Sure, he’s barely a rapper, but the homie Taurik put me on to Ron Artest’s blog at RonArtest.com. I can’t stand the Ron on Ron violence, but the shit needs to happen. Yesterday’s entry “My Letter to Tiger” is every bit as terrible and sadly entertaining as his musical letter to Michael, Michael, Michael, our nigga. Thus, as requested, I had to share my thoughts on the document.
Artest immediately attacks “sportscasters and journalists” who obviously want to see Tiger Woods fail. I’m not going to dispute the notion that Woods may have