BPL's theme song for Dhaka Gladiators by DJ Rahat feat. Uptown Lokolz

File Name : Go Gladiators by  DJ Rahat feat. Uptown Lokolz 

Artist : DJ Rahat feat. Uptown Lokolz 

Genre: HIPHOP

Download link : CLICK here

 

Make a kick-ass new tab page on your chrome browser !

No offence chrome is the second most popular browser in the world as well as in Bangladesh.

I always  prefer people to use Google chrome rather than Mozilla Firefox. (Okay i agree everyone has their own test). I knew that chrome does some lacking in customization unlike Firefox but it makes this up with speed and simpler layout and options.

So, the thing is recently i have used a extension in chrome called Awesome New Tab with which you can have a android desktop like feel in chromes new tab page  i mean it allows adding widget like features .one can download new widgets from the Chrome Store Which can be added on the new tab page.

So people what are you waiting for ? give it a try !  and drop your comments bellow :)

A 3 Step Guide To Those Assholes Who Thinks they're Hot Shit

Do you feel the same feeling every single time one of your full-grown friends (from both genders) comes out of the john saying “buzz ta dhore naai baal raate abar score korte hobe” or “dost amar shona/matha (in case of females) kaam kortese naa”? We know the feeling. It’s not awkward. It’s not enraging. It’s worrying, like watching Daredevil just to see Ben Affleck getting his shit kicked in every 5 minutes yet you can’t enjoy it. ‘Cause in the end you’ll join him (your friend, not Ben Affleck) and honestly I don’t blame you.

Now let me tell you kids a little about “Baba” (third rate amphetamine rip-off). Originally it was created for the Japanese army back in WWII so that they can rape the Chinese real well and make some use of the buzz because you know; they didn’t really give a fuck. They already had penises so small, that tubeworms laughed at them, so they most probably thought, “Werr fuck me either it’s thish or hara-kiri arso my penish is vewy rarge!”, thus unleashing a curse onto this world. A curse that gives you insomnia, a shriveled dick and retardation for life (Also, the buzz is shit). Kids, they gave us Amphetamine — The thing that made me lose several friends (who lost their chance of having kids ) and I’m pretty sure I knew this guy who committed suicide because his girl chose to blow some other guy (for Yaba). But, more on that later.

And ladies..

The best thing about the better parts of Dhaka (in case you were wondering, it’s anything within Banani-Gulshan-DOHS) four years ago is that, it was full of legit blow. The market wasn’t littered with Burmese garbage that kids smoke nowadays to add rage to their parents’ griefs. The shit was real. Sports enthusiast and legend Aarafat Rehman Cocoa “bhaai” (now in prison fulfilling a lot of holes) introduced some of the finest abuse-worthy substances to the young and conscious folks of our generation. He gave us the pure Columbian white, Bangkok special Y& E, Afghan Kush and a few different types of heroin, fresh from his own lab. Given the fact that I was (and still am) his next-building-neighbor at the Old place, I, along with a bunch of my “friends”, got hooked to every single one of them. It was a dark time, and we could sense it. But we were young, senseless and pretty much didn’t give a fuck. We thought of ourselves as some sort of gangsters, but in reality we were just a bunch of kids taking a hold of a 1.5 square kilometer space; which basically was a deathtrap for the other kids we didn’t like. We used to beat people up for girl issues (surprising, I know), we used to beat kids up for money (that we owed them), we used to beat kids up for being ‘chocolate’, (this, for me, was the fairest reason of them all. And I still stand by it.) We had a fancy gang name and whoever was in Scholastica, can guess by the time they’re reading this far. As I’ve mentioned earlier, it was a dark time. We loved shit music, we loved our (parents’) cars that we used to do “rally” with, and we loved the flamboyant badass vibe we thought we had. But even in living inside such a brewing shitstorm, it helped us. At least it helped me build up a drive to get away from it, to become a better person. This article is about that attempt and the b.s. that comes along.

