Wednesday, September 19, 2018

theORIGINS: Your Beard Is Weird

theORIGINS: Your Beard Is Weird

Just for Men Just Right for Former Stars TV Sports

It was (and is) cheesy, hokey, goofy, silly and evidently effective. It was a cri de coeur to men that their moribund love lives could be resuscitated with brush-in facial hair gel. It was the Just for Men advertisement with Keith Hernandez and Walt Frazier as barside analysts of Miss Hottie’s brush-off of poor Mr. Graybeard.

“No play for Mr. Gray,” Frazier said, as if the sap had just had his jumper blocked.

It lacked the snap, crackle and pop of “Tastes great, less filling” or the cinematic Ă©lan of Mean Joe Greene’s Coca-Cola ad. But the original Hernandez-Frazier singles-bar pairing is still running after nearly five and a half years, outlasting a less-memorable follow-up — and still enriching two stars of graying age: Hernandez, 54, a Mets analyst for SportsNet New York, and Frazier, 62, MSG’s lead Knicks analyst.

“People used to stop me in the airport and ask, ‘Can I help you move?’” Hernandez said by telephone, alluding to his 1992 guest appearance on “Seinfeld.” Now, he added, “They say, ‘Rejected!’” a line that he and Frazier uttered in unison in the first ad.

Research showed Combe Inc., Just for Men’s parent company, that its target male buyers are not tired of the ad. “It’s so much a part of the vernacular,” said John Lerch, Combe’s chief advertising officer, worldwide. “The lines really play back.”

And, he said, the over-the-top production eases the reluctance of hair-coloring virgins.

The Hernandez-Frazier announcing tandem returned Saturday night (on the Jaguars-Steelers playoff game on NBC) with a new ad with the former Dallas Cowboy Emmitt Smith. He is first seen in a retirement home for running backs, rendered morose by a gray beard that, if left to thicken and grow paler, would look like Fred Sanford’s.





“Emmitt, your gray facial hair has put you in a rocking chair,” Frazier says.

“Your beard is weird,” Hernandez adds.

“Your ’stache is trash,” Frazier chimes in.

“Oooh, it’s bad,” Smith moans. His bonus for coloring his beard is not a date (although cheerleaders celebrate his renewal) but a touchdown in the Orange Bowl.

“He scores!” Hernandez and Frazier say, once more as one, from the sideline.

(Take note, viewers: Hernandez’s hair and mustache look especially black.)

Just for Men prefers that Hernandez’s mustache be of a continually dark hue; the company does not mind if he keeps his hair dark, too, but his deal is strictly facial. Two executives have the additional corporate assignment of contacting him when they spot his color fading and suggest that it is time for a touch-up.

“During the season, I use it quite a bit,” said Hernandez, the Mets’ former first baseman. “I can’t have gray.”

Lerch said, “When we remind him, it’s more like kidding him.”

Frazier needs no such reminders from the home office in White Plains; he is so fastidious about hiding the encroaching gray. But in the off-season, invisible to his gel masters, Hernandez lets the gray show in the signature facial hair that was voted the top sports mustache ever last year by the American Mustache Institute. — Richard Sandomir | New York Times





"Rap Devil" by Machine Gun Kelly | Produced by Ronny J

[Intro]
Oh my god, Ronny

[Verse 1]
Ayy, somebody grab him some clippers (zzzzt)
His fuckin' beard is weird
Tough talk from a rapper payin' millions for security a year
"I think my dad's gone crazy," yeah, Hailie, you right
Dad's always mad cooped up in the studio, yellin' at the mic
You're sober and bored, huh? (I know)
'bout to be 46 years old, dog
Talkin' 'bout "I'ma call up Trick Trick"
Man, you sound like a bitch, bitch
Man up and handle your shit (ugh)
Mad about somethin' I said in 2012
Took you six years and a surprise album just to come with a diss
Homie we get it, we know that you're the greatest rapper alive
Fuckin' dweeb, all you do is read the dictionary and stay inside
Fuck "Rap God," I'm the Rap Devil
Comin' bare-faced with a black shovel
Like the Armageddon when the smoke settle
His body next to this instrumental, I'm sayin'

[Chorus]
I'm sick of them sweatsuits and them corny hats, let's talk about it
I'm sick of you bein' rich and you still mad, let's talk about it
Both of us single dads from the Midwest, we can talk about it
Or we could get gully, I'll size up your body
And put some white chalk around it (ey)

[Verse 2]
Let's talk about the fact you actually blackballed a rapper
That's twice as young as you (let's talk about it)
Let's call Sway
Ask why I can't go on Shade 45 because of you (brrt)
Let's ask Interscope
How you had Paul Rosenberg tryin' to shelf me (huh?)
Still can't cover up the fact
Your last four albums is as bad as your selfie
Now tell me, what do you stand for? (what?)
I know you can't stand yourself (no)
Tryin' to be the old you so bad you Stan yourself (ha)
Let's leave all the beefin' to 50 (please)
Em, you're pushin' 50
Why you claimin' that I'ma call Puff?
When you the one that called Diddy (facts)
Then you went and called Jimmy (facts)
They conference called me in the morning (what?)
They told me you mad about a tweet
You wanted me to say sorry (what?)
I swear to God I ain't believe him (nah)
Please say it ain't so (no)
The big bad bully of the rap game can't take a fuckin' joke
Oh, you want some fuckin' smoke (what?)
But not literally, you'll choke
Yeah I'll acknowledge you're the GOAT
But I'm The Gunner, bitch, I got you in the scope (brra)
Don't have a heart attack now (no)
Somebody help your mans up (help)
Knees weak of old age, the real Slim Shady can't stand up!

