The Nappy Diatribe

Cam'ron vs 50 cent? Hmm.. Who gives a f*ck!!??

Posted 02/12/2007 at 8:35 PM  |  6 comment/s

Awarding mediocrity with ribbons and awards is cool for the mentally challenged, not Hip Hop.

I always feel funny whenever I talk about racism. Not because it turns off a large percentage of white women that I one day hope to penetrate while playing Public Enemy's It Takes a Nation of Millions... in the background, but because compared to the pure-grade racism that my old man faced back in the day, it makes anything that escapes my hairy mandible seem like preteen whining. Some of his first-hand accounts of racism were so vivid and horrifying that I always felt that if the guy who wrote Mississippi Burning had a conversation with my father, I'm sure that he'd not only piss himself, but he would possibly get the urge to throw himself off of a bridge somewhere. My whole life I thought that if I lived in that time period that I'd either bug the fuck out and go on a nationwide killing spree, decapitating every white man that I saw with a machete while exhibiting a deranged thousand-yard stare, or that the extreme forms of racism would emotionally neuter me to the point that I'd go through life not uttering another word. But the one thing that is as clear as day to me as I type this, is the way my father would chuckle for a few moments after he got finished telling a story that would make Ann Coulter herself go out and buy an X-Clan album and go public with a book that she'd wrote entitled Worshipping the Black Penis. I'd always be so shocked at the story, as I saw his big frame sway back and forth in laughter like some sort of negro rocking chair, it would provoke me to angrily ask him, "What in the hell is so funny??" Each time that I asked him this, from age 10-27, he'd always give me the exact same answer: "Son, sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying."

Now that I'm four years younger than my father was when I was born (33), I don't have any experiences in my life where I have to make laughter the dam between my tear ducts and the 5 o'clock shadow on my face. Sure I've had some hardships - my old man died, I went through an extremely painful break-up that resulted in me having glitter embedded in my skin for an eternity and occasionally smelling like unadulterated ass-cracks (sex with strippers), I'm childless, never been married, and I cum so quick that my sexual relations last as long as the opening credits of Sandford and Son (I timed it) - but nothing that would force me to laugh to keep from crying. OK, maybe Hip Hop.

This is going to sound silly to a lot of people, but my love and dedication to the art form that I have been a part of since 1978 is so deep that I damn near treat it as if it were a martial art or something. Sure, on the surface you can learn how to stop would-be muggers by causing their nose-bone to penetrate their brains, but the disciplined involved, the dedication, the ability to adapt to any situation, and like the movie The Last Dragon I always secretly felt that if you got to some supreme level of MC-ing, B-Boying, or DJ-ing that you would have a distinct glow around your body that would scare the shit out of any would-be dispatcher. Add to that the fact that I grew up worshiping the likes of Rakim, Kool G Rap, and Big Daddy Kane, the bar that I set when it comes to Hip Hop is higher than crackfeins of trampolines.

That's why I find myself laughing, not to keep from crying mind you, but from putting a loaded shotgun in my mouth, pulling the trigger with my big toe, thus painting my wall with the brain matter of the greatest blogger that ever lived (just kidding, sorta.) whenever I see what people consider Hip Hop nowadays. So you have to understand that my mere existence on this earth the last few years has been a virtual chuckle-fest, either its when journalists want to wax poetic about the "deep" lyricism of Lil Wayne, when fellow bloggers give off the impression that the music of The Clipse's cures the bird flu, people apologizing for some of the Southern acts as if they were their retarded cousin who can't stop double dribbling, but nothing is funnier to me than the latest back-and-forth between Cam'ron and 50 cent.

I mean really, who fucking cares? I swear to god, man, only in 2007 would Hip Hop fans be clamoring for two men to go at each other who are, and I'm being kind here, nonexistent lyrically. People don't pay good money to see a baseball game when both teams are filled with utility schmoes. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't throw down your hard earn scratch for a Pay-Per-View boxing match where two journeymen had at each other relentlessly. The fact that people are all abuzz over these shit-stains on the undergarments of Hip Hop kind of lets you know where we're at as a genre. I must say though, watching these idiots battle each other is akin to watching two retards fight. What's the point? All they're going to do is swing wildly, say incoherent things in the process, and when the fight is over things will get back to normal, more than likely the both of them licking glass as regularly scheduled. A brother has to laugh to keep from, well, blowing his goddamn brains out.

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