The economy’s in the toilet, nobody buys records anymore, & your favorite rapper may not be able to pay his child support rearages & prescription drugs bills. For the moment, at least. So, allow R&WIFDP to provide the assist that the unemployment office should’ve. Kind of like monster.com, except we’d like to make fun of your predicament just as much as help you out of it.
Unbeknownst to most, being a rapper is a culmination of various skills. In some cases, being a rapper has virtually nothing at all to do with the act of itself. It’s more about the show, flash, & flair given to the same old bullshit. Like a bartender
A bartender’s job is to serve you drinks. The same drinks that every other bartender, in the fucking world, is serving. Most likely at the exact same time. So, what separates them from one another? Presentation. With the right presentation, a good bartender can keep you seated at the bar, spending money & time, listening to his bullshit for hours. Sound like any rappers you know?
A presentation is merely a successful distraction. & the right one will easily garner attention, good or bad, which generally translates into publicity regardless. That’s why so many wack rappers become so popular. Those individuals have the ability to make you forget they suck at making music. At which point, it doesn’t matter what they’re “selling,” because they’ve got you hooked on some unnecessary attention-getting spectacle. Like a sign-spinner
“Sign-spinning” was happening long before some nigga applied for the position & made it the must-have job of the decade. All you need is the desire to have countless pairs of eyes on you at all times, & a high tolerance for judgment.
With any position of attention, there’s always a window for danger to sneak through, be it big or small. Rappers often thrust themselves into harm’s way, simply to entertain people. In fact, that’s what makes famous people famous; they take risks. For example, if the average guy walked through the city streets, bragging about his fiscal worth & all the things he owns, surely he’ll get robbed faster than praised. Thus, his fame would emerge through victimization. However, rappers do it all the time. Why? Because rarely do they give a fuck. &, they also live in gated communities, & have personal teams of professional security, but that’s really neither here nor there. It’s the same
dumb-ass lack of logic that lion tamers operate on.
Except rappers get groupies, & lion tamers do not.
In case danger is encountered, though, a slick tongue is usually imperative to survival, if the creature can be reasoned with. Words can be a shield or a weapon, depending on the wielder. The right combination can help one escape from the most lively of scenarios just as effortlessly as sell a bridge to a stupid wealthy man. Rap music’s functionality is no different, & possibly more so, because as plenty of rap cats have come to find out, people take what you say in songs seriously. Maybe too much, which works out perfect for a used car salesmen.
A used car is just that. Used. & even the simplest customer is aware of that fact. Therefore, the salesman’s job is to convince the buyer that it’s not used up, by whatever avenues are available. However colorful. As long as a satisfied customer drives his lemon off the car lot, the salesman earns his pay. Anything that happens after that is irrelevant. Such is the case with rap music; “fuck YOU, pay ME!” & really though, isn’t that what it’s all about?
For all the drab decadence that follows rap music around like a dark cloud, there are some whose oratory skills are far beyond the average rap fan’s base of comprehension. Under normal circumstances, these rappers don’t achieve mainstream success simply because they’re way smarter than their demographic. There’s a certain amount of intellect & honest integrity in this type of artist that the Hip Hop industry can’t contain. But it’s necessary for a politician.
Politicians lie, coerce, cheat, steal, fabricate, educate, irritate, contradict, finger-point, stone-throw, judge, blame, accuse, beg, borrow, & brown-nose, all in the name of being a generation’s scapegoat. A sacrificial lamb, so to speak. Now, if that doesn’t say “Hip Hop,” then I don’t know what does. Even if the politician doesn’t want to bear your crosses, or solve your problems, they want you to think so, because you’ll vote for them, & that makes them “famous.” In fact, take any take any random political speech & play it backwards on a record player (Huh? What’s that?). You’ll hear a rap remix version of “Paparazzi” playing. [Sidenote: If you find a place, where they sell political speeches on records to even try that, let me know.]
This information may be more useful to you up & coming rappers, though. Just saying.
LeBron James has it pretty easy.
Assloads of monies, millions of fans, lucrativity© as far as the eye can see; in theory, James has a life some would literally kill him for to obtain. (It’s a good thing he’s huge.) & for the most part, all he has to do is dribble a basketball, run fast & hard like Harriett Tubman, & score multitudes of highlight points as many times as they tell him to. They being the autonomous group of men who, more or less, serve as dad(s) to LeBron. But, hold that thought, though.
