Meet F.Stokes, a killer rapper from Madison, WI that I interviewed for Motherboard awhile back. I had a few shots sitting on my computer, so I thought I’d just plop them into a post for you all to enjoy.

And while you’re at it, follow him on Twitter.

As always, thanks for checking out Blackfaded.

Yesterday was the Fourth of July, which, if you haven’t heard of it, is kind of important considering it’s the day we declared independence from those evil Brits. Apparently, a whole lot of young people have no idea what I’m talking about.

Shocking, ain’t it?

Of course, I don’t associate with that particular brand of un-American asshole.

Instead, I made sure to enjoy the holiday with people well-versed in those most American of necessities: booze, barbecue and bunting.

We even had a Canadian in our midst! Guess which one.

Here’s a visual metaphor to help you decide.

Proof that the terrorists are losing.

He must always wear sunglasses for he is the male Medusa.

If you guessed “air-tuning an air guitar” you’d actually be right.

A Brooklyn rooftop, Trader Joe’s beer, and a plethora of jorts are all important ingredients for hipster production, but could those jerkasses put together ‘cue like this?

Well, maybe, but only if they sold it for $15 out of a ratty truck.

It really doesn’t get much better than this.

Good vibes for miles.

And with perfect weather, it was surprising there weren’t more people on the surrounding roofs.

I never ended up talking to any of this crowd of aggressive thigh-barers.

Although this sentiment might be a bit much.

People who hate on High Life are clowns. Understated class is all it is.

This man? Not a High Lifer.

Oh, yep. There’s your problem.

But come on man, no need to get arrogant about it.

This is my soon-to-be roommate. She’s awesome, especially when she notices I’m trying to sneak a photo and snaps into a pose.

There are good odds that they are discussing either zebras or Corgi hybrids.

You could literally see her being crushed under the weight of trying to be cool.

For some folks, it’s just innate.

No joke, he just posed like this for three minutes.

This is a much better look. My current life goal is to replace the hand over the heart during the national anthem, Pledge of Allegiance, etc. with flexed guns.

I assure you that the serenity of this photo is not at all reflective of the Springsteen and Skynyrd-fueled environment.

See! Miles of smiles.

Giggle City!

This is my lovely girlfriend. She does model poses whenever she wants.

This.

Impromptu dance party? Yes please!

I pretended to be the Site Safety Officer, whom those of you familiar with The Embassy may remember as Juan (and Juan’s slick-back). No one fell off the roof, so I’m still batting 1.000!

A beautiful day transitioned into a gorgeous evening.

People seemed pretty darn content.

Although we were all waiting excitedly for some fireworks.

Luckily, the show went for an hour.

We unfortunately didn’t catch too many of the Manhattan fireworks, but it didn’t matter. We had a light show all night long.

In case you didn’t hear about it, New York legalized gay marriage last Friday. It was kind of a big deal. It also coincided with the NYC Pride weekend, which culminates every year in a huge parade through Manhattan. Having been to São Paulo’s last year, which is the biggest on Earth and a massive shitshow, I figured it’d be worth checking out. My girlfriend was also quite interested in attending, but she said we needed to bring booze.

Which is how I ended up waving a camera around like an idiot in the middle of a rib-crushing crowd with a five-liter bag of Almaden chablis in my backpack.

I was a little disappointed that, compared to São Paulo, there was an actual distinction between the marchers and the crowd.

But it’s tough to knock corporate-sponsored pony play.

I imagine the vast majority of people’s parade shots have hands in them. I like this, however, because of the bird in the pink halter top. She’s vibing hard.

This is one of those moments where I’m not sure if the camera not focusing properly is the worst thing. If I was a real big-time photographer I wouldn’t have the same policewoman’s head in every damn picture.

Ugh. Now you’re focusing on her too. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.

Hey, the senator’s in town! And he’s wearing pink!

This is probably the best shot of the day. In between the large groups and floats were the occasional privateers. I have no idea what would inspire a couple to pay to walk alone, beaks on and tits out. Click to enlarge. I know you want to.

Honestly I don’t think these guy even knew a parade was going on. He just accessorized with the flag and kept cruising.

The leather kilt is one of many reasons gay wardrobes are just better.

“Bumblebee Men and Leather Daddies” is a great homecoming theme.

Blame it on the mind-rattling house and water-bottle-fulls of wine, but I think these guys wanted to party with Amber and I. I was down.

Isn’t this sweaty man famous?

I was really surprised to see the NYPD out in force. That was legitimately cool.

And the band? Sweet.

This is not a good photo, but I was pretty amused to see MasterCard rolling in a Rolls. “Hey, look, our arbitrary interest rate hikes are really paying off!”

