Watch this; the hilarity in entertainers pulling publicity stunts is that, these are human beings who, for whatever reason, decided that they want more publicity than the “average” person. Thus, whatever stunt they can do that will get them attention, & hopefully monetary reciprocity, is performed. God-delivered talent, or hard-hustled grandiose illusion, it’s all to get your attention. Any subsequent “stunt” is open to the imagination of the actor. (If you smell my cologne.)
Now, as y’all know, last week I came back from the future & brought Twitter with me. At some point after that, there was a rumor (started on Twitter) that Nicki Minaj & Drake had tied the knot. I really didn’t think much of it because A) I could not possibly care less, & B) she’s around “accidental pregnancy” age, whether her ass is fake or not. (Not that I care, I’m still going to look, but I’m just saying.) What I mean is, even though Drake looks to be a well preserved, older White-ish gentlemen, he’s not even 30 years old yet. By the time I was his age, I had 2 kids! I’m sure if he sneezes too hard near an open cut on her body, Nicki Minaj will be with seed. Because that’s how life works. Simple & plain, I just assumed he knocked her up, on some “best I ever had!” type hype, & didn’t want to be as much like Lil Wayne as he once thought. Makes sense to me, but then again, what do I know? Actually, I know a lot, but that’s neither here nor there.
Within a matter of what seemed like only hours, it was “press released” that it was just a hoax, & at that point, I truly stopped caring. It was truly a waste of time, & that’s not to say that most things in life aren’t, but certain ones have a place. This specific incident would’ve been better laid out for a ‘tweenage melodrama straght-to-dvd movie, starring
a bunch of unknown rappers & producers instead of werewolves & vampires. Ugh. Point is, I’m sure they don’t know how much of a golden opportuntiy they let slip through their sweaty, pink little palms.
Why go, if you’re not going to go hard? Man, they should’ve let that gossip ride out to the end of the year, at least, & use that fuel for shows & things of that nature. At the end of the day, no one’s life changes around what celebrities do or don’t do, & what’s Professional Entertainment without embellishment, if only just a little? Rap music is based around that ethos, whether we like it or not. Like, “keep it real” was only a genuine phrase for about a year & a half, before it got infiltrated by mainstream douchstopia. After that, it quickly became the anti of itself, like niggas who sell dope throwing up peace signs at their friends.
Anywho, I just wish they would’ve taken that rumor to where it could’ve went (without hurting anyone, of course), before they puss-ed out & said “sike!” We don’t see much of that Hip Hop matrimony
bullshit these days. In fact, the last one that comes to mind was Treach & Pepa (or Salt; they all look alike to me), & he used to beat the shit out of her for no reason. Not for nothing, but Lil Kim going mega-Barbie bitch on them, as a married couple wouldve been awesome.
*Come Tweet With A Blogga…
First off, let me say that I’m not convinced, for one second, that Rick Ross The Rapper &
Young Jeezy really have beef, because I live in South Central Los Angeles. Born, rasied, & still here. Between experiencing old school, white knuckle, hands-on L.A. gangbanging, & this Hip Hop hybrid of too-old-for-that-shit rapbangers, I can tell the difference between hood-involved discrepancy & cats who happen to know the “right” people for the wrong reason. This situation between adult entertainers, on the other hand, seems to be a clear cut case of “Ay nigga, I was HERE, first!”
I find it odd that 2 artists in the same recording house would even be involved in the type of real-life frucus that could effortlessly extend beyond rap music. Really though, all this name-dropping amongst the civilian & criminal community could easily result in someone being killed. (Not that I’m an expert or anything, I just know A LOT of criminals
& watch ‘Oz’ whenever I can.) I know with extreme, blood-related certainty that real drug dealers don’t fuck around, especially if they convince themselves that you’re interfering with their fiscal intake, which, to a person’s whose ambition is based soley around greed, isn’t a hard thing to do. See, a gangbanger does things out of ignorance, while the dope dealer does so what he does because he feels it’s necessary. Now, for the rap world to peep, we have 2 rappers from the same drug-dealing gang subliminally trying to prove to each other “who knows who.” Good grief.
Is that hilarious or what? Like when
Young Jeezy got The Real Big Meech for ‘The Real Blowin’ Money Fast’ song, to expose the necessary amount of pimp-hand to Ross, as a taunt. That’s truly a page taken for the “That’s why niggas cain’t have shit!” handbook. Same thing goes for Nightstick Rick, except, in true 40 year-old hustler fashion, he got Meech’s moms to cosign him in the streets, where everything that’s really anything gets dealt with, anyway, as the youngsters used to say.