I watch people’s reaction’s to things he does, & while strangers are quite amusing or upsetting, I don’t give a fuck about most people. & LeBron James is no exception. I’m willing to bet that half the whackjobs who detest James so much, do so out of a lacking of a satisfying hobby, or an inadequete supply of vagina. But, that’s neither here nor there. I have a theory about why Lebron James does the things he does in the manner that he does them, & it centers around a lack of bonafide, father-helmed Man-Training. Man-training is the neccessary ability to control yourself in society, as a “man.” No more, no less. LeBron seems to lack the ability to cloak one’s emotions, which all men must have, at some point. Because with all his power, that’s a major sign of weakness. That’s a concept that a child might not be able to grasp.
Think about it; the only difference between boys & men (aside from working sperm & musk-collecting pubic hair) is impulse. Or rather, the control of impulses. I’ve applied this theory a shitload of times to my personal friends & acquaintances, but rarely for the rich & famous. Perhaps more people’s public lives would make more sense to me if I did so.
Nonetheless, if his behavioral patterns of the last 8 or so years have shown us anything, it’s that LeBron is a more or less a man-child, & has some level of temper tantrum at least once per game. Some more severe than others, but my point remains. God only knows what type of brattitude© we’d witness (see what I did there?) if he loved camera time as much as Ron-ron Arteezy.
As a full-time dad, I picked up a keen sense of what it is that kids don’t get enough of elsewhere, such as food, affection, attention, & respect. When my son’s friends run faster to me than he does afterschool, 9 times out of 10, said friends just want a man to show them some positive attention. Hell, by the law of averages, a friend’s dad asking how your day was, followed by a well-intended high-five is a virtual Christmas morning compared to no dads & no high-fives at all.
For added illustration, as a kid, all my friends would be at my house, all the time. As far back as my alcohol-tinged memory can reach, I’ve always been flanked by buddies, long after the school bell had rang for the day. For years, I assumed it was my extraordinary personality & adorable babyface that kept people around me. Now, while that ideal certainly must hold some truth, I realized some years back that none of those cats had legitimate fathers at home. In essence, I was sharing mine. & to show the impact he had, the few friends I still have from those days ask how my dad’s doing before they ask about my wife & kids, usually. Just saying.
When I see Lebron biting his nails on the sidelines, all I can think about is my son who doesn’t live with me, because he does the same thing. Could that be some juvenile anxiety release that LeBron hasn’t overcome yet? &, none of this is to say that LeBron needed his dad to be a better person, it’s just a theory of mine. It’s way deeper than I’m willing to get at noon on a muggy L.A. day, buts it’s definitely something to think about. Especially since it probably hits quite a few of us on one level or another.
Oh, & I’m sure that oedipus rex-like relationship with his mom doesn’t help much either, but please, don’t get me started on that.
This touchy-feely T.S.A. situation is becoming somewhat comical. “Comical” being a few notches beyond merely entertaining. For example, it was entertaining to see some jerkwater douche nozzle defend his junk like a living & breathing jock strap. It was also entertaining to see people calling press conferences & special meetings to publicly, & aggressively debate matters where, for the most part, both parties provide valid points. Especially since, at day’s end, it’s all about concern for the safety of our beloved nation. That said, when the almighty United States of America’s Homeland Security becomes such an event that the entire world takes notice, that’s Lolco’s Chicken & Roffles, all day. [Sidenote: Not that I laugh at T.S.A. horror stories, it's just that in general, laughter is the best medicine or whatever.]
In a nutshell, the T.S.A. has decided to all but cavity search airline passengers in attempts to keep the homeland secure. John Q. Public is arms-up in protest, claiming that people are being violated. Notice, it’s not the resolve that’s the problem, but the process en route. For the record, I’m extremely secure in my manhood, so I’m not too bothered by an extremely brief & coincidental brush-up in the name of not being the reason Tom Bradley International gets a face lift. However, everyone’s patriotism isn’t so cavalier.
The solution to the problem is sexual discrimination. A simple pairing of the opposite sexes will quell at least 40% of the unnecessary complaining, I guarantee. A man doesn’t want a man touching him, period. Not for nothing, but plenty of times I’ve kissed a close homeboy on the cheek just to see him act like a bitch. Now, imagine if some rubber-gloved stranger was fiddling around near your junk? To a dude, that type of shit has nothing to do with “The War on Terror.” If nothing else, the screener may notice how much smaller the passengers peen is, & that’s like a shotgun blast to a man’s ego. If it was a woman doing the frisking, though, honestly, said guy wouldn’t care about the size of his cargo, as long as she brushed up against it. He may even strike up a convo to expand their quality time as long as he can, if he’s smart & heterosexual.
