I may be speaking beyond my ken right now because I don’t watch Flavor of Love outside of what’s made available by the creative communists who support the greatest, most subversive technological convergence to hit les internetes this year. And I’m quite sure that the whole “Reality TV will usher the downfall of society a la MySpace” argument is older than Lil’ Wayne. But still.
For the love of Barney, I implore you all to
boycott ignore Flavor of Love.
Now, save for Apartheid-related music conglomerates founded by elusive megalomanics, I usually don’t go around interfering with how anyone makes their money. As a wise man once said, what you eat don’t make me shiite.
. . .Unless you’re Cassie or Paris Hilton, in which case the sonic miscreations that come out of your maws do, indeed, induce bowel movement. In that case, I have to speak my peace: Them tricks can’t sing.
Yet, I digress.
Recently, a friend referred to Season 2 of Foofy Fool’s show as “a train wreck holding a nuclear bomb smashing into a girl scout troop holding baby kittens. . . then somebody takes a dump on the wreckage.” This prosaic summary was offered as reason (apology?) to his addiction to said coon and hoochie extravaganza.
Now, I won’t front like there’s not some primal allure to the show, but here’s thing one: Watching, supporting, promoting this sort of crap sends a message to the checkwriters that this is the type of garbage we’re willing to accept as entertainment—which, sooner or later, results in a whole lot of bad rap music.
Maybe it’s not a coincidence that the increased decline in quality rap damned-near mirrors the ascension of celebreality. Maybe it is. But I’m pretty sure that Viacom’s not gonna sweat airing that Pack video if they’re too busy counting the residuals off all the human freakfests they air on their “music” channels.
Here’s thing two: You don’t have to watch Flavor of Love to support it. Your YouTube clicks, blog posts, IM icons, turning these opportunistic tramps into quasi-celebrities—all of that promotes the show. (By Zeus, even I’m promoting the stupidity right now.) You think VH1 gives a baboon’s nipple if you watch it “ironically”?
Seriously, children. You don’t want to see 50 Cent on the cover of XXL anymore? Don’t buy it when he’s on the cover. Yellow’s told you how he thinks and I’ve known dude long enough to know there ain’t much that’s gonna make him fix what ain’t broke.
You don’t want generic trap rapper #8,067? Work to spend more time supporting the artists you like and less hating on those you don’t like. I’m pretty sure that human excrement like Puff Diddy doesn’t care how many people dissed Cassie this week—that trick name was ringin’ bells.
I say just ignore Foofy Fool and the whores on his show. Unless such tomfoolery is your bag. Then I just don’t know what to say.
P.S.— I had put up the new Obie Trice mixtape the other day, but our “site upgrades” ate my post, so here it is again. I hear from Hits Daily Double (via NahRight) that he’s gonna be doing dumb, deaf and blind numbers first week out, but maybe we can get him one of those Maroon 5 deals.