Fakin’ The Funk
Yup, I'm kind of a big deal. Don't believe me? Well there's at least one person who thinks so. Some imposter or some band of computer geeks have created a faux myspace page on the kingpin of the rap mag game. See for yourself: http://www.myspace.com/xxlmag
Apologies to those of you like my homegirl Miss Info and my former enemy Kim Osorio who have been hoodwinked, bamboozled and lead astray. It's okay, my internet capo has been given the order to eliminate this page very shortly. No harm, no foul. But there's some foul shit up there.
Next time get y'all facts right: First of all your boy is Black-Ecuadorian-Greek not White Caucasian. I'm a Capricorn not a Virgo. I'm from the Q borough not BK. I've been Harris-ing the game since 1999. And aren't the corny-ass jealousy and envy jabs about the wife and I played out by now? It's the same old song and we're almost a year strong. Send some anniversary presents you pathetic peasants.
The ? remainz though: Whodunit like Tavares. Here's a few Pinocchio theories:
Hypothesis A: In the blog section of my fake page there's an inclusion of the post I wrote here where I shitted on the sohh sohh scrubs. So I guess it could be Hamburger Helper Warren and the Palmer Patch Kids.
Hypothesis B: It could just be a disgruntled jaina (that's Mexican slang for girl mi amigos) that I Willie Nelson-ed back in my savage single days. I didn't mean to turn y'all on.
Hypothesis C: Maybe it was just an unpublished rap writin' herb who wanted to use my persona to scoop up a Eye Candy wanna-be or two. Sidebar: That Stallion broad got some junk in her trunk.
You know what? Who knows? And it doesn't really matter. I'm flattered. A little bit. Does YN want to be your friend? Sorry he doesn't. Put that in your in-box.