By now you’ve [repeatedly] watched Sonic the Hedgehog get the rings knocked out of him by Amber–I mean, Amy Rose. You’ve also already [repeatedly] heard/read that joke.
According to Briana Latrise–Charles Hamilton’s personal assitant, superwoman lover and chauffer–the entire incident begins with a playful impromptu Hood News interview gone horribly wrong. WSHH fodder becomes WSHH mother fodder when the Hamiltonian inquisition turns its spotlight to the happy couple.
Still basking in his own snarky blipster rapnificence, Hamilton asks Latrise how awesome it is to pick him up from the airport and be seen in public with a rapper/anthropomorphic street urchin whose nuts–sorry, rings–are just centimeters away from the Interscope buzz saw. Despite the fact that he’ll likely be dropped from his label before an album is dropped onto store shelves, the youngster is quite sure of himself. Every personal assistant has her breaking point though. Fed up with the hedgehog’s attitude, Latrise matches his inappropriate behavior by dipping into the Blackberry for a Drake freestyle.
[Blogger's Note: Blipster = nouveau black quasi hipster. see: "rapster"]
Having simultaneously poured her heart out and performed the next neo-soul McDonald’s coffee commercial, Latrise waits for the instigated but inevitable Sonic freestyle response. This is how snowballs become avalanches.
Not unlike Jackpot, I’ve kicked a freestyle or two in my day. In the heat of the moment niggas say things they shouldn’t at the lunchtable. Such things tend to involve accidentally rhyming your man’s ex-girlfriend’s name with a perverse sexual act or making a generic mama joke when your opponent’s mom died of cancer years ago. Sometimes you stop the beatbox dead in his tracks by accidentally knocking a femur out of the closet. That’s how rap battles work.
It’s one thing to let some shit slip by accident. Your homie gets tight for a moment. He walks away from the table, but you’re cool again by 9th period. Maybe he’ll need until tomorrow morning to give you dap again. Whatever. But, you neeeeeeever disrepect a friend in public, and on camera no less, by telling the world that you had unprotected sex with her. If, for some strange reason you do, you pull the cord on the freestyle and apologize immediately. Needless to say, you neeeeeever use such a line as a springboard for the knockout blow that is exposing her “smishsmortion”.
I know freestyle is a mercurial beast that can’t be controlled, but Hamilton had that shit mapped out at least a few bars in advance.
From the onset of his career in the public eye, Hamilton has irked his audience and contemporaries alike with rampant douchery. As Malcolm X would say, his getting the full Gs to Gents Kesan treatment is just chickenheads coming home to roost at this point.
I mean, Briana stay with her ‘Berry writin’ bars. That’s real talk. Niggas should know better. As if being owned by Soulja Boy weren’t enough, he’s now got to live with getting his shit rocked good by his former shorty. After initially wondering if this all were some kind of staged publicity stunt to generate some sorely needed buzz, I now get the feeling there’s more pwn3rship forthcoming.
“Why?”, you ask?
Startlingly enough, I found the snuff flick also posted on Hamilton’s own blog without so much as an explanation or apology for what transpired. Simultaneously, his music player pumps “The Album Is Perfect”, a song from one of many life support mixtapes intended to entertain whatever CH fans may still exist. Ironically, the song is a blabbermouthed ramble about a conversation between himself and Jimmy Iovine regarding the status of his album no one’s holding breath for.
I guess putting private business out in the street is a character trait of Sonic’s.
For this, Jimmy might have to be the next to Kesan a nigga. Considering that being a loose-lipped middle schooler is his primary mode of operation, there must be a laundry list of mawfuckas lying in wait to catch Hamilton unawares.
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