[Chorus]
I'm sick of them sweatsuits and them corny hats, let's talk about it
I'm sick of you bein' rich and you still mad, let's talk about it
Both of us single dads from the Midwest, we can talk about it
Or we could get gully, I'll size up your body
And put some white chalk around it (ey)

[Verse 3]
Hello Marshall, my name's Colson
You should go back to Recovery
I know your ego is hurtin'
Just knowin' that all of your fans discovered me (hi)
He like, "Damn, he a younger me
Except he dresses better and I'm ugly
Always making fun of me."
Stop all the thuggery, Marshall, you livin' in luxury (damn)
Look what you done to me
Dropped an album just because of me
Damn, you in love with me!
You got money but I'm hungry
I like the diss but you won't say them lyrics out in front of me
Shout out to every rapper that's up under me
Know that I'll never do you like this fuckery
Still bitter after everyone loves you
Pull that wedgie out your dungarees (hey)
I gotta respect the OGs and I know most of 'em personally (ayy)
But you're just a bully actin' like a baby
So I gotta read you a nursery (nursery)
I'm the ghost of the future
And you're just Ebenezer Scrooge (facts)
I said on Flex anyone could get it
I ain't know it would be you

[Chorus]
I'm sick of them sweatsuits and them corny hats, let's talk about it
I'm sick of you bein' rich and you still mad, let's talk about it
Both of us single dads from the Midwest, we can talk about it
Or we could get gully, I'll size up your body
And put some white chalk around it (ey)

[Bridge]
Ridin' shotty 'cause I gotta roll this dope
It's a fast road when your idols become your rivals, yeah
Never hesitate to say it to your face, I'm a asshole
Bitch-ass motherfucker
Oh my god, Ronny
Fuck Kells!

[Verse 4]
We know you get nervous, Rabbit
I see Momma's spaghetti all over your sweater
I wish you would lose yourself on the records
That you made a decade ago, they were better
Accordin' to them, you're a national treasure
To me, you're as soft as a feather
The type to be scared to ask Rihanna for her number
Just hold her umbrella-ella-ella
"I'm not afraid," okay Oscar the Grouch, chill on the couch (fuck)
You got an Oscar, damn
Can anyone else get some food in their mouth? (For real)
They made a movie about you, you're in everybody's top ten
You're not getting better with time
It's fine, Eminem, put down the pen
Or write an apology
Over the simple fact, you had to diss to acknowledge me
I am the prodigy
How could I even look up to you? You ain't as tall as me
5'8" and I'm 6'4", seven punches hold your head still
Last time you saw 8 Mile was at home on a treadmill
You were named after a candy
I was named after a gangster (brr)
And don't be a sucker and take my verse off of Yelawolf's album, thank ya (thank ya)
I just wanna feed my daughter
You tryna stop the money to support her
You the one always talkin' 'bout the action
Text me the addy, I'm pullin' up scrappin'
And I'm by my fuckin' self, what's happenin'?
EST captain, salute me or shoot me
That's what he's gonna have to do to me
When he realizes there ain't shit he could do to me
Everybody always hated me, this isn't anything new to me
Yeah there's a difference between us
I got all of my shit without Dre producin' me (ayy)
I know you're not used to me
Usually one of your disses should ruin me
But bitch I'm from Cleveland
Everybody quiet this evenin', I'm readin' the eulogy (shh)
Dropped an album called Kamikaze
So that means he killed him
Already fucked one rapper's girl this week
Don't make me call Kim

[Chorus]
I'm sick of them sweatsuits and them corny hats, let's talk about it
I'm sick of you bein' rich and you still mad, let's talk about it
Both of us single dads from the Midwest, we can talk about it
Or we could get gully, I'll size up your body
And put some white chalk around it

Rap God -vs- Rap Devil




"Killshot" by Eminem | Produced by IllaDaProducer

[Intro]
You sound like a bitch, bitch
Shut the fuck up!
When your fans become your haters
You done?
Fuckin' beard's weird
Alright
You yellin' at the mic, fuckin' weird beard
We doin' this once
You yellin' at the mic, your beard's weird
Why you yell at the mic? (Illa)

