The Moist Graffiti Holiday Wish List, Part I


CHAPPY CHANUKKKAH INTERNET. Dr. Socktopus has awoken from a deep turkey coma to spackle a fresh layer of creamy frosted wisdom on the Crumbly Cakes of the Moist Graffiti. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed a restful Danksgiving with family, trusted friends, or strangers downtown at the Star of Hope. Some would say that the best part of Thanksgiving is the end, for it heralds the arrival of a delightful series of similar but religiously unaffiliated gift-giving holidays. Two excuses to get loaded and headbutt our uncles in the same quarter? Outstanding.

AS I’M SURE you’re aware, we at the Moist Graffiti are metal thrashing pagans and as such celebrate the Winter Solstice.* That said, we take pride in maintaining Hillary Clinton-like levels of political correctness. To demonstrate our religious tolerance, our investors have instructed us to sincerely indicate that we are down with Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Ramadan (when temporally applicable), and miscellaneous other holidays. Which I think I just did.

INTERWEBS. I heard you ain’t been properly slumbering lately, and it’s not the Nick Sabin UT** rumors that are denying Morpheus his take. Indeed, you’ve been up late wondering what the Seductive Sorcerers of the Moist Graffiti, and by proxy all of humanity, desire most in our covetous hearts this holiday season.

STOP RIGHT THERE. Don’t take out a payday loan to buy a Playstation 26 for your ex-boyfriend’s nephew’s babysitter. Don’t go to the mall, or anything that looks like one. Don’t tear up when a little kid in a ripped up Carhartt jacket asks a mall Santa to make his mommy and daddy love each other again. Don’t go to Yankee Candle and buy a jar of pine-scented lard from a diabetic woman. Just don’t. Breathe deeply. Take the keys out of your KIA Soul. It’ll all make sense soon.

WITHOUT further adieu, it is my pleasure to present the Moist Graffiti Holiday Wish List, Part I:

1 – LEGO Imperial Star Destroyer – Model 6211 (Stocking Stuffer)

There'll be no one to stop us this time.

There’ll be no one to stop us this time.

NOW YOU MAY be thinking, “But Doc Socks, I heard building LEGO models slowly restores your virginity, and not like that surgical procedure named after Sharon Osbourne.” You are partially correct, young Jedi. However, your wisdom is incomplete,  as decades of sexual deprivation is a worthy price to pay in exchange for commanding enough firepower to control an entire star system. Throw in some Stormtroopers, a totally sweet Darth Vader miniature, and not one but TWO Imperial officers, and you’ve got everything you need to simulate a Force-choking scene sufficient to erase any memories of your most recent eHarmony blunder. More importantly, when you finally meet one of those dozen or so people out there who want to take part in your ersatz struggles for galactic supremacy, you know they’re either chimos in the hunt or true friends. Keep the latter for all time.

REAL TALK though, if you get this or another bitchin’ Galactic Empire*** LEGO, let me and Schnitzel B. know so we can come sleep over and act out all the fan fiction I wrote at camp over the years. Seriously. None of that Rebel Alliance bullshit tho. End Real Talk.

2 – All the Copies of Yeezus Left in the World and a Jerrycan of Diesel Fuel

"Blood on the Leaves" plays when the vinyl reaches 451 degrees F.

“Blood on the Leaves” can be heard faintly when the vinyl reaches 451 degrees F.

IN A RARE DISPLAY of restraint, the executive editors Immortal Emperors of the Moist Graffiti have largely withheld commenting on the unlicensed sequel to the Terms of Endearment known as Yeezus. When it first came out, critics were (rightfully) bamboozled into believing it was a masterstroke. After all, it’s an album that demands one let it cure in the mind like a leg of Jamon Iberico, with the hope that time will bring deeper flavors to the surface. For better and then for worse, it was given the benefit of the doubt. I personally had been patiently waiting for said subtext to appear to me in a dream like the Ghost of Christmas Kanye or some shit. Alas, with all the advance warning of Operation Fall Weiss, my solitary vigil was crushed like the Polish Air Force by the appearance of this:

THE HELL AM I ‘POSED to think, internet? Any critics who previously asserted that Ye had created high art with Yeezus were instantaneously discredited by the fact that the original “Bound 2” video, i.e. the one without Seth Rogan’s incredible Chewbacca chest, was not made in jest. Some bitch-ass pundits with journalism degrees with from Vanderbilt have argued that Kanye is merely continuing his recent efforts to radicalize American tropes (the West, motorcycles, Kim K’s body double) in order to take them away from his perceived oppressors. Granted, I don’t drink a lot of PBR and there is nary a cardigan in my closet, but I simply cannot see past the Jupiter-like volume of egotism at the core of this piece of shit video.

Fuckouttahere with this.

