Thursday, March 22, 2007
Hip Hop Heroes: Part 2
(A total eclipse slowly casts its shadow across the entire globe)
(The first thing you hear is the sound of constant teenage shrieking, homemade signs that look like the handiwork of mentally challenged 3rd graders, horrible rock groups, and vomit inducing Hip Hop. Yes, its TRL.)
(The Caption reads: "Smack dab in the middle of Times Square")
(The scene starts off with Nasir Jones, sitting in the green-room until he's able to shamelessly plug a new single off of his album. He tries to be upbeat, but all of the miserable musical acts that preceded him and the disgraceful Hip Hop blaring from the monitor that he's watching has gotten him visibly upset)
Kelis:(Looking over for a few moments): Hey, why do you look so mean?
Nasir Jones:(shaking head, looking disgusted): Are you watching this shit?
Kelis:(squinting at the monitor): What, Heather Mills? I know, I never wanted to beat a bitch with her prosthetic leg so bad in my life.
Nasir: No, I'm talking about what passes as Hip Hop nowadays. For example, "Crime Mob"? What the fuck is that shit? The only criminal thing about them is the fact that blowjobs don't get you the production that it used to.
Kelis:(holding head in hands) Oh shit, here we go again.
Nasir: What a minute now, listen. I mean, it seems that Hip Hop has been reduced to a sort of special Olympics, where people get critical acclaim and praise for the most menial of tasks.
Nasir: Lil Wayne for example, a dude who I feel is the Robert Johnson of the new millennium.
Kelis: Huh? Lil Wayne owned a basketball team and ran a network that sets black folks back 30 years? Even though "Uncut" was the shit though.
Nasir: (laughing) "Uncut" was my shit too!!(getting angered again) No, No, No!! Not that Robert Johnson, the one that supposedly sold his soul to the devil for critical acclaim. I couldn't tell you how many people that I respect think that Lil Wayne is the cats pajamas, when in reality he's so lyrically horrible that I have the sneaking suspicion that he's allergic to dictionary's.
Kelis: Besides you never seeing me naked again if you ever say the words "cats pajamas", you know that you're talking about a guy who kisses other men on the mouth.(looking off into space) "Hey Lil Wayne, Boy George Called, he wants his desire to get ass-fucked by other men back!!"
Nasir: I'm serious now.. Lil Wayne, Lil Boosie, Lil Scrappy, Yung Joc, Jibbs, T-Pain, MIMS? With all the bafoonery, shucking and jiving, and a penchant for showing their asses just to make a buck, the current landscape seems more like a traveling minstrel show than authentic Hip Hop. I'm still waiting for MC "Sleep-N-Eat and shit..
Kelis: A "Bamboozled" reference, sweet! But you did what you could, you put out "Hip Hop is Dead" to state your case. Listen, if cats still want to be on that bullshit and come off gayer than the members of "Pretty Ricky", then that's on them.
Nasir: I know, southern cats acted like my album title was a hell-worthy trespass, self appointed Hip Hop critics picked a part my album even though those same bastards would turn around and sing the praises of Chamillionaire and artists of that ilk that couldn't hold my cock with a forklift, I'm tired of this shit.
Kelis: ..and I'm tired of hearing it, you know we have this same conversation like 4 times a day don't you? Do you know how unattractive it is to be fucked while having a guy ask me, "Ohh baby, recite Kool G Rap's verse from "The Symphony" for me!! Thats it, lisp and all!"?(Looking at monitor) Ok, you're almost up!
Nasir: I can't do it honey, I'm about to transport myself to a time when Hip Hop was pure!!(tensing up his face, clenching his fists together)
Kelis: Do you know how many pairs of boxer shorts I've had to clean every time you've tried to "transport" and accidentally shit yourself in the process? Come on, stop fucking around.
Nasir: Sorry honey, I'll see you in a few hours..
(Nas disappears into thin air)
Kelis:(looking around in amazement) Oh shit, he actually did it!! I can't believe it!! Shit!! Shit!!(sniffing into the air) Shit is the right word, that motherfucker just transported a turd into his shorts!
(Nas finds himself in the middle of block party in the South Bronx, circa 1980, while fine women with Afro's stop clapping to the music to figure out what that shit smell is)
To be continued...