We climbed on top of a phone booth and I managed to suck down some sweet Almaden and rattle off one shot from a proper angle before a surly old bat with a badge forced us down.

Once again, the quality of the photo is far less important the the subject matter. I have no idea what this person had to do with anything. It was like an alien, tasked with doing recon of the Earth, had based all of his background research on rap cartoons and, having accidentally teleported into the middle of the parade, tried his best to fit in.

Together 54 years? Congrats to that.

Gay, gray and here to stay.

Another solo wanderer. The guy who invented LSD dreamt of this man the night before his big breakthrough in the lab.

What do progressive faux-lesbian moms with $600 scooters who are obsessed with the NYT comments section have to do with a gay parade?

Oh yeah, gay elementary school! What? This cramped my style. More wine, please.

Ahh, that’s more like it.

One of these guys looked like Michael Schumacher to me, but I think every German looks like him.

What is the hetero equivalent to this? Dad-style button-ups with all-over hot rod prints?

It was nice to see Bon Jovi lending his support.

Of all the groups walking by, I wanted to join the Asians most. These guys were fucking fireballs.

These signs? Filthy. I love it.

Who even thinks to use a suitcase as a prop?

Speaking of props, nothing like some good lens comedy. Zooooooom.

I’ve never seen a boob shaped like that.

This is the kind of pony play I can support.

Um, holyfuckingshit.

After a half bag of wine, I think we may have had lunch somewhere. Curry maybe? I don’t know. But somehow we gave up on the parade and started searching for the after party.

We also went for coffee at what I guess was the Green Cafe. I was admittedly trashed, but it was only because my backpack was so heavy. I had to drink quickly to lighten the load.

CUPCAKES.

Some people held their composure a little better.

We met up with a couple friends and ended up somewhere in the Village. Maybe. Either way, people were getting loose.

Well, most people were getting loose.

Oh, here we are! Cubbyhole! (I have no idea where this is).

Frosted tips and a gypsy wagon.

Everybody’s a photographer these days.

We met these guys. I have no idea what their names are. The one on the right’s started with an “I” and he had a jug of Gatorade filled with vodka with a slight pink tint.

I guess we started sharing the bag? Why?

Gays even make hobo living look fashionable.

Holding down the corner.

I’ve heard of adult babies but I thought they were usually into diaper play, not making vroom-vroom noises on their “steeds” with tough guy faces. How adorable.

WINE!

Oh yeah, there’s that vodka. Yes, I imbibed.

Where did this guy come from? Who is he?

I’m glad New Jersey came out.

Showing off abs is basically the gay Cold War.

We left that street corner and headed off looking for toilets. This cop said I couldn’t pee in a porta-potty and wouldn’t even pose for a picture.

I know I’m blackfaded when I think I can take architecture shots.

This is kinda cool though.

Somehow we snuck ourselves into a pretty nice restaurant to pee, then ended up in a park. Why does she look so pensive?

Because the park was overrun with circus kids with overly supportive parents!

I don’t even know what’s going on here.

This is a very jock-baiting t-shirt.

But they gave lessons!

We didn’t give them any wine, I swear. The most confusing part of all of this is that it’s still light out during this shot, but we didn’t get home until midnight or so. I know we got lost on the train and ended up near Queens (rather than south Brooklyn) but that’s about it. Fuck it. Thanks Almaden!

I posted this ad on Craigslist a few weeks ago in preparation for an Embassy holiday party. Of course, I no longer live at the vaunted Embassy, and wasn’t sure if I was even going to make the party, but such is life. If I may quote:

The Embassy is Looking for Attractive, Fun Women with Loose Morals – mm4ww – 23 (The Strand, Hermosa Beach)

The world-famous Embassy – host to scintillating events such as “Zebra and Short Shorts” and the “Pumpking Smash Party Bash” on The Strand, is hosting an ultimate holiday character party, and we want you there!

Us:
Four dudes who do dude stuff. We party our fucking faces off and run when the cops show up.

You:
Good-looking young woman/women who want to rage at the beach and get other women at the party topless for our photographer friend Doctor’s upcoming show.

LET’S GET RETARDED AS FUCK

Here’s what I got back:

Getting retarded as fuck sounds fuuuunnnn =) !

Holy fucking hell.

Alan A.

Sales Manager

BLG Balboa Law Group

For reasons I’d rather not discuss, I’m currently looking for a job. Craigslist is a hell of a resource for all sorts of commerce, but the job listings are making me suicidal. Sure, there is some measure of irony to be found when ads in the writing/editing section read:

LOOKNG FRO EPEERISENCED EDITORS/COPYWR IGTHERS WITH MPECCABLE GRAMMER! 5+ EXWPEIRIENCE YEARS A MUST! ATTETNITON TOO DETAIL MUST BE YOU’RE TOP PRIOTYS!