Very Cool

Now, most of you must be thinking that I’m one of those absolute douches you hate/mock in this site. I assure you lot, I am an asshole of the highest degree, but I’m no longer a douche that I was (though many of my friends believe my doucheyness mutated and now I’m a giant Douchezilla). But, I realized some things back then, the things that still help me a lot, so I decided that I can share those with you lot. Here goes.

It is the hardest part of them all. You got your badass (citation needed) friends, you got your fix, your friends are there to back you up, whether you need the fix or need to fix some asshole who called your girlfriend without your permission at night. You seem to have everything. Despite all the shit you cause throughout the whole day, you’re pious as fuck and believe that God is going to forgive you despite you nicking some 6th graders lunch money for the score. You got it all covered. You’re certain about yourself being a hot shit bro from the hoodz. But to be honest, you’re not. If you look closely, your friends are just there so that you can share the money on the blow. Your loyalty among your friends strictly depends on how fast you moved your ass on their last genjam call, but deep inside you know you don’t give two shits about them and your girlfriend is interested in some other guy because, to be honest you’re a joke. When I realized all these jokes are around me after hanging out with them for five straight years; by that time I went through 136 genzams (actual figure), 4 life-threatening scoring missions, two shootouts and a massive gang-rape related genjam at one UVA fair. That night, I faced myself into the mirror (very much like Keanu Reaves from the Matrix) and asked myself “What the fuck am I doing?” That question was not very justified at that moment since I was high, but it was the first kick from me against myself. I took a decision that night and it changed me. Result? Now I’m mocking those douchebags here.

Here’s the interesting part: When you ask your fellow gangzta dong jerky, wearing pants under his crotch, where he sees himself within ten years, he’ll basically flip out. That is one question they fear, get tired of listening and can’t answer. Their parents are sick of repeating it, and they at this point believe that they’re too awesome to answer it. Well news flash, assholes, all of you are going to be unemployed till your early 30’s, you’ll be known as an epic loser to everyone who moved on with their lives, you’re going to die as a virgin as you are now with that tilted Billabong hat of yours. I assure you one thing – no one will love you and the rate of people calling you a wannabe will only increase. You currently are a disgrace to your family, your neighborhood and quite frankly to entire human race. And if you don’t plan to get out of it and get your shit together, my friend, you are fucked. I know you’re too ghetto to care about your grades, but I want you to be reminded of the facts such as your parents paying their last penny to get you into a better college or the fact that, despite all the denials, you’re not really black and your penis is still, laughably small.

For me, this was the easiest part. All I had to do was to change my cell phone number, pay back every each cent I owed to them, cut the cord forever, then call up my dealers and let them know of my new number. Within three days I was sure that my “friends” didn’t really give a shit about my presence among them. I looked back desperately for my old school friends, but by this time they really despise me and to some extent, fear me. I told them I’m off the douche-circle but they won’t listen, so I didn’t care. I moved on with my life, along with the few friends who also decided to get their shit together. Got back into studies, sports, legit music and video games. No longer do I spend my night fantasizing about how I’m going to bash the next Chocolate pola’s head into a brick. My sole concern was my life and what I was doing with it. And to be very frank, I never felt better. Now I have a douche-vision of mine which helps me filter out those abominations on first site and here’s a secret: The moment you smirk slyly at their douche presences at some shisha lounge, they’ll know what exactly you’re smirking at. They feel a wrench in their gut as you elbow your friend and let him have a laugh on that faggot with straightened emo hair and the same fucking checkered Vans. And that’s something worth trying, kids. Trust me.

May the force be with you. Beyadobpola out.

Epichiphop Jati

You guys must be wondering, what in the name of Voldemort’s vagina am I doing here. Well, I seem to be building up a sufficient amount of guilt mingled with a lot of jealousy as well. 