& that quickly, The Real Big Meech has replaced The Real Ricky Ross as the dope dealer to be for Halloween. I mean, don’t you just love the hypocrisy of democracy? Only in America is there an equal opportunity to praise the condemned & condemn the praised (I’ve been wanting to type that sentence, without seeming like a douchebag, for years. Mission acomplished?). & on a related note, my kids were singing ‘B.M.F.’ the other day, & when I told them who Big Meech, Larry Hoover, & the real Ricky Ross were, beyond being anonymous names in rap music, they stopped singing the song, & haven’t since. Well, not as much as before they knew what they did for a collective living, anyway.
Score 1 for the good guys, perhaps.
The other day, some men came to replace the street light directly in front of my crib. The first thing I noticed was that they weren’t driving California vehicles, nor were they dressed in anything vaguely familiar, uniform-wise. In fact, whatever name the company had plastered across their machinery didn’t even sound real to me. I actually took a picture of the dudes, for illustrative purposes, but this was pre-5 o’clock bake, so I didn’t really have a point for a post yet, outside of showing y’all these people, in case they home-invaded me while I was typing. Obviously the latter didn’t happen, & I erased the picture out of post-5 o’clock bake boredom.
Later, I remembered that another group of contractors came & changed that bulb about a month ago. That’s odd. Especially given the fact that I’ve emptied at least 3 boxes of BB’s into that fucking old light bulb over the last decade or so, & not once had it shattered. Now, they’ve replaced the faux-glass dome with some Halogen contraption that I can’t even look at long enough to aim at. &, if that was “pothole” money that they spent on arbitrary lights that don’t do much else but suck on my tax dollars, I need to contact my congress person immediately. I’m serious. When the sun finally went down, along with my high, I noticed that for maybe 7-8 blocks in every direction, all the street lights had been replaced, & believe me when I say that maybe one, if any at all, were in real need of replacement or even repair.
Cats in the hood seem to be overly suspicious of life in general (self included…blame the weed), & things like this only further perpetuate whatever paranoid willynillyness that was there to begin with.
My homeboy said, “they watchin’ niggas.”
To which I replied, “& yet, we stay givin’ “them” somethin’ to watch…” Indeed.
One thing I’ve noticed about human nature is, as a single-minded organism, it’s easily distracted, no matter what. With enough shiny shit to preoccupy people’s cognitive skills, they wouldn’t know the truth if it tickled their taint, so to speak. All the Big Brother theory & One Nation hoopla could very well be completely true, like I’ve pointed out, but any so-called exposure would be nothing more than wolf-crying to Facebook martyrs & sacrificial Twitter lambs. (Or, “twidiots,” for short.) Really though, Freedom of Speech is dead already, even if it’s anonymous, digital speech. That’s a horrible look for the only species that truly has free will, but you don’t need me to tell you that.
& not for nothing, but I’m part of the problem, too. For example, in theory, there’s a better chance of me losing one of my kids (momentarily!) than there is of me losing my Blackberry. (Because kids run around & shit, but bugged, audio/video recording, homing devices containing pertinent information don’t.) If I’m aware of such a tether to the secular, I’m sure these organizations of world domination are, United States Gov’t included.
Contrary to popular belief, privacy is as important as speech, because if you Voltron both freedoms, & then take them away, next we’ll have a think tank telling us how feel. Fuck all that. Twice. With a weather-beaten broomstick. Now, I won’t go as far as to throw out anything that can watch me, watch it, but I got my eye on you motherfuckers. No pun intended.
Oh, & if you don’t what Rockwell (with help from the late, great Michael Joseph Jackson) was right about, check this out.
I’m not sure who started the trend, but chucking foreign objects at people you paid to see performing is clearly the new “asking for an autograph.” Or, something to that effect. Not that it matters, but I can totally understand how much more awesome an immortal Youtube clip of wilding out is versus a piece of paper with “Follow your dreams” scribbled on it. But, even still, what part of the appreciation game is projectile travel? Heaven help me if one of y’all like me so much that you find out where I live & throw acorns at my living room windows.
Off the top of my head, recently, Kid Cudi, Justin Bieber, Method Man, Tila Tequila, Wiz Khalifa, all have been assaulted on stage, at venues, where all they were trying to do was their respective jobs. Oy vey. It’s getting so that concerts will be more like visits from the Pope in his Pope-mobile.
