Come on, now. Y’all know the name of that show ain’t supposed to be Chocolate News. My man Paul Mooney’s been doing the Nigga News for about 20 years.

Journalistic titan Skillz just dropped his year-end song. No fronting on the part of this reporter: I listen to each installment all the way through and can’t wait for seconds. Anyway, Skillz’ annual report saves me a lot of net surfing. Dude got this gig like Leno got Tonight.

Kinda wild that the inventor of LSD and Dock Ellis both died this year, huh?

Whoa. Rod B. sure pulled this one out of his ass. It’s gonna get hella racial out there. Mark my words.

If you don’t play this at your party tomorrow, you suck. And so does your party.

My maternal grandparents, reared in West Virginia, used to describe stories, events and even movies that especially amused them as “tickling” them. As in, “Didja see Hee-Haw last night? That Junior Samples bit plum tickled me silly!”

Well, I’m here to tell you that nothing the movie people put before your eyes is likely to tickle you more than Man on Wire, a doc from Magnolia Pictures. This black-and-white beauty examines tightrope walker Philippe Petit’s insanely ambitious and dreamy high-wire dance between the two tallest towers of the World Trade Center. Petit did this in 1974 and everything leading up to the feat is as compelling as what this artist did up in the sky.

Did you not know the Petit story? Me neither. It’s real as fuck though. Petit dreamt of the derring-do upon seeing a magazine drawing of the towers before the WTC was built, then turned desire into deed. Off-the-charts quixotic stuff. Shockingly well documented, too.

I watched Man on Wire on Christmas night and could hardly sit still, the flick tickled me so. It didn’t seem anything more moving or creative than Wall-E would pass before my eyes in 2008. And Made in America, Stacey Peralta’s gang documentary, is the definition of important film-making. Independent of these and other remarkable shows, no new cinema’s gonna leave you more happily hypnotized than this offering from director James Marsh.

Is there space in your brain for a new sport?

Games are everywhere you look, from your hand-held to the electronic billboard to that kid riding his skateboard next to your car. You see them, but cannot completely absorb them. Like, who really thinks about hockey?

I’ve got a date coming up at Staples Center, to watch the L.A. Kings get down. I’ve seen this team before, back in the day with my friend Brett. Loved it. Some dude set a career record on a one-timer. Love love loved it.

But who’s got time for the NHL, really. I mean, who wants to read the rules? How does a grown-ass man find space in his brain?

Tony Olmos has something new. Right now I’m going to recommend it, even if the limited-edition blog is only about a man and his bike.

A lot of unremarkable people and entities ask me to shill for their blogs, thoughts and product. No can front — sometimes I do that.

Now is not one of those times. I swear by this non-fiction art: My man Antonio is extremely accomplished and, above all else, a very good friend. We go back to my days at Fresno State’s Daily Collegian.

Like that! And… that!

Merry Christmas, all of y’all.

Totally buggin… on Digital Underground’s classic material.

Game recognize game in da Bay, mayn.

The late and amazing pitcher, who died on Thursday, did a lot of awesome stuff. The L.A. native helped Roberto Clemente earn a second World Series ring and had a nice batch of victories with the New York Yankees. (As Dock put it this spring, during my visit to the his Apple Valley home, He took a bite out of The Big Apple.) His personality shined more than his won-loss record. He was a free spirit, one who pitched like he lived. They truly don’t make ‘em like Dock Ellis anymore.

The no-hitter that he threw while on acid is rarely accorded its proper respect, mostly ‘cuz pure baseball people don’t generally get the gravity of LSD. To again paraphrase Ellis, this crowd doesn’t know the stuff beyond hippy cliches from the tube.

(Can you picture Tim Kurkjian ripped on three hits of the really pure stuff? Me neither.)

So baseball and the sports establishment in general doesn’t get what’s special. Consider the following a loose analogue:

George Clinton used to say, Whatever it is that you do, teachers work harder than you. Throwing a no-hitter is somewhat akin to teaching. It is a demonstration of perfection. (Ellis walked eight, but that’s actually impressive too, in a way. He gave San Diego’s batters nothing they could hit, literal in his laser focus.)

We’re talking about one of the most difficult items in the pantheon of physical accomplishment. And Dock Ellis told me his acid was super-pure, straight out of the labs of UCLA. So you know that no-hitter pitcher was high. Like Bowie in his heyday. Or some of our great painters and novelists. It’s hard enough to do that shit, but to achieve while riding a major wave? Well whatever it is the artist does, he’s working harder than you.

My man Dock Ellis? I’d cherished his baseball card as a boy who knew knowing nothing about acid or this feat. My man raised the bar. Extended possibility. I find the no-hitter a regular source of inspiration and personally regard it as one of the great achievements in all of sports.

As performance, the LSD No-No is a singular example of perseverance and mental toughness. And Of course, Ellis did a lot of great things. Dock performed tons of charities, worked as a drug counselor in prisons, helped rehab old junkies from the game. (Dock Ellis told me that smack, too, was an issue back in the 1970s.)

But Dock Ellis was a big, powerful man and obit writers are using the wrong sentence structure to define Dock’s legacy. They write:

He threw a no-hitter on acid, but later counseled drug addicts.

The truth:

Dock threw a no-hitter on acid and he later counseled drug addicts.

In 1971 Ellis and Vida Blue were favored to pitch in the All-Star Game. Dock started a controversy when he said. “They’ll never start one brother against another brother.” It was a radical act, befitting a brother who until his last days considered himself the first militant of professional baseball. Jackie Robinson loved the young pitcher’s outspoken ways and sent Dock a letter, the substance of which takes up the last couple of minutes of this audio tape. And this reporter has him in his cultural Hall of Fame.