously a staunch Bush supporter, shocked the world with his “George Bush hates niggas” comment. Mike Myers, shocked to hear a Black guy blame anyone White for anything, was speechless. Chris Tucker then chimed in, “I have no movies to promote right now, so we’ll be back after these messages,” before the TV program cut to a commercial for flood insurance.

    Flash-forward to today. The Katrina victims are all safe and dry in their government trailers, Kanye is now Muslim, and droves of White people over the age of 50 are in Florida for the Republican National Convention. It’s a wonderful place and time for some decent, well-dressed rich guys to congregate, drink some ginger ale, and nod at one another in mutual “We’re White” comradery. And then, like a van full of chess club dorks, Hurricane Isaac shows up to piss on the Party.

    Well-prepared and attentive to weather forecasts, the GOP canceled the first day of their Convention. This means that the long-awaited first day of convening was postponed from Monday, the 27th, to Tuesday, the 28th. As if they haven’t suffered enough, the hurricane now forces the Repubs to spend the next 24 hours locked in their Five Star hotels, sipping coffee and paying attention to the ever-low stock market, instead of enjoying the Florida sun and nude beaches.

    Where’s the outcry? Does the world not feel the pain of these hurricane victims as they had so mercifully rushed to take pity on the displaced Katrina-hit residents? Why hasn’t Hollywood held a marathon to help these folks? Where’s Kanye West with a powerful “Barack Obama doesn’t care about crackers” remark? Has this country lost the compassion that it seemed to have just seven short years ago?

    Please pray for Florida. Pray and reflect on the hypocrisy of the public’s selective activism when it comes to hurricane relief. I, for one, will be relieved to learn Hurricane Isaac has moved on to a poorer, less significant area of the country, leaving Florida to baste in the influx of White Republican men and their trophy wives. May Tuesday bring better weather for the victims of Isaac. Amen.

    (Source: ruckasworld.com)

    — 2 years ago with 3 notes
    #ruckas  #nuckas  #nucka nation  #rucka ali  #florida  #rnc  #republican  #democrat  #election 2012  #romney  #obama  #funny  #parody  #spoof  #katrina  #isaac  #race  #rich  #dnc  #politics  #current events 
    "Jihad Me at Hello" by Zayn Malik Chapter 1: Born in a Burka

      I was born in 1968 in Staradrek, Pakistan, a small village outside the prominent town of Q’nanada. My parents had enough money to send me to school, where I learned to throw grenades and jump in front of bullets. We were a simple people, living in a much simpler time than now. My father, Mustafa Malik, fought bravely in the 1975 Raysarayata, in which our community resisted the installation of an imperialist sewage system. He was publicly honored by the village Kamishina for successfully setting off bombs on six trains. It was a proud moment for myself, my sisters and brothers, my mother, and my father’s other five wives. Sadly, the neighboring village of Meksakeen lost their village baker in the last train bombing, and so they raided our village for food. The Meksakayans killed our village accountant, which led our army to spend the next decade attempting to capture Meksakeen’s calculator.

                It was a horrid time of turmoil and bloodshed. Several of my little brothers managed to carry out suicide bombings close to Meksakayan bases, which were my family’s few happy moments during the war. Our forces kidnapped the Meksakayan commando’s fourth wife, which was known to be his favorite (rumor was, she was still uncircumcised). After our village city council raped her for a couple of weeks, she was publically hung in the village square. This resulted in the Meksakayans firing their missile at us. Fortunately, it hit the village nursery and so our army was left unharmed.

    The violence continued until 1986, when the two villages declared Q’mbaya. We were finally at peace, albeit a bitter one. It was time to reassemble our tents and return to normal living. My father, a clever merchant, saw the ceasefire as an opportunity to travel abroad on business. He sold his donkey, his boots, and several of my sisters, and bought a plane ticket to Great Satan. After receiving special permission from the village Sheik to fly without hijacking the plane, my father stole a camel and traveled for three months to the nearest airport. He was going to make history.

                My father landed in Ellay, a giant American village that is as tall as it is wide. The glass structures in the village are held in place by the dark magic of Sodomites and Jews, and they can be seen from a thousand steps away. It is an evil village, but a prosperous one. My father still speaks of the nasty stench of the village, and how the only place he could bare to smell was inside of a taxicab. He bore through the misery of the town. At night, he slept at LAX, which seemed to serve as both an airport and as the African Embassy.

                In East Ellay, my father encountered warring African tribes in battle. The Crip Tribe was fighting for Turf, their supposed god. The other tribe, the Blud Tribe, was upset by a provocative act of steppeen.  The battle ended abruptly, as a band of Po-Po militias rode by in a steel donkey and shot both tribes down. My father then crept over to an African corpse and removed its shoes. They were called Nike shoes, a coveted Chinese child-made form of footwear that African tribesmen in America consider precious.

