We need hugs, motherfuckers

Above you can view the first musical video production from the homemade hip hop collective Spacemonkeez. These motherfuckers need hugs, motherfuckers.

Introducing: The Spacemonkeez … from Space!

                  By Ed Editorson

                  ed@editor.edu

In 1994 a group of young aeronautics geniuses were sent into space to destroy an asteroid that was on a collision course with Earth. The asteroid was discovered by the Ukrainian cosmologist Dmytro Kokmyne, and thus bore the eminent skywatcher's name. The Kokmyne was still quite a distance from Earth, and Space Control officials hypothesized that a collection of very young, brilliant space pioneers, should be able to go up to destroy the Kokmyne, and then return to Earth in time to lead relatively normal and productive lives. 

The baby-faced astronauts were known by their call signs: Cell, IG88, M0L3 and George, aka Captain Engage. They embraced their dangerous task bravely, agreeing to sacrifice the best years of their lives so that the remainder of mankind could go on blissfully unaware of the death that bore down on them from the skies.

Packed closely in their spaceship, Module 93, with a screaming supply of lab monkeys to use for experiments, the unlikely crew blasted off from Earth at just over the speed of sound. Coincidentally, the route to the Kokmyne lay along the exact broadcast trajectory employed by the WBLS radio station in New York City. Thus, as Module 93 rocketed through the cosmos, it outpaced the development of urban American music by a very slight degree. When Module 93 left Earth, its inhabitants were listening to Biggie Smalls and Jay-Z, but by the time they reached the Kokmyne and began to work it, they had travelled back along the broadcast history of rap to the time when A Tribe Called Quest and Craig Mack dominated the airwaves. They would remain locked in this musical orbit for many years and the Souls of Mischief song “93 ‘til Infinity” took on a biting irony.

The astronauts, of course, had disembarked with the best technology available to them at the time. Thus, they logged all their research on some variety of magnetic tape. Forensic reviews of these “records on tapes” show that the mission was not as simple as NASA had initially predicted. The crew of Mod 93 had many adventures in the Kokmyne. During one of these, a solar singularity caused a massive fluctuation in the zero-brane of space/time. This wrinkle in the fabric of the universe briefly scrambled the particulate matter that comprised Mod 93’s inhabitants and caused a partial merging of their intelligences. The as-yet unexplained cosmic phenomenon had the unlikely result of producing a tribe of monkey prodigies, and super-smart human space scientist geniuses … who sometimes behaved like monkeys.

As the group worked on the Kokmyne they were, in effect, "parked" in orbit. This left them sitting in a static pool of WBLS broadcasts that were dominated by Yvonne Mobley's Quiet Storm and the Rap Attack—which was just fine with everyone on board. The 93 crew held nightly parties, or “jams,” that were attended by their intelligent monkey friends along with a variety of fly-ass space ladies. These parties always featured a drink consisting of narcotic algae scraped off the tails of passing comets and then dissolved in Tang. The intoxicating beverage’s scientific name was “co-habitational monkey/human/hottie drink,” but this was shortened to “co-hottie” for practical purposes.

As you have probably inferred from your continued ability to draw breath, Mod 93 destroyed the Kokmyne after nearly two decades of grueling work. They then fired their afterblasters and retraced their steps back to Earth. As they did this, they shot through 20 years of WBLS in about two days, hearing only scattered scraps of the music produced during the current millennium.

Sadly, the accelerated aging process inherent in space travel claimed the lives of the ship’s primate crew—who had shorter life expectancies than the humans. The last of the monkeys to die was a simple, lovable scamp that everyone knew as “The Chopper.” The surviving humans began to call themselves “Spacemonkeys” in tribute to the animals with whom they had shared so much.

The “Spacemonkeys” did not receive, nor did they desire, a hero’s welcome back on Earth. They were scientists first and super-awesome, good-looking, interstellar cosmos-jockeys second, so they recognized that the rest of the human race could not live happily in the knowledge that a massive brick from space was overwhelmingly likely to kill everyone next Tuesday. Instead of reveling in their success and being jocked by mad babes worldwide, the Spacemonkeys elected to go on quietly with their duty: protecting the human race from certain death. Asked by the collected governments of the world what reward they desired for their service, the Spacemonkeys issued a simple statement: “Give us cohottie, then let us party.”

Since that day the Spacemonkeys have saved the world innumerable times. During the brief periods they spend on Earth, they try to recreate the music that gave them so much pleasure while they worked on the Kokmyne. They also try to spread the message that the human race needs to party like every night is its last, because, as the Spacemonkeys well know, it probably is.

The Spacemonkey’s music is … not that good. But their hearts are in the right place, and they did save the entire human race from certain death. Do not judge them too harshly, people of Earth.

They are the Spacemonkeys … from space! It is not their fault.