While some of you niggas can't, I can proudly say that I've never watched a single minute of MTV's The Hills. My only knowledge of Spencer Pratt and the herpetic smegma stain he married comes from watching The Soup. A couple episodes ago--of The Soup, not The Hills--I observed Orange County's Most Wanted and a "homie" speaking that jive izzle-bizzle-dizzle shit en route to an evening of whatever the fuck these people do. I was immediately overcome by the thought that the next parked Crown Victoria on "Speidi's" media whore stroll could be a pseudo rap career.

Complex Magazine caught up with S-Dot Preezy to discuss this very nightmare.

[Blogger's Note: Yes, nigga. I said "smegma stain".]

In what might be the most flagrantly ignorant and ridiculous music interview I've ever read, Pratt immortalizes himself as a legend of whoonery. His single "I'm A Celebrity (Get Me Out of Here)", a promotional jingle for the forthcoming B-list-only Survivor knockoff, I'm A Celebrity... Get Me Out of Here!, serves as a perfect segue to the impending lyrical onslaught of S. Preezy the Swaggatarian.

What? You don't know what a "swaggatarian" is? It's kind of like a humanitarian. He's just giving swag away. Believe me, sweetie. Big homie's got enough to feed the needy. Ironically enough, if Pratt is "the white Jay-Z" as proclaimed, then by the transitive property of swagger jacking, his nickname should be "Wigga".

[Blogger's Note: "Swaggatarian" is not to be confused with "one who eats and forcefully regurgitates swag", which Pratt also does. And oh, yeah. Please add "whoonery" (a white girl with some coonery) to your RMC lexicon.]

Wigga Man doesn't stop at Jay-Z comparisons. Like a mouse on a glue trap, Pratt worsens his fate with every move. His next misguided writhe comes in the form of asserting his wife, Heidi Montag, to be one greater than Beyonce and that their "Bonnie & Clyde" rendition will surpass the Blueprint 2 lead single.

I can see it now. "You ready, Heidi?... Let's go get 'em."

You can thank Diddy, T-Pain, Lil' Wayne, Kanye West and his Bedknobs And Broomsticks--or whatever the fuck he named that whiny-ass album--for Pratt's belief that he can succeed in the music industry without talent. Thanks to Auto-Chune and Puffy's guest appearance LPs, Preezy has two stars of XXL's Hip-Hopalypse: Jesus, Take the Wheel cover in his crosshairs. Gucci Mane and Orenthal the Adlib-Driving [Song] Murderer will take this man's photosynthesis money (as Pratt sells picture opportunities to the paparazzi) straight to Kay Jeweler.


Poorer still than his voice and flow is Pratt's understanding of the music industry. Aside from believing that he should only pursue ringtone sales because "there are billions of cell phones", as opposed to there not being billions of radios, the Swaggatarian goes full-T.I. by distancing himself from Brody Jenner. Pratt is fully aware that AlfaJenner's Bromance will be a hit to his rapidly-growing street credibility--which is obviously more important than say, having songs people want to hear and getting them on the radio.

Aspiring rapsters, take note. Don't surround yourself with niggas who will damage the "street cred" you earned so painstakingly by kufi-slapping defenseless, terrified rich kids and posting up in MMA rapper videos.

Kevin Casey already knows what time it is. Keep the team thorough. Everything else will fall into place.

Behold, a pale horse--I mean, the future of hip-hop.

Questions? Comments? Requests? Feeling a little paranoid? ron@ronmexicocity.com

Thanks, 'Thena.