But after wading my way through this crap constantly, I’m purely furious. When the standard of professionalism is so violently low, and people ass-rape English (in all-caps, no less), I can’t help but wonder why the hell they are employed and I’m not.

Thus, using these job posters as my sample pool, I’ve decided that absolutely no one who is currently employed by a company that is so pathetic as to be willing to post garbage on Craigslist is qualified for their job.  If they buck they system, I want to too. So I start applying to whatever the hell I want. Here are some of my emails from today. They get weirder as I begin to care less.

Hey California Chicken Cafe,

I’m writing to express interest in the positions available with your restaurant. I’m a recent UCSB graduate who just moved to the area and I’m looking to get back into the food industry. I have managerial experience in the kitchen as well as experience in both the front and back of the house, catering and limited bartending. I’m willing to fill in wherever you’ve got space because I need to find some income soon before I have to start turning tricks on the street. I also love chicken to an almost uncomfortable degree, so I would be very happy to surround myself with healthy, grilled poultry all day. The very thought is making my mouth water.

My resume and a stunning photo are attached.

Cheers,
Derek Mead

Dearest Jenny,

As a former homeless man, I know how valuable clean clothes can be. With that in mind, I want to do whatever I can to help people do their laundry as conveniently as possible. Hell, I’ll come out and say it: I want to develop a fleet of successful laundries, and make some serious cash while doing it. If you’re interested in that last sentence in the least bit, then I’m your man.

Now, I’m not DRE licensed, but in this economy, who cares? All we need to do is hook up some washers and dryers, and the quarters will come flying like silver rain. I’m getting goosebumps just thinking about it. As for speaking in Korean or Chinese, I’m not exactly fluent, but last time I was in K-Town I was pretty successful in conversation at the strip club. I figure the same vocabulary applies.

Money is waiting to be made. Let’s do this!

My resume and a headshot are attached. If you need anything more, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Cheers,
Derek Mead

Hey Brother,

I’m writing to express interest to your ad “Ready To Make Top $$$$$$” on Craiglist. Excuse me for being crass, but let me answer as succinctly as possible: FUCK YES I’M READY TO MAKE $$$$$$$!

Background:
My whole life I’ve wanted to “make it rain” in a strip club. Like Adam “Pac-Man” Jones, I’d like to walk into a bar full of naked women while wearing a Hello Kitty backpack full of tens of thousands of singles and just throw paper at every good looking girl in the building, whether they are a professional dancer or not. I lie awake at night wondering how I can make this happen, and now my prayers have been answered: taking one (or all) of the three positions available with your firm. You ask me if I want to take my income to the next tax bracket and tell me that your top earner makes 50K per month? I say hogwash. I’m moving up two brackets and making 100K a month. It’s that simple: I love money, and I want the opportunity to get make as much as I can.

Qualifications:
I’m well-spoken, attractive and quite smooth. I’m also a phenomenally gifted peer pressurer, and can convince anyone to do whatever I want. Translate that to sales, and BOOM, I’m your top earner. Combined with my already-professed desire to get rich, what other qualifications do I need?

My resume and a photo are attached.

Cheers,
Derek

Re: EXPIRENCED LOAN NEGOCIATOR FOR LOAN MOFICATOR COMPANY.
MUST SPEAK FLUENT ENGLISH AND SPANISH

To whom it may concern,

I’m writing to express interest in the bank negotiator position available with your moficator company as advertised on Craigslist. I feel that I am perfectly qualified for the position because I am an unbelievable haggler. For example, last week a telemarketer called trying to sell me an automatic cat feeder, and by the end of the phone call the woman was convinced to sell me her car for a dollar. With the feeder in the trunk!

In this type of position, a successful candidate must have one important quality: a complete lack of respect for banks. Sure, they try to act high and mighty, but when we’re talking loans, I don’t give a fuck who’s in on the conference call. I’m a tiger, and if those banks don’t feed me some quality meat, I’ll attack. They don’t want to renegotiate our clients’ loans in a manner favorable to us? See how they pay off their Camry when we stop paying the fucking loan all together.

It’s not below me to bust out some theatrics to help negotiations. The media hates all the banks anyway, so let’s have join our fight! Say Joe Billionaire will not come down the half-percent our client needs to keep paying her grandma’s life support bills. Time for a mother fucking hunger strike right outside Joe’s office. If poor Granny Jane can’t be kept on life support, by God I’ll put myself there in her place. That’s how much I care about your clients, and I’m not even hired yet. Imagine the heat I’ll be bringing every day once I actually get paid for it.

My resume is attached.

Regards,
Derek Mead

By the way, I’ve already gotten a call back from the last one. My Spanish is too bad to understand what the job entails, but I think I’m hired.