How many RC toys do you have?
I’ve got about 40—at least 20 helicopters, a few airplanes, and a lot of cars.

What’s the most you’ve spent on one?
I have a custom-made miniature drag racer that cost $2,500. It goes 140 miles an hour. It’s got a fiberglass body and a working parachute that I haven’t deployed. Once I get it going that fast,
I hit one rock and the car’s gonna flip.

How did you get into this?
One of my old security guards told me about this stuff. When I was a kid, nobody in my family had a car. And I didn’t have many toys. The only toys I had were the ones I would steal.

Do you need a license to fly these?
Yeah, because they take off like real planes, and they go 120 miles an hour. They could kill somebody. If one of these planes comes down and hits you, it’s a wrap.

Any interest in getting a real pilot’s license?
No, because I don’t want to crash a plane. I just wanna do like normal people do: sit on my ass in the back of the plane and let the pilot fly the damn thing.

Are you the only rapper you know with this hobby?
I think I used to be, but I turned a lot of rap artists on to remote-control toys and actually bought them their first cars—Method Man, Redman, Ludacris, that girl from The Sopranos.

Meadow?
Yeah, she and I did a movie together, and I bought her a car. She enjoyed it, but she couldn’t drive the thing for shit.

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The Dark Knight makes another appearance! The Woolworth building in NYC was the gathering place for hordes of Gotham citizens as a gigantic bat signal was displayed. Giving away T-shirts and faux newspapers, the movie's foot soldiers riled up the crowds as a live stream of the event was broadcast over at citizensforbatman.org.

Okay, we get it Warner Bros.! Everyone loves Batman. Everyone is going to go see The Dark Knight. We don't wanna hear another peep from you till July 18 at 12:01 A.M. Promise? kthnx.

Check the jump for more photos!

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Salomon XT Wings WP
These are killers on the mountain but can run on any surface—except water. (Sorry, Jesus!) Testers bombed Catskill trails and city bridges and gave high marks to the XT Wings’ “super-solid” motion control system and shock absorption. The tieless Kevlar Quickfit lacing system seemed “Star Trekky” to one tester, but he came around. “I’m ready for the future,” he says.
$140, salomonsports.com

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Unless you're a die-hard smoker with a titanium guillotine cutter in your pocket, most of us view cigars as something you enjoy every now and then or on a special occasion. There are also those instances when you're with a group of guys who are all taking part and you don't want to feel like the princess in the room.

As summer approaches, there's nothing better than spending some quality time outdoors, lighting up an obnoxiously large cigar, and watching the stink eye you get from every stroller-pushing powermom who happens to walk through your mushroom cloud of smoke.

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Behind Cooper’s Old Time Pit Bar-B-Que stand a pair of charred, metal silos. Several times a day, a worker deposits a four-foot-high stack of mesquite logs into one of the drums, then blasts it with a gas torch, sending flames 10 feet into the air. This is where the sacred art of barbecue begins.

I’ve come to Cooper’s to learn the secrets behind one of the great mysteries of American cuisine, in a world where the tricks of the trade are closely guarded. In the hands of an expert pit master, tough, chewy brisket becomes succulent and flavorful; dry, mild pork, moist and savory. My question is: How? To find out I’ve persuaded the proprietors at Cooper’s to make me their first-ever barbecue apprentice.

It took a little cajoling. Though Cooper’s is basically a hut in the middle of nowhere—about 75 miles northwest of Austin in the tiny city of Llano, Texas (population: 3,325; stoplights: four)—it is a legendary meat mecca, routinely hailed as one of the country’s best barbecue joints. Founded in 1953, it’s become a destination stop across the South; the restaurant keeps a van at the local airstrip to shuttle in 50 private planeloads of meat-seekers each week. It’s even President Bush’s favorite joint.

Naturally, the men of Cooper’s aren’t too eager to expose their time-honored methodology to imitators and impostors. But once I convinced them I wasn’t a spy sent by a competitor, they agreed to grant me a four-day crash course in manning their hallowed pits. Standing before the silos, the blast of heat instantly baking my flesh, I began to wonder if learning about barbecue would be worth losing my face.

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