The Therapy Episode


With tensions building during these past few months, due in part to the endless grind and the pressure to keep giving you that work, we decided to take a step back and have an outside person give us advice. Dr. Maya Pettiford sized up our personalities, what makes us tick, what sets us off and how we can continue to win. Reality radio doesn’t get realer.

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“Why Did I Get Married?” Pt. 1

Never imagined I would have to be responsible for so many people living under one roof. Life was so much simpler then. When I was running dolo. For self. Like, I could leave my home on Monday morning and not have to come back until a week later. And my home was fresh too. One bedroom apartment on 7th between Lincoln and Berkeley in Park Slope. When rents in New York were cheaper, and neighborhoods like that had more color. New York was banging too. The club scene was crazy, and I loved the many flavors of women the city had to offer. I finally started making some decent money and the city was my playground. Kniccas was feeling so good we even named our crew the Mack Pack. Sounds corney now, but believe me how we lived up to the name. One of our boys owned a ginormous brownstone in Prospect Heights. It was massive. Eventually his wife convinced him to put it on the market as they, with kids in tow moved to the suburbs of Chicago.

My cousin Fritz, a member of our crew, was overseeing the affairs of the Brownstone. Being that it took almost two years to sell the house and we were young and full of ourselves, we did what any fly 20 something year old dudes dudes with keys to a big house would do, we started throwing parties. House parties in Brooklyn is magic, the right parties though. We’d set up the dj set, pool our monies to cop liquors and beer kegs, made sure the women to men ratio was always in favor of the fairer sex, just cause we didn’t want a hard leg fest resulting in niggas fighting and all damaging the crib, and we’d be set. After a couple of joints, the rep got bigger and eventually we’d have the whole place packed, people spilling out onto the street. Regular 9-5 cats would be building with music industry execs and maybe a handful of street hustlers. And trust also, that at the end of every event, I’d find something soft and warm to hold on to, back at my crib a coupla blocks away, as the sun started to rise.


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