To take my theory a step further, allow me to plainly state the nice cleavage will distract a man from most things, no matter how unpleasant, & even other cleavage. I’m suprised dental assistants don’t dress like whores as a requirement. The right boobs for the job would be even more of an asset if the passenger is a threat. Really though, if a guy has a bomb attached to him for in-flight delivery, chances are an American woman has never rubbed his thigh like she has to, as a part of her searching duties. Possible situation averted, as long as he doesn’t give her a pearl necklace as a parting gift.
The same theory appies to women, but with such an obvious influx of lady gays nowadays, I’m not sure if switching out the sex of the handsy screener would make much of a difference. In those instances, the decision would probably best be left to a supervisor with a camera phone.
Just this small tweak would surely make the situation(s) easier to deal with, for all parties involved. The only possible snafu I can foresee is a rise in sexual crimes in & around the airport, for obvious reasons, but that’s why airport security gets paid the big bucks. & even then, as long as the situations don’t become too much like random episodes of Law & Order: SVU, it still shouldn’t be much of a problem.
Especially not for me, because I don’t fly much.
Admittedly, I’m not an expert on much of anything. In fact, that in itself makes me the best kind of expert, so to speak; I know the necessary amount of a whole lot of nothing-in-particular. That “talent” comes in handy when watching game shows with my easily amazed friends, or just talking with my son. However, if I had to narrow my expertise down to something,
aside from surviving fatal amounts of alcohol it would probably be marriage. Yep.
This November 27th, I’ll have been successfully (& coincidentally, happily) wed for 8 years. “Successfully,” meaning it was an intended agenda that worked out pretty good in the long-term. During that 8 years, we’ve been through all the things that usually split people up. Now that I think about it, it’s not even so much that I’m an expert per se, but more that I’m obviously equipped to handle certain relationship matters better than those who couldn’t or didn’t weather the storm. Couple that with the proven scientific fact that misery loves company, & all I need is an excuse to begin convincing motherfuckers to start families like I was recruiting human shields for Uncle Sam’s army.
Really though, the world is a suck ass place, full of nonsensical booby traps & backwards hustling more often than not. The most powerful ally in such proverbial doldrums (aside from your God) is a spouse. If you pick(ed) the wrong one, that’s most definitely your bad, but for the most part, I stand by my point. Hell, if I can offer little rays of sunshine to someone’s life, unintentional or otherwise, so be it.
At the days end, if you want to be with someone, whatever effort needed to do so should be done willingly & “just because.”. That doesn’t mean “A-Ha!” moments can’t be inspired by others, though. I can’t plant the seed for you, but as I mentioned earlier, I got them little rays of sunshine on deck to help out with the growing process. Situations permitting & what not.
Remember The Past, Dictate The Future
A friend of mine made a great point about his child’s mother. He said “the bitch knew what the fuck she was gettin’ into when she-,” you get my point. Despite his lack of syntax, he was right. It seems that people forget who/what/why they were initially drawn to the other person. As long as that aspect of the relationship is kept in perspective, the foundation won’t ever be called into question. Assuming the foundation was laid properly, that is. Because if it’s not, God bless you when it all falls down, because it will. Anything built on flimsy ground will eventually fall. & don’t shoot me, I’m just gravity’s messege carrier for the moment.
Don’t Waste Energy On The Unattainable
Humans, much like monkeys, seem to have an unusually incessant need to be around each other, whether we’re beefing with one another or not. (Those damn animals will fight over a branch & then both sit there together, unless the dominant one kills the lesser first, or something more exciting happens on the next branch.) That said, count the amount of friends you have in miserable relationships, yet they refuse to break wide. That’s a waste of time, like shooting rubberbands at the moon. Hopeful wishes do nothing more than glamorize the unattainable. [Sidenote: Feel free to espouse that little tidbit at your leisure.] However, focused energy can move a mountain. It may take time, & lots of it, but it can be done. Same rules apply here. Pick a goal & achieve it. Anything else is but a distraction. Even if said distraction jiggles or has hard nipples, it’s a distraction nonetheless.
