Apparently what’s really hood, what’s the newest and freshest, is to publicly acknowledge and whine about yet sorta brag about the fact that you have been felled by the fists of other dudes in your same industry.
“OH the surrealism and horror I feel at what’s become of American manhood,” said the lady blogger.
It’s wrong to live in the past, I hear.
2009 is okay. It’s fine. It’s not Hip Hop In ’94, but it’s good and it’s fine –
DOOM and “Stillness is the Move,” that Camp Lo mixtape and Merriweather Post Pavilion and “Sweet Disposition,” they’re all proof that it’s great to be here and to have ears right about now. Deep breaths.
But sometimes I take a little walk by Eskay’s, and I visit the 2 dope boyz and take a look around and I’m like whut? There’s something called Joe Budden who between ’88 and ’91 would have gotten the bozack and been called a crab MC, but for now he seems to have quite the stronghold on the Internets. And he puts something into Royce’s drink to convince him to lay down tracks with him. It works. Royce gets Stockholm Syndrome and agrees to take part in a video with extras cast by Dov Charney. Joe is Joe’s biggest fan. Joe says that Joe is better than Meth and Joe thinks I want to hear about his girlfriend all day long. Joe is incorrect. The hard-headed never learn.
And all the while I’m like, How did I get here? Where is that large automobile? THIS IS NOT MY BEAUTIFUL HOUSE.
But then, because Rock the Bells is pure magic and makes good things happen (THE RULER!), Rae goes backstage and has a henchman forcefully strike Joe in his upper-face region to remind the youth of America that Rae is great and Joe is a dummy. And I feel calm once again, knowing that I can still count on things like a) There is water/At the bottom of the ocean, b) Rae still makes ’em jump like Rod Strickland, and c) Budden is a Dude Who Will Not Be Seeing Me Naked.
Same as it ever was.