SO I FIGURE we should probably just provoke Jeromey Romey Romey Rome into explaining himself by gathering all the physical vestiges of Yeezus in one place and setting them ablaze. And if he actually gives a compelling reason for filming the “Bound 2” video, at least we’ll be warm. MERRY CHRISTMAS YE!

3 – A Pair of Illegal Black-Footed Kittens (One Male, One Female Plz, Kthx)

Hohly shit that is cute.

Hoh-ly shit that is cute.

I THINK IT’S safe to say that we’ve been spending too much time on various rappers’ Instagram accounts, because this year me and Schnitzel B. are pooling our shooting stars, 11:11’s and birthday candles to wish for some illegal exotic pets. I mean comon, baby tigers and lions look like stuffed Pikachus and shit when they’re gettin’ loved on by rappers, as evidenced by Exhibit A:

This li'l guy is clearly disgusted to be in the grasp of such an inferior emcee.

This li’l guy is clearly disgusted to be in the grasp of such an inferior emcee.

And Exhibit B:

Not pictured: Rick Ross's giant plate of chicken wings, lobster thermidor, and mashed potatoes.

Not pictured: Rick Ross’s giant plate of chicken wings, lobster thermidor, and rack of lamb.

THE CATCH is that me and Schnitz can’t afford some damn Sumatran Death Tiger that will grow up to be an 850 pound mammoth slayer in a few years. Enter Felis Nigripes aka the Black-Footed Cat of Southern Africa aka the most racist-ly named creature in the Animal Kingdom. With a maximum weight of 5.5 lbs for an adult male and a range of 8.5 sq. miles, Felis  N. would be right at home in Schnitzel B.’s palatial manor in the Heights. Needless to say, we are quite excited about the prospect of slowly transforming into sweat pants-clad cat ladies. You can enjoy it too, as we’ll be Instragramming every second of our experiences, at least until the Federales close in.

WHAT’S THAT YOU SAY? Black-footed cats are highly unsociable animals that seek refuge at the slightest disturbance, and when cornered, they are known to defend themselves fiercely? Where’d you hear that? Wikipedia? You can’t trust anything on that open source web of lies. Wait, what? Owning endangered wild animals as pets is highly immoral? Psh, whatever Mom. You don’t understand me at all! No one does!

4 – An Outkast Reunion Tour and New Album

Seersucker overalls almost made the list. Almost.

Seersucker overalls almost made the list. Almost.

RAP IS ETERNALLY in a state of flux more chaotic than any other musical genre, and the present is no exception. In the past two years, its tenured professors have sequentially defected from greatness, throwing many legacies into precarious positions. Those that would crown themselves kings anew are nothing more than luxury worshiping pretenders. Although scattered rebels continue to deliver cunning tracks of pure fire, none have the wisdom or experience to be anything more than Rap Game Tyrion Lannisters, at least for now. A time of great sadness and uncertainty, indeed.

BUT THE PRE-TWITTER HISTORIES speak of a duo from Hotlanta who once benevolently lorded over all of hip-hop and some say, the entire world. Although their contemporaries labored to perfect established forms of rap, Outkast saw beyond the boundaries of genre, time and space. But as with all great partnerships, unhealed dissonance eventually drove the duo apart. Although independently they went on to produce many fine joints and Gillette razor commercials, the fracturing of their union left a great void in rap. Yet, as the above picture suggests, a new union may be forming.

One rap duo to rule them all, and in the blunt smoke bind them.

One rap duo to rule them all, and in the blunt smoke bind them.

OUR COLLECTIVE HOPES and dreams rest on this coming to fruition in the form of a reunion tour and new LP. If you believe in Christmas miracles, prayer, The Secret, Harry Potter magic or any other metaphysical forces that can help bring Outkast back together, please donate them to your friends in need at the Moist Graffiti. Unlike all of those children’s letters to God they jettison in space every year, your earnest wishes will reach their destination.


Look, I know we just asked for a spaceship, a daring act of destruction, two members of an endangered species, and deliverance from the decline of hip-hop. I’d like to say we’re finished, but given that two of the four above were included solely for the benefit of humanity, our avaricious hearts are just getting warmed up.

As always we’re grateful that you’ve chosen to kick it in the Forbidden Fortresses of the Moist Graffiti, and I’ll be back in exactly one week to continue secreting holiday cheer.

One Love,
Socktopus, Ph.D

*As a wise woman once wrote, “Winter Solstice– Christmas, for people who hate their parents.”

** “And another, a red 1964 Cadillac DeVille on 24’s, went out; and to him who sat on it, it was granted to take peace from the earth, and that men would slay one another; and a great army wreathed in foul orange was given to him.” – Revelations 6:4

***Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt, and/or other nefarious character LEGO models are also acceptable.

4 thoughts on “The Moist Graffiti Holiday Wish List, Part I

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