Really though, entertainers might need to start performing behind shatterproof glass, for their own safety. Or stop hiring retired police officers as private security. Seriously, that’s like hiring a McDonald’s cook to moonlight at your hamburger stand, & expecting him (or her) to be all enthusiastic & shit. No dice. & for the record, carrying a gun, legal, concealed, or otherwise, does not qualify any willy nilly person to protect your life. For illustrative purposes, had it not been a comedy, but instead “based on a true story,” when Craig got his gun to protect Smokey in Friday, those niggas would’ve died in the bed of that pick-up truck. That type of thing happens all the time out here, but I digress.
Other ideas they (they being the artist & their baggage handlers) may want to entertain, merely for safety reasons–of course, are possibly:
*“Snipers” & Rubber Bullets
Rubber bullets are called less lethal for a reason, & I’ve seen the damage they do, so why not have a few guys in the rafters or whatever, waiting for Johnny Fuckup to start pissing all over everyone’s good time. A rubber slug to the middle of his sternum will put that little campfire out, right-quick, so to speak. Best part is, no harm, no foul. Maybe a bruise &/or a lawsuit, but hey, without struggle, there’s no progress.
Weed mellows people out. Have some Dr. Feelgood’s planted throughout the audience to control the emotion of the crowd, & God willing there’s no adverse effects to anyone’s psychological medication (don’t laugh-it happened to my cousin), it should be nice & copastetic. Not that I condone illegal drugs or pushing them on what would most likely be underage adults & teenagers, but I stand by my statement regardless.
Remember in those “old” 70′s-ish movies, where a gaggle of douche nozzles huddled together at some swanky club, to discuss tearing some shit up, but somehow, they never started the shit there? The reason it never started there is simple: Go-Go dancers. Any & everything a man might think of doing with idle hands can & will be thwarted if & when tits & ass jiggle in the immediate vicinity (predominantly Black strip clubs being the exception). Proper feminine pheromone distribution is imperative to the survival of mankind, otherwise Man, being the “animals” we are, would just get bored & kill one another until there’s no one left. That’s why liquor stores in the hood advertise alcohol with posters of pretty women. Seriously. Rappers don’t sprinkle arbitrary ass across their stages, like they used to. & if the behaviors of people is any indication, apparently I’m not the only one who misses it. Classic pooch-screwing, or “dropping the ball” at it’s finest.
*Stay At Home
The homie $yk over at B-Boy Cult wrote a post sometime ago, about how easy it would be for an up & coming cat to acquire fame, via the ‘Net, without ever leaving his house. True that. Any big name celeb can most definitely finnagle some deal, with some company, to sponsor their online-only concerts. In fact, I refuse to believe that $yk was the first person to think about it. It’s probably more like cats are so caught up in the paper chases that they overlook the small things. & on a related note, best believe that measures are being set in place as I type, to guarantee that Justin Bieber is untouchable, from here on out. I can’t say the same for Kid Cudi, but who knows? He might be into that sort of thing.
It’ll be hella interesting to see where the entertainment industry is in 25 years at this rate. Not only do we collectively refuse to pay for music, but when the authors of said music want to “treat” us to a performance, we attack them, sometimes brutally. &, as much as I’d really like to laugh at Tequila getting what she probably very well deserved, I know that nothing good can come from human waste near your facial openings. Really. Though.
This whole phenomenon is like an awful musical spin-off of ‘Lord Of The Flies,’ except there were no girls in that book, so that makes Tila Tequila’s case is an oddity. But, she should be used to that type of thing by now.
I just had to share…
“I feel like I rap better than I’ve ever rapped at this point. I’m writing raps and I don’t even realize how positive they are. They just sound like regular good negative raps.” -Kanye West via digitalspy
“I even told Game to say ‘what’s up’ to Dre for me, but I haven’t heard anything.” -Young Buck via Vibe.com
“Real talk, I’ve been getting support from basically everybody in the industry. Nobody has really been unsupportive of me at all. I think a lot of people may not openly be around and vouch for me, but nobody has not taken my calls.” -Ja Rule via Vibe.com
“I’ve learned plenty already and the best lesson is to not come back…” -Lil Wayne via WeezyThanxYou.com
“@JustinBieber: You gotta hear the album. Maybe we can do something together. Me, You and Raekwon.” Kanye West via Twitter
“‘s a creep…The fact that he’s sitting in New York, selling his Vitamin Water, listening to my Ustream. What the fuck? You’re stalking me. Go take some steroids. Find something to do.” Shyne Po via Mtv.com
I’m not even sure if this is funny, or slightly bizarre…
So, Shyne Po has a fan call-in set up, & 50 Cent decides to participate. I guess we’re finally at the point where rap beef has nothing to do with diss records. Maybe that’s why Jay-Z ignored Beanie Sigel’s catterwallin’; he should’ve interviewed Jay’s kindergarten teacher or something.