[Verse]
Rihanna just hit me on a text
Last night I left hickeys on her neck
Wait, you just dissed me? I'm perplexed
Insult me in a line, compliment me on the next
Damn, I'm really sorry you want me to have a heart attack
Was watchin' 8 Mile on my NordicTrack
Realized I forgot to call you back
Here's that autograph for your daughter, I wrote it on a Starter cap
Stan, Stan, son
Listen, man, Dad isn't mad
But how you gonna name yourself after a damn gun
And have a man-bun?
The giant's woke, eyes open, undeniable
Supplyin' smoke, got the fire stoked
Say you got me in a scope, but you grazed me
I say one call to Interscope and you're Swayze
Your reply got the crowd yelling, "Woo!"
So before you die let's see who can out-petty who
With your corny lines ("Slim, you're old")—ow, Kelly, ooh
But I'm 45 and I'm still outselling you
By 29, I had three albums that had blew
Now let's talk about somethin' I don't really do
Go in someone's daughter's mouth stealin' food
But you're a fuckin' mole hill
Now I'ma make a mountain out of you, woo!
Ho, chill, actin' like you put the chrome barrel to my bone marrow
Gunner? Bitch, you ain't a bow and arrow
Say you'll run up on me like a phone bill, sprayin' lead (brrt)
Playin' dead, that's the only time you hold still (hold up)
Are you eating cereal or oatmeal?
What the fuck's in the bowl, milk? Wheaties or Cheerios?
'Cause I'm takin' a shit in 'em, Kelly, I need reading material
…Dictionary…
"Yo, Slim, your last four albums sucked
Go back to Recovery," oh shoot, that was three albums ago
What do you know? Oops
Know your facts before you come at me, lil' goof
Luxury, oh, you broke, bitch? Yeah, I had enough money in '02
To burn it in front of you, ho
Younger me? No, you the wack me, it's funny but so true
I'd rather be 80-year-old me than 20-year-old you
'Til I'm hitting old age
Still can fill a whole page with a 10-year-old's rage
Got more fans than you in your own city, lil' kiddy, go play
Feel like I'm babysitting Lil Tay
Got the Diddy okay so you spent your whole day
Shootin' a video just to fuckin' dig your own grave
Got you at your own wake, I'm the billy goat
You ain't never made a list next to no Biggie, no Jay
Next to Taylor Swift and that Iggy ho, you about to really blow
Kelly, they'll be putting your name
Next to Ja, next to Benzino—die, motherfucker!
Like the last motherfucker sayin' Hailie in vain
Alien brain, you Satanist (yeah)
My biggest flops are your greatest hits
The game's mine again and ain't nothin' changed but the locks
So before I slay this bitch I, mwah, give Jade a kiss
Gotta wake up Labor Day to this (the fuck?)
Bein' rich-shamed by some prick usin' my name for clickbait
In a state of bliss 'cause I said his goddamn name
Now I gotta cock back, aim
Yeah, bitch, pop Champagne to this! (pop)
It's your moment
This is it, as big as you're gonna get, so enjoy it
Had to give you a career to destroy it
Lethal injection
Go to sleep six feet deep, I'll give you a B for the effort
But if I was three-foot-eleven
You'd look up to me, and for the record
You would suck a dick to fuckin' be me for a second
Lick a ballsack to get on my channel
Give your life to be as solidified
This mothafuckin' shit is like Rambo when he's out of bullets
So what good is a fuckin' machine gun when it's out of ammo?
Had enough of this tatted-up mumble rapper
How the fuck can him and I battle?
He'll have to fuck Kim in my flannel
I'll give him my sandals
'Cause he knows, long as I'm Shady he's gon' have to live in my shadow
Exhausting, letting off on my offspring
Lick a gun barrel, bitch, get off me!
You dance around it like a sombrero, we can all see
You're fuckin' salty
'Cause Young Gerald's balls-deep inside of Halsey
Your red sweater, your black leather
You dress better, I rap better
That a death threat or a love letter?
Little white toothpick
Thinks it's over a pic, I just don't like you, prick
Thanks for dissing me
Now I had an excuse on the mic to write "Not Alike"
But really, I don't care who's in the right
But you're losin' the fight you picked
Who else want it? Kells—attempt fails! Budden—L's!
Fuckin' nails in these coffins as soft as Cottonelle
Killshot, I will not fail, I'm with the Doc still
But this idiot's boss pops pills and tells him he's got skills
But, Kells, the day you put out a hit's the day Diddy admits
That he put the hit out that got Pac killed, ah!
I'm sick of you bein' wack
And still usin' that mothafuckin' Auto-Tune
So let's talk about it (let's talk about it)
I'm sick of your mumble rap mouth
Need to get the cock up out it
Before we can even talk about it (talk about it)
I'm sick of your blonde hair and earrings
Just 'cause you look in the mirror and think
That you're Marshall Mathers (Marshall Mathers)
Don't mean you are, and you're not about it
So just leave my dick in your mouth and keep my daughter out it

[Outro]
You fuckin'—oh
And I'm just playin', Diddy

You know I love you
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