Flashing Lights: The Director’s Cut
I’m gonna keep it real with the Internets. Just now I was checking out World Star Hip Hop to see if there was any soft core pr0n I might could check out before I take my afternoon nap (never mind the fact that I just got a couple of hours ago) when I came across Kanye West’s new video for his song “Flashing Lights.”
Now, you guys know that I don’t find Kanye West to be a very good rapper, and I’d probably rather go at my own unit with one of those cheese shredders than listen to one of his albums. Furthermore, I find it especially difficult to listen to “Flashing Lights,” after seeing that video at AllHipHop where KRS-One explains why 50 Cent is more hip-hop than Kanye West.
But I’m a sucker for a good music video, having grown up in the golden age of MTV (why couldn’t time have just stopped the week “Mr. Jones” was a Buzz Clip?), and Kanye West seems to always put a lot of time and effort into his videos. Also, it’s not like I had shit else better to do.
So I ended up catching the video.
Sadly, “Flashing Lights” is an exception to the rule, as far as Kanye West putting any kind of thought or effort into his videos. Watching it, I can’t imagine they spent any more than a half an hour or so working on it. Literally. Unless you count the time it took them to drive out to the middle of the desert, in which case, okay, maybe two hours.
It actually reminds me of that movie The Brown Bunny, which obviously only exists as an excuse for Vincent Gallo to cop a blowski from Chloe Sevigny, and also to show off the size of his joint. (No homo.) Which, for what it’s worth, was a fucking brilliant idea. If I ever become a big-time Hollywood director, I’m so gonna pull the same shit.
If there’s an upside to “Flashing Lights,” it’s that, instead of what seems like an eternity of mofos riding around in the desert, there’s only like 10 seconds of that in the Kanye West video. Then it’s right to the good part.
Some tall modeling chick in her underwear and a fur coat gets out of the car, walks towards the camera, where you can see her better, and rids herself of the fur coat. Why? Presumably, so you can get a better look at her snatch, which is fuzzed out in the version I saw. (Crap!)
You do get a good look at her ass though, as she walks back towards the car, and… Jesus H. Tapdancing Christ! what an ass it is. Not only is it ridonkulously well-formed, but, to look at the way it moves, you get the idea that the whole purpose of the video in the first place is to get a shot of this woman’s ass in motion. It’s just that incredible.
Which of course begs the question: Just whose ass is this, anyway?
I’m assuming it wasn’t that broad Angel from a few months ago, whose new name ought to be chopped liver. Because I remember in that video of her Eye Candy shoot that they posted here, her shit was a lot more flabby and indented, like they might have found her at the Soft Touch, over on the East Side.
Also, again in the interest of keeping it real, I don’t recall Angel’s cans being that big. It’s hard to tell whether this girl’s cans are real or not, but, whatever they are, they’re fucking huge and jiggly, just the way I like ’em. (My bad, if you didn’t need to know that about me.)
The video probably couldn’t help but be downhill from there, but the ending is still rather disappointing.
She pops open the trunk, and there’s Kanye West, bound and gagged, just like in my dreams. (Nullus.) She reaches in, pulls out a shovel, and, in what’s supposed to be a novel bit of film trickery, beats the shit out of him with it.
But it doesn’t really come off that way. They don’t show him in the trunk while she’s beating him, and you don’t think for a second that he might actually be in there. It would have been a lot more satisfying to me personally, if this actually was a video of a hot chick with huge cans beating the crap out of Kanye West in the middle of the desert.
Then, in my version of the video, she would hop back into the car, high tail it to Creve Coeur, MO., and make sweet passionate love to me right here in my mother’s basement.