Nonetheless, I present to you;
Shyne versus 50 Cent continues….sorta kinda.
Porn does one of 2 things in a relationship: it sits idly by, not creating a stir or a problem, or it dulls a man’s perception of reality, compelling him to think either A) he’s a porn star, himself or B) his chick is. The problem is that, dudes dig porn, so in essence, it’s up to us, the men, how much of a dust it does or doesn’t kick up in our personal lives. It’s kind of like the same effect that R&B songs have on females, assuming they’re into that sort of music. R&B, much like porn, creates a false sense of hope, in that all men don’t go unselfishly hard in the sack, nor do the majority of them have any interest in paying your bills. (Where I’m from, a man giving you money–in any form or fashion–is a trick, & the recipient is the prostitute, but I guess that’s neither here nor there these days.)
Now, by the law of averages, a man watches as much porn as a lady listens to R&B. So, at least theoretically, both of them have some convoluted, misconstrued ideals of what they want & what they need, depending on their level of brainwash. Meaning, if you meet a chick who stood by R. Kelly, or Chris Brown, at the height of their respective crisis’, you can probably call her a bitch in casual conversation, & may even get away with a few slaps or peeing in the bed before she says anything to you about it. The problem with that, though, is would you want her as the mother of your (unwanted-ish) child? I doubt it, seriously. & ladies, same goes for any guy who watches porn like ESPN, almost. Sure, he may be able to take you in the latest of modernized Karma Sutra techniques, but if a dude watches mad porn, he’s thinking about sex, often. In fact, you’d better have a gay sister, & a bitter, spinster mom, otherwise, he’s going to try & bone both of them (& possibly succeed–depending on how much R&B they listen to). Plenty of pornos start off with that mother/sister theme. Just saying.
Allowing either R&B, or porn, to be the measuring stick of your simplest pleasures, carnal or otherwise, is a recipe for disappointment, really though. Life is no more like a love song than it is a porno. & by that, I mean buttholes are gross up-close & in real-life, & a man will tell you anything to get ‘tang. Even that he loves you, which he may, but only until the beginning of the refractary period. After that, it’s all on nature & pheromone dispersement, so to speak.
Point is, people are fake enough already (& getting faker, no matter the cost), without us forecasting illusions. Such a move is comparable to losing a cereal-pissing-in contest on purpose, everyday, if you smell my cologne. Don’t get me wrong; the right amounts of porn & R&B are romantic & spicy, in that order, no homo, but like all things, moderation is key.
How awesome will it be to see all the conspiracy theorists horde Hip Hop sites in November, to break down Jay-Z’s forthcoming memoir, ‘Decoded,’ piece by piece, like it’s the remix to a Rick Ross song or something? Answer–hella awesome. By all accounts of how many times mags like Complex have dissected different aspects of Jay’s life & career like he’s been dead for the last 5 years, rest assured that this book will surely fall under scrutiny for various, albeit mostly ridiculous reasons. The mere fact that he even hinted at solving some riddles has peaked ears in rap music, & well beyond. This might be the most anticipated non-Hip Hop Hip Hop book since Robert Greene’s ‘The 48 Laws Of Power.’ Or, William Cooper‘s ‘Behold A Pale Horse.’
First, the real rap niggas are going to be looking for some insight on how he survived Marcy Projects, for future reference if possible. Assuming this type of individual can read a book, that is. Next will be corporate America’s further glamorizing of Jay as the ultimate hood-based rags to riches story. As if. The book will be on the NYT’s best sellers list, & in Barnes & Noble, next to Superhead & Rick Ross The Rapper’s baby mommas’ (trife) life stories, except his will inspire White kids across the US to start rapping because if you do, you’ll end up in Forbes. America needs a “good one” to fall back on when it’s mad at Obama, anyway, so maybe it works out perfectly. Lastly is the most entertaining of the bunch, the conspiracy theorists that proclaim, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Jigga is but a mere pawn to a deeper, darker, more insidious scheme to take over the world. It would be a shame that, decades from now, Jay’s biggest claim jump is the fact that he may or may not have been plotting to control mankind, one rap record at a time. Actually, that would probably be pretty hilarious.
Not for nothing, but if they win, & take over the world, then what? If the entire world is controlled by one entity, assuming Aliens aren’t orbiting, waiting for a parking space, then what? Shit seems boring to me, but I what do I know?
Jay was cool, as long as he let the ‘Nets go crazy without responding. Like Beanie Sigel. However, unlike Beans, he decided to jab back at literally millions of bloodthirsty rap nerds & drop that verse on ‘Free Mason’ & that may have proved to be the most annoying (to himself) career choice he’s made, since deciding to be honest with Beanie Sigel about their friendship. Instead of quelling the shenanigans, his proverbial fist-shaking only served the purpose of more reasons why he’s the devil’s son-in-law. (See what I did there?!)
