[Blogger's Note: Oh, you know damn well that's what it sounded like when he said it.]
In the forthcoming XXL issue proudly displaying what I call the Hip-Hop Apocalypse cover, Gucci Mane, OJ Da Juiceman, Shawty Lo and Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em kick the soccer ball around a bit for all you aspiring trap stars and swag merchants.
Swagatarians, as we now call them.
In an interview excerpt that tells us… well… absolutely nothing of interest, Gucci reveals his newest protege to the world.
“–Soulja, that’s, like, my protégé, to me. I parallel myself to him at the same age. He got a lot of things in common with me. He’s a hard worker, just like myself… To be honest, Soulja Boy told me he was a big fan of my music. But he wouldn’t even imagine I’m a same big fan of his music as he is of mine. So we had mutual respect for each other. That’s my dawg.”
Soulja Boy is Gucci Mane’s protégé? Right. And Nick Van Exel taught Kobe Byrant everything he knows. Of course, Soulja Boy is no Kobe–except in terms of douchery–but the disparity is that great.
When Gucci Mane was 17 he was in the fucking junkyard with Jooo-mane scrounging around for gold foil and stray brass pieces to put over his teeth. He was a member of the fuckin Fat Albert gang.
I’m sure when Soulja Boy had the biggest song on earth a couple years ago, he was wearing a WWGD bracelet the entire time. In fact, “What Would Gucci Do?” is engraved on the underside of every overly-expensive bracelet in Soulja’s Gucci-lined… bracelet closet.
Oh, shit! Doesn’t Soulja Boy have [fake] Gucci trash cans, bedsets and cereal box skins? Maybe there’s something to Mr. Icey’s claim after all. They both take free branding to the next level. One puts the clothing line in his name, the other very well may have the interlocking Gs literally branded on his bama, black ass.
The fucked up part is that Gucci, Louis, Dior and all these designers whose wares get pumped in these rap songs, want no part of such negro-tive publicity. The minute their line becomes primarily associated with the swagatarians and mumble merchants of the world, they believe they it’s cheapened and rendered unsellable to their target audience.
Translation: Once OJ Da Watermelon Kang becomes the face of Balenciaga, they’ll never be on a red carpet again. You might find a Balenciaga skrippin pole, though. Aye!
On the other hand, if Soulja Boy were a true Gucci Mane protege, he’d have made it a point to get himself locked up after every 50,000 ringtone sales.
Gucci must have misheard the question and thought XXL was asking about his relationship with Jooo-mane.
Negro, please. Gucci Mane and Soulja Boy are only comparable in lyrical disability. Soulja’s investing in better ghostwriters these days too, so there soon won’t be any acceptable comparison. It’ll just be Gucci and Juice huddled in a cold, lonely trap house.
On the bright side, I saw an ad on World Star that indicates they can get government bailout funds for said trap house.
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P.S.: Thanks to all of you who’ve been fucking with the RMC video adventures this weekend. There will be plenty more, so feel free to get familiar. No Clinton Sparks.