I grew more and more confused with each passing moment after seeing footage of Kid Cudi going Ron Artest on some fan at a Vancouver show this past weekend. What did Cudi think, that this episode of contrived niggerishness was going to get him some stripes or some shit?
After seeing the XXL coverage I realized that the scenario is about 5 times dumber than I initially thought.
You can see the gears turning in Cudi’s head as he decides how to best handle the life and manhood-threatening situation of the stray wallet that makes its way onto the stage. First, Cudi tries to defuse the situation by relaxing and handing the wallet back a first time. But then the wallet lands on stage a SECOND time! Holy fuck! I don’t know about you people, but Cudi does what any man would have to. Gotta to defend yourself from those rowdy Palace fans by daintily floating into the crowd and letting a couple of lovetaps go.
Speaking of Detriot, this fancy Cudder negro knew exactly where he was. Granted, you should never sleep on your environment or think shit is sweet. But, let’s be real. Vancouver is no Detroit or Chicago or New York or some shit. It’s not even a Toronto. And, unless he has the world’s most severe faux leather allergy, Cudi was not in any danger. He just knew he was in some Vancouver scenester spot and could get away with a few windmill sissy slaps over the fence.
[Blogger’s Note: You know how beef is good for music economy. When Bourne said that war is the health of the state, he was totally referring to inevitable rap beefs and American Apparel niggas keeping shit extra real.]
There are no props to be had for punching some scenester in the face, especially the wrong scenester. That’s what them niggas in the “security” shirts is for. Ask Chopper Suit. He plays Applebee’s regularly. If someone tosses a frozen margarita or some stray french fries at you, point him out to security. Clearly Cudi had enough of an [incorrect] inclination as to who the culprit was whereas he could tell that new joke that’s been going around. You know, the one about what the five fingers said to the cheekbone, or some shit. He should have directed that misinformation to the proper public house authorities.
Meanwhile, the fan isn’t pressing charges. I first thought the fan wasn’t doing so because he grew up in a place where it’s not a matter of international concern every time someone so much as breathes on another nigga. Though, I’m probably giving the little scenester too much credit. The nigga was a paying customer at a Kid Cudi show whose only request for reparation is a chance to meet Cudi–probably to get another look at that cotton-soft left jab. Smart money says he’s all like, “I’m not pressing charges or anything. I’m just totally fucking stoked that Kid Cudi touched me. That’s pretty fucking sweet, hey? I’m not gay or anything, I—I just think it’s cool. That’s all. I mean, how many people can say Kid Cudi touched them in any way? You know? I mean, his music touches everyone. But like, touching touching is something else, hey?”
You know Cudi is gonna cry on his blog about this, right?
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