I try not to read too many books about the lives of men who don’t inspire me personally. It seems like a waste of time & money. But, I might read this joint, just on the off chance that he provides step-by-step instructions on crack cooking, or that there’s a secret, decodable map hidden within the pages that leads you to Beyonce’s shower drain or Jay-Z’s jewelry closet or something.
Between the biggest name in rap being labeled “liar,” rather than an entertainer, & the new, improved video game-esque NBA landscape, where all that’s left is to bring back the the thighsqueezers & make halfcourt shots worth 4 points, I’d all but given up hope for any heartfelt, raw honesty in my favorite 2 spectator sports: rap & basketball. But then, I came across these 2 dudes in one day. No homo.
Los Angeles Lakers’ Ron Artest, in a self-conducted (yes, self-conducted) interview, via ESPN.com, & up & coming GI rap cat Freddie Gibbs, via @FreddieGibbs & Complex.com, both kept it real this week, in the specific definition of the word. I suggest you read the entire piece(s), but for y’all ADHD-addled folk, I have some of the more sage quotes on hand, for your reading pleasure.
“Much love to all the real DJs in the game. To all the ones that be tryin to rap and be diddy eat a dick.”
-Gibbs to all following his Twitter account
“It’s like, real MCs…can’t get breathing room ’cause you got fuck shit like that. I think that shit is garbage. I don’t like what that shit stand for.”
-Gibbs on DJ Khaled’s effect on Hip Hop
“At 15 I started to get twisted, and at 16 I was getting lit up on a regular basis. By the time the Bulls drafted me, I’d drink in the house all day, then go play a game.”
-Artest on his problems
“I guess he’s entertaining people. It’s like a movie, like ‘Scarface.’ He can have that fake lane. I’ll stay in the real lane. We got a non-fiction lane of rap, that’s how I’m looking at it now.”
-Gibbs on Rick Ross The Rapper
“All of a sudden, I was addicted to counseling…I started shopping for a mental health doctor. That’s when I found Dr. Santhi Periasamy. She’s the doctor I kept thanking after the Finals.”
-Artest on self-betterment
“He saw more of these fuckboys coming into the game. These ‘Charles Hamilton-type’ niggas making that ‘bubblegum-bullshit’ rap. He saw that and wanted to latch onto that, instead of latching on to what was real. He saw a dollar-sign opportunity. I ain’t no racist motherfucker, but it was the Jew in him.”
-Gibbs on (ex)A&R Joe “3H” Weinberger
“Don’t sleep on Boston, but I like Miami in the East. It would be an honor to face the Heat. I’ll take LeBron. Kobe’s on Wade. Gasol’s got Bosh. It’ll come down to Andrew Bynum. If he’s healthy, we can’t be stopped.”
-Artest on next season’s NBA finals
“I’m not trying to fabricate nothing or dress nothing up to be something that it’s not. I ain’t a nigga with no furs, but I’ve sold a lot of crack. A lot of pills. But I wasn’t THAT nigga like that.”
-Gibbs on artistry versus authenticity
“Was I crazy, or was I not sober enough to have a clear mind? That’s the question.”
-Artest on Artest
“I’m on probation for five years–three years now–for felony gun possession in California. So basically I got two gun charges. I got one in Indiana and one out here in California so I gotta keep my nose clean.”
-Gibbs on Gibbs
“‘It’s not what I can do. It’s what I’m gonna do.’ That’s mine. I made it up..”
-Artest on his personal motivational quote
…& the winner is?
As a bonus, I’ve compiled a short list of the not so obvious, overlooked similarities between rap & basketball, (just because I’ve always wanted to):
*Overseas market may pay better, but there’s no place like home
*White girls are the best fans
*No education required
*The importance of Youtube clips
*Atrocious body art
*Criminal behavior is always a crowd pleaser
*No matter how hard you try, you’ll never be the ‘Michael Jordan’ of it
Within the next 5 years, we’ll have our first successful rapping athlete. I’m pretty sure it won’t be Ron Artest (notice no allusion to ‘Tru Warier’-no shots, though), but nevertheless, mark my words. &, on a slightly related note, I’m glad Black Mamba is forgiving, & Candyman [ll] has Khloe to argue with now, because per the Allen Iverson Act of 1996, We‘ve filled our 1 thug-per-team minimum. Finally, a neck tattoo on the squad (I’ve wanted to say that my whole life).