Anyway, let me get on with this. Recently (well I have actually come across this shit countless times before, but I didn’t seem to be able to build up the level of my productivity until now, I think) I seem to be lucky enough to be witnessing the birth of hip-hop music in our beloved country (blech!), and the rappers actually think they can spit rhymes to make a living (Heh, like seriously, they’re gonna get educated and do sophisticated jobs? Bite me). I don’t think it would be convenient for me to disclose the names of these pathetic puddles of dog vomit, and I am sure if someone actually dragged a dog to one of these fags’ hip-hop shows, the poor thing would puke to death. Like who wouldn’t. Check out some of his lyrics:

Ai kalo chikon lomba nunu Ajib ekta cheese
Kaure khojar Tym dai nah cuz m made up One Piece
Lower pants, full shirt, Kane tinta futa loiya railgari chari
Tora office korte paros nah, ami korte pari
Nunu bair hoy bondhur mukh diya,
Indonesian rap bair hoi Underwear er futa diya
Hip Hop Jinishta ki, Mother Teresa tomare bujhamu ki dia
Ami eka Onek Kalo rapper among lots of kalo fellows
Nijere loiya hadudu khelos abar amare loiya chowachowi
Ki koss hala amar loge beton loitasos
Tore diya office hoibona, aida amare koitasos
Aare ami board roomey namle tore boitey parbi nah
Karon ami presentation dile tora beicha jaibiga
Haate komore kono kolom nai, amare bhalo bhabe dek
Togore uraibar laiga Chartasi LAPTOP ER BAG
Erry body keep countin, Hoise Kalo Underwear eibar goon
Amar Presentation guli huina Sir der go bair hoi Teka, Yeah…………………..

AI MAMA AI, TIBBOT SOAP ER PRESENTATION CHOLBO NAKI!?…..

Lyrics derived from a rap which goes something like this:

“I don’t get laid, my name is a synonym for black underwear, if you are within a 3-feet radius of me, my body odour will repulse you to the point where you will have to leave, I have no weapons so I will defeat you with my rap, people love my rhymes so much they tell me to stop. Yeah……….”

Oh man, I can’t carry on with this any longer. It is extremely traumatizing to the properly functional mind.

And seriously, what’s with all the stupid name engraved brass knuckles, or the cheap bling blings (I actually came across a picture of this asshole with a chain on his neck, which was actually a bicycle chain which, I am sure he hijacked from a poor rickshaw puller)

Run for your motherfucking lives/chains

and the pathetic baggy clothes which they think look cool on them, but actually make the normal people wonder whether they got it off from a charity program or something. And their pants! Omg! They hang as if Jesus was crucified on those belt loops and threaten to fall to the ground all the time. And also their stupid bandanas wrapped around their necks like gangstas and their hats, which seriously resemble inverted diapers, add up to an epitome of “Da P3RfEcT BriggazzZ”. The bar of over explicitness of these hip-hop trends seem to be rising hand in hand with the level of inflation in the country and us normal people seem to be shunned away to a dusty corner in this goddamn modern world.

Thankfully however, there are only a handful of these jackasses in our society at this moment (putting the wannabes aside though, because counting them would be meaningless like counting the number of grains of rice on your plate) but apparently, most seem to come out of filthy rich families so they get their daddies to buy them those Toyota Corollas before they even get their driver’s license and pimp them out in the gayest way possible (even making custom decals of their girlfriend’s name and sticking them on their windshields, etc HAH!). Here’s a picture of what I am talking about:

What pisses me off more about these cum guzzlers is that they seem to have enough money to make their own fucking music videos! Shocking right? And, somehow, they seem to be getting a fair bit of attention because apparently, they got a couple of flat-chested skanks to dance in their videos, along with a female singer who thinks she’s as good as Missy Elliot or Queen Latifa (hell yeah if you are comparing body widths). *Pant pant* oh man I am getting too old to carry on with this shit. Here’s a taste of what I mean:

Absolutely pathetic. Look at the fucking way this chick is dancing. And the fat chick singing near the end just sugarcoats this shitcake. And the guys with their stupid pimped out suits make me wanna go on a rampage with a colt commando and shoot ‘em down. Seriously, where the fuck is a serial killer when you need one? I seriously wonder how many more “WTFs” are in store for us in the future. Anywho, I am off to try and learn Japanese and hit on some Asian chick (TZL- Just kidding babe). Sayonara!