Bikini Biscuits Don’t Change, Ice Boxes Do
They way a woman feels about you has absolutely nothing to do with the way she feels to you. Meaning, in all honesty, ‘tang doesn’t change much from person to person. Aside from some being more skillful & apparently trained in the ways of the Kegal, it’s all pretty much cooch. (No disrespect to any arbitrary cooch in immediate proximity.) Now what the cooch is attached to is what’s important. That determines the chain of events, long after the cooch has closed up shop, for whatever reasons. &, for illustrative purposes, when I was in the hospital, unable to take care of myself *ahem* properly, ‘tang wasn’t the one prepared to wipe up the Choco Emporium if the situation arose. It was my wife. ‘Tang just so happens to be another bonus to the awesome chick it’s attached to. If you smell my cologne, of course.
I truly believe a lot of dudes (& broads also) sabotage their relationships by “inventing” & maintaining fantasies that autonomously create a secondary reality. Kind of like a dumb ass dog chasing his tail not because it’s his tail, but because in that one-dimensional brain of his, one day, he’ll be clever enough to catch it. I’ve seen dogs stop eating a perfectly good bowl of chicken & turkey guts, soaking in faux-chicken broth to chase a fucking ball, if that means anything. Concentrate on what you have & build from there. It’s why Lego® is so popular with the babies of the world & dominos are not.
Life Is Shorter Than You Think
My best guess says that most people don’t appreciate time until there’s not enough of it left. Don’t be one of those people. Take that into consideration for the rest of your life, & be happy. & not for nothing, but you’re probably the only thing stopping you from being happy in whatever you do. There’s only so many granules in the “imaginary” hour glass. You better stop playing & step lively, mayne, whatever pace suits you.
I don’t think I know everything, but I’ve been married long enough to carry my soap box & not be afraid to use it. Especially to talk some love shit, because I’m a firm believer in it.
*steps down, picks up box, walks away*
2011 is almost here, y’all.
Today’s rap star is a celebrity. Fact. 15 years ago, the paparazzi was content with chasing actual famous people & legitimate social icons, rather than arbitrarily tossing 15 minutes’ all willy-nilly to whomever has the stickiest fingers, so to speak. Point is, just rapping, by itself, isn’t good enough anymore. People want the full experience; free-of-charge or cash-on-delivery. They want their own personal reality show (as if their lives aren’t enough, in most cases…) at their leisure. In laymen’s, they want Entertainment. Subsequently, the amount of “entertainment” one can deliver on command, like a canine postal worker, dictates the level of popularity &/or success received. Fuck all that though. That’s not why I’m here.
I’m guessing the coming 10(-ish) years will see vast changes in the infrastructure of Hip Hp as a culture, & musical genre. Mostly because there seems to be a 10-year “flush cycle” in Hip Hop (think about it), but also because it’s easier to keep track of numerical things in those types of increments. To illustrate, there’s no way I could pinpoint & hone in on my favorite rap cat between ’98-04. If you can tell me yours, however, I’m afraid you have too much time on your hands. Or I don’t have enough.
Anyway, the next wave of rappers will be carrying the burdens of today’s rapper. In light of that, he/she/shem best be properly prepared. Now, not that I’m an expert or whatever, but for what it’s worth, I tried adamantly to “be a rapper” my whole teenage career, as well as a substantial chunk of my young adult life. & I failed. Awesomely. That means my advice at this juncture holds verifiably beneficial wisdom, or booby-trapped cynicism. Either way, I hope the ‘ABC’s Of Hip Hop’s Next Decade’ helps some young hopeful achieve his dreams (or face his failures if need be). In fact, let me know how it works out for you.
-Theres a million rappers. If you want to move ahead in the proverbial line, prove it. Not to me, because I couldn’t care less, but instead to those people who are waiting for an icon to build up
just to knock back down. Thick skin has to be mandatory to be a rapper (& a mustache should be, also). In fact, Soulja Boy’s a perfect testament to how confidence & attitude can protect you from criticism, even when it’s completely deserved. Either that, or the kid is dumber than dog shit & didn’t realize that grown men wanted to physically hurt him for “rapping.” Your attitude sells, period. It’s the reason ugly girls have nice hair styles & skinny dudes wear 4 t-shirts. That’s simple, smart (& slightly false) marketing.
-Apparently the ‘Net was created for grown men to yell at each other nonsensically & brag about stealing one another’s jewelry & talk about each other’s poorly matched accessories (or lackey), etc. That said, be prepared to loose the wave cap, let your lace front down, & scratch some motherfucking eyeballs out, because emotions are running high, boxer-brief boy-shorts are bunching, & manginas are clenching from coast to coast. The other day, Jason Lee joked that Big Bow Wow is most likely a queer, & Shad Moss threatened J. Lee’s livelihood. On Twitter! [Sidenote: Which actually makes me think it's probably true, but that's for another day.] Broke niggas fight, but famous, partially paid niggas bicker. I’ve been married for 8 years, & I honestly don’t know which is worse.