(Next Scene: The first thing you see is a concerned Clive Campbell having a very stern discussion with a Haitian Gentleman that works for him in an office. It's hard to make out what exactly they're talking about, maybe it has something to do with the Haitian gentleman's horrible singing and fast-forward worthy verses on "The Score")
(The Caption reads: "Let me erase all your troubles")
Clive Campbell: Don't lie to me dammit, are you still fucking my dear Hope? She's my god-damned daughter for Christs sake!!
Wyclef: Of course not boss, what ever gave you that idea? I mean, she can't have given you that idea.
Clive: She didn't say anything of the sort, but I get the sneaking suspicion that your mind erasing abilities might have had something to do with that.
Wyclef: Ridiculous! Hope is fine and all, and I do have fantasies of eating entire ice cream cones out of her tender butt-cheeks, but I've never touched her.
Clive: How do you explain her complaining about her crotch smelling like Fried Plantains, and Import CD's of the fugees being left in her room?
Clive: That's what I thought.. OK, now that we've got that out of the way, lets focus on out clients' needs. Call the next person in!
(Wyclef walks a gentleman in who looks like he's in his mid 40's, with noticeably light wallets)
Clive: (looking at file) It says here that your name is Stanley Burrell, you're from Oakland, made a shitload of money and then lost it, gained popularity for your dance moves and wearing baggy pants that looked like you spent the better part of a week defecating in. What do you want Wyclef to erase for you today?
Stanley: That awkward period where I regrettably tried to be a gangsta rapper, if you could erase that debacle out of my mind that would be great.
Clive: No "2 Legit 2 quit", that horrible song you composed for that "Adam's family" movie, Oaktown 357, the speedo you wore in that "Pumps in a Bump" video, that "Pumps in a Bump" song, your entire fucking catalog?!!!
Stanley:(mumbling under breath) ..dickhead!
Clive: OK, OK.. Wyclef, help this guy out.
(Wyclef slowly walks to Stanley, cups his hand around his forehead, and after asking the man how he felt about his 1997 album "The Carnival", he starts taking any memory that Stanley had concerning him ever rhyming about Criminality)
(As Stanley slowly walks out of the room, Clive and Wyclef scream something that only they find funny)
Stanley and Wyclef:(in unison) "You ain't hittin' in New York, HAMMER!!"
Stanley:(slowly turns around with a bewildered look on his face)
Clive: OK, bring in the next person!!
(Wyclef walks in a woman in her mid-30's, looking as if she didn't want to be there at all)
Clive: Oh shit, I know who this is! "Kick This one for Brooklyn, Kick This one for the 90's!!!"
Clive: "You will get nowhere, the Lyte is too blinding/Tell me why must I keep reminding/ You to step back, let the Lyte shine/ Do not say shit till you write your own rhymes!!"
MC Lyte: Yes, I'm MC Lyte, congratulations! Can you tell me why I'm here before you go through my entire music catalog?
Clive: Yes, sorry. (looking at file) It says here that you want us to erase that horrible "Roughneck" song completely from your memory.
MC Lyte: No I don't, that was a hit for me, and that's a song that women around the world can relate to!
Clive: OK, you got me, I hate that fucking song. I mean, that song birthed about a million other unnecessary "ode to thugs" tunes that I absolutely loathe, irritating tales about men who in all actuality just mean mug you all day to mask the fact that a dick can be found in their cheeks most night.(looking at Wyclef) Strap her ass down!!
(After Wyclef straps her down, he starts to cup his hand around MC Lyte's forehead when he's interrupted by Clive)
Clive: Erase that song out of my mind as well!!
(Now Wyclef has both hands on each person's forehead, only erasing that "Roughneck" song from their minds after uttering the following:)
Wyclef: Times like this, a brother wished he had three hands and shit!!
(After clearing more heads than mid-afternoon blowjobs, Wyclef sees the legendary MC out)
Clive: Is there anyone else out there?
Wyclef: No boss.
Clive Owen: How about that guy from Queensbridge who once did a song with Ginuine? I'll erase that memory from his mind for free!
Wyclef: He's transported himself to 1979 with a soiled pair of drawers.
To be continued...