This may be Captain Obvious moment of the year, but that aspiring rapster Ron Artest is an enigma to me. He consistently exhibits the behavior of a nigga who fucks with the Leon Isaac Kennedy; that Sherman Hemsley; The Love Boat; Cagney & Lacey; Silver Spoons; Alfonso Ribiero; The Fresh Prince. You get the idea. [Blogger’s Note: OK! Well, damn! You can make any old television show sound like a hallucinogen, can’t you?] One would think Artest is tweakin hard off that gutter butter—except, he’s not all sweaty and shit. This is a total Father Dowling Mystery to me. After my years in the projects becoming a fiendologist, I thought I had identifying niggas who liked to get wet down to a science. I mean, what other kind of nigga walks out onto the set of a nationally televised talk show wearing only underwear and acts like nothing’s out of order?
What was that? Pardon me. They’re not underwear. I’ve just been informed he was wearing shorts. What the fuck ever.
Maybe Artest isn’t as fucked up as we think he is. The man definitely has that gleam in his eye that indicates instability of Bizzy Bone proportions, but strangely enough, the Jimmy Kimmel Live interview features an Artest that’s calmer and more reserved than I’ve ever seen. Maybe that’s all the more cause for alarm. Perhaps Artest knows exactly where he is. As a Los Angeles Laker he can take full advantage of everything the TMZ generation has to offer. He introduces Lamar Odom to Frankenberry, drops these horrendous rap videos you can’t help but watch, and goes full-Rodman on late night television.
[Blogger’s Note: Thanks to the homie @EtherTweets for that Frankenberry crack. I’ll never look at Khloe Kardashian the same way again. That’s to say we go from full on disgust to “Bwaaahahahahaha!”]
Looks like someone’s laying foundation for The Ron Artest Show, or at least a career on television when basketball’s done. Sadly, I’m not sure if he’s aware that the joke is on him. We may not have known what to make of the sensitive and timely “Michael, Michael, Michael, You My Niggaaaaaaaaa!” But, shit like “Afghan Women” reaches that “Why Must I Cry”/”Cold in the D” level of heartfelt-but-awful. Reh Dogg seemed oblivious—or, at least impervious—to the fact that Daniel Tosh[.0] was making a jackhole out of him. T-Baby thought she was on a post-Grammy tour when in the throes of morning show shock jocks. They did her like Bumfight, except exposure was the half-eaten apple and rotten roast beef sandwich. Artest may believe he’s lining himself up for an ESPN or ABC job with these antics. He’d be lucky to come up on Flavor of Ron.
He could then do like Odom and abandon his family to wife some stranger without any of them knowing what’s going on until it hits Bossip. If it’s a white chick, it’ll side-eye onto Bossip instead. Because, as you all know, black women don’t end up alone because they don’t have their shit together. It’s because of all these good credit-having white bitches who give up that Becky quicker than a mongoose.
I digress a little, but the message remains. Niggas think being seen is all-important. Aspiring rapsters, take note. Exposure alone is not effective marketing or promotion, nor is it necessarily helpful to your cause. This is especially true when your dream is to be a successful musician. Shit. Ask 50 Cent. We laughed all year at Pimpin’ Curly. He’s been on a massive media barrage for a million and one reasons this quarter. Yet, Before I Self Destruct hasn’t exactly sold the way Jimmy and them would have liked.
[Blogger’s Note: Niggas hate. So, let 'em hate and watch excuses pile up.]
Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving to all! Speaking of Bizzy Bone, I’ll be back this weekend with a very special installment of Negro Please. My daily SOHH patrol has brought a very strange and sad Bone Thugs-N-Harmony interview to my attention. I know it’s old, but it’s probably new to you and we should discuss the shit… especially before any more condoms self-destruct.
Questions? Comments? Requests? Slow nigga news cycle much? firstname.lastname@example.org