Depression is some serious shit. While we’re not all clinically depressed, we all get down from time to time. I feel that. Soulja Boy freaked the fuck out last week after realizing all that glitters ain’t swag. Bow Wow may very well have felt the ripple effect that shimmers off of the niggas in your circle.
Either that or Bow Wow saw the attention Soulja Boy got for his freakout and decided to try a cracker-less one.
Let’s say Bow Wow is truly freaking out and dealing with serious, clinical depression somewhere. If such is the case, that’s not really funny. Mental illness is a motherfucker. I wouldn’t say Bow Wow hasn’t had to work hard, because he’s been in the enterslavement industry pretty much all his life, but it must be hard to have peaked at age 12 without anything remotely secure to look forward to. Life must be rough without the guidance and prodding of the great star-making machine.
The further south Bow Wow’s career has gone (no ATL), the more ignorantly he’s behaved in the public arena. Prince Bow should be in the new World Star Hip-Hop navigation banner alongside Soulja Boy, [insert street corner battle rapper here], James Makes Money, Max B and Portuguese Idaho—I think that’s his name. Being known to the next generation of kids (pron: “target demographic”) as one of the faces on this Mount Rushmore of black online fuckery doesn’t leave much for a nigga in the way of future earning prospects.
I mean, when you been had hundreds like sha-pow, sha-pow, suddenly being unsure where that next stack is coming from is sobering like a motherfucker.
Bow Wow’s always looked a little sad to me. For a while now, he’s been that lonely rich kid with nothing but a lengthy XBOX Live track record and weed crumbs to show for a life of entertaining people who now only want a new hip-hop Hot Pocket to microwave.
Now let’s say Bow Wow just saw the attention Soulja Boy received for his “cracka-lacka” rant and wanted a piece of the Twitter action. His micro suicide note then becomes the darkest and vilest of all New Jack City II-era publicity stunts. As we observed in The Curious Case of Mario Lavandeira, you fuck with uncontrollable forces when you try to throw your multitude of fans into a frenzy that involves emergency services.
At least, I hope some of the 17 fans Bow Wow has left would try to get him some help when they read that shit.
Maybe Bow Wow realizes that shit isn’t going to get any better. Maybe Lamborghini Moss feels he’s already seen what he believes will have been his best days. Aspiring rapsters take note. This is what happens when the bright lights stop flashing and you haven’t invested enough into creating a worthwhile, fulfilling life.
Questions? Comments? Requests? Don’t tweet your distress, dammit! firstname.lastname@example.org
I don’t necessarily hope that the suicidal tweets are genuine, but if they are, I do hope the little nigga gets some help and that we take the important lessons from this shit.