                It was then time for my father, Mustafa Malik, to return to Pakistan. He had acquired what he needed: a pair of Nikes. That very pair would be duplicated and multiplied, then sold in Pakistani marketplaces to consumers with a fine taste for African-American fashion. His brilliant business venture made him the wealthiest man in Pakistan. The Malik Nike imitations are still sold today. If you have ever bought Nikes in the Middle East, you can thank my father.

                With his newfound wealth, Mustafa soon grew tired of Staradrek. He no longer found the village puddle to be a sufficient place of bathing. The sandpaper slide no longer seemed desirable for fornication with his many wives (he now had purchased an additional twenty six women, ranging in age from four to nineteen). My father decided that it was time he move to a much more comfortable part of the Muslim world: London.

    (Source: ruckasworld.com)

    — 2 years ago with 7 notes
    #rucka  #ali  #ruckasworld  #nuckas  #nucka nations  #zayn malik  #one direction  #1d  #directioners  #novel  #.  #terror  #terrorist  #pakistan  #middle east  #osama bin laden  #taliban 
    My album is featured on iTunes “Comedy Classics.” I guess I’m pretty old school huh? #NotComplainingTho

    My album is featured on iTunes “Comedy Classics.” I guess I’m pretty old school huh? #NotComplainingTho

    — 2 years ago
    #rucka ali  #im black you're white  #comedy  #itunes  #charts  #clearly parodies  #nuckas 

    Call Me Maybe PARODY “My Name’s Obama”

    (Source: dailymotion.com)

    — 2 years ago with 4 notes
    #rucka  #ali  #nuckas  #obama  #politics  #funny  #election 2012  #romney  #spoof  #carly rae jepsen 
    RIP Rodney King. Survived LAPD Beating, but Couldn’t Swim.

    If you’re like me, you helped burn down LA and steal TVs in 1992. It was something we had to do, in the name of Civil Rights.

    At the center of the Riots was Rodney King, a man that invented “Videotaping police brutality with your iPhone and posting it online” long before the advent of the iPhone, and when “online” was a dial-up luxury of the government, military and computer nerds. Yes, kids, back then, only nerds were into computers.

    The video of Rodney getting his ass beat by the po-pos went “Viral,” which back then meant a VHS tape being dropped off at Channel 7’s office and getting aired around the country the next day.

    The cops were arrested and later found Not Guilty, on the grounds of the infamous “3 Fifths of a 2x4” Clause of California’s Constitution, which stated Negros can get hit with anything smaller than a Bus Stop. (The Clause was later removed by Governor Schwarzenegger, to win over disgruntled Gary Coleman voters).

    Like true Patriots (as in the football team, not as in decent folks willing to fight for what’s right with an ounce of integrity) the populace of LA began to burn down the city. Most people regard it as a Race Riot, although there were plenty of white guys dressed like Axl Rose schlepping stereos out of Circuit City.

    Rodney King, whose only crime was driving at 150mph while drunk on Crack and resisting arrest, uttered a question that shook up the world (and which he probably stole from Sesame Street) “Can’t We All Get Along?”

    The Riots eventually winded down, as the Rioters returned to their Fortune 500 CEO jobs, leaving the Korean store owners to wonder aloud “Why I No Get Insurance??”

    Rodney King healed and faded out of the public light. He later resurfaced for a stint on the Vh1 Hippocratic Oath-free reality series Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew, along with the guy that sang “Rico Suave” and Aaron Carter. Or whoever was on that season.

    In 2012, Rodney King was given his very own CNN Special, to celebrate the 20 Year Anniversary of his beating, and to help infuriate Blacks against Trayvon killer George Zimmerman. The “Not much has changed since 1992”-themed show was hosted by some female of ambiguous race, with plenty of slow-motion footage of LA Cops snickering at the camera. Rodney King’s interview was, of course, impossible to understand for anyone 2 shades lighter than Akon, but the message was… well, I’m not sure, I speak English. Racial Experts were interviewed, of course, to confirm that America is in terrible shape. Although I was busy watching Fresh Prince reruns at the time, I assume that the Black Professor with the crazy hair was there to give his 2 cents. 

    On June 17, 2012, Rodney King was found dead at the bottom of his swimming pool, presumably drowned by the LAPD or his racist fiance. 

    Let me point out what CNN never will: The Poster Child for American Racism, the Victim of Victims, the Embodiment of Demonstration against American Evil, died in his very own swimming pool. And that, my friends, shows that America is a place where anyone can make it. Or, at least, anyone can own a swimming pool paid for with Credit Card overdraws, Crack Deals and Food Stamps.

    God Bless America.

    (Source: tmz.com)

    — 2 years ago with 2 notes
    #rodney  #king  #lapd  #riots  #1992  #race  #rucka  #ali  #nuckas  #celebrity  #rehab  #cnn  #police brutality  #rioters  #looting