C) CRIMINAL INTENTION
-Once Kid Cudi decided to fight back, & tried (but failed miserably) to open hand slap an over-zealous, pocketbook-tossing fan, I knew the “street cred” game had forever changed. Without some type of stripes, even if only partially authentic, you won’t be taken seriously as an MC, or rapper. Bear in mind; for as judgmental as Hip Hop fans are, we really don’t care why you go to jail. We just want to see your face (preferably your musgshot) on the screen. Just don’t hurt any kids. They don’t tolerate that shit behind bars.
-A simple diet of booze, blunts, bitches, & burgers is all any man truly needs. In that order. Repeat until desired effect is achieved. Start adjusting to it now, because since all the money is in doing shows, or something to that effect, you’ll see even less of the kids that you’re supposed to see every other weekend, but don’t, & food will be a luxury. It’s like when Robo-Cop ate only baby food, after his sex-change operation. Booze, blunts, bitches & burgers; baby food. Boom.
-If you are even remotely serious about a “rap career,” then most certainly there’s a rival rapper who wishes he could spit on your space boots. Use that force against him, if you will. Diss him, “publicly.” At the very least, he’ll respond, via on of the hundreds of “Look What I Can Do” sites that cater to the attention-seeking metrosexuals of today. Be sure that you can kick his ass if need be, though, because with the lack of testosterone in rap music, & life in general, it’s only a matter of time before rap beef escalates to parking lot slap boxing matches. Speaking of which, early this year I predicted the emo-schmediums will begin packing gats in their manbags sooner than later. So, we’ll see how that whole scenario plays out.
-As important as enemies, you’ll need Friends. Not weed carriers, baggage handlers, mules, or well-intending seat-fillers, but Friends, who will tell you what not to do, as opposed to gloryifing what you do do. Those kinds of “yes men” only work if you have low self esteem. & unless you’re Charles Hamilton, I really don’t see that being a problem. Anybody outside of “Yes men” are clearly hanging around to hang on to their “job,” & will do & say whatever it takes to keep up such a lavish sidekick set-up. I’d advise leaving a trusted parent in charge of one’s business affairs, but Nicki Minaj & Beyonce Carter would probably disagree with me.
-Name your favorite rapper. What type of gun did he get arrested with the last time he got arrested with a gun? You think he planned on doing anything with it? Hell naw. However, he knew that there’s always the pretty good chance that police officers might smell all the marijuana he’s smoking inside his convertible $300,000 convertible sports car. Not only does he get arrested in real-time, in the interest of his career, of course) but now he knows that cats saw what he’s capable of. I think that’s what Bryan Leach was trying to accomplish. But, don’t be like Bryan Leach
-Its simple: it’s impossible to have too many chicken tenderonies orbiting you at once. The more, the bigger your pimp hand appears. You wonder why America has this obsession with gay guys? It’s because they have all the chicks around them, no matter where they go. & they usually smell like peaches, too, but that’s neither here nor there. Rappers need hoes. Get you some. No offense. [Sidenote: Your babymomma, girlfriend, wife, & any cousin before third doesn't meet the 'hoe' criteria to be down with your crew. So don't let them dance in your youtube videos, no matter how much they beg.]
-It’s beyond common knowledge that Twitter, facebook, & modest prostitution is a great way to get your buzz up. But, then what? You need to have a plan ‘B’ for you plan ‘A.’ Years ago, if you had a “gimmick,” it “meant” that your “skill” wasn’t good enough to be your selling point. Oh how ignorant we were. Listen, without a gimmick, or selling point, you’re just another rapper. No shots, but ask Pharoahe Monch how that feels. For the record, consciously doing the exact opposite of what the “losers” did is called using ingenuity.
-Any point that needs to be made in Hip Hop can be made, in numerous directions simultaneoulsy, by going to jail. At one point in time, it was kinda a big deal for a successful rapper to get knocked, but now, not so much. It’s expected. Really though, nothing says Hardbody like repeatedly going to a place where male genitalia outnumbers personal freedoms 100:1. Those are horrible odds for civvies, but great odds for a guy whose youtube channel is nearing 5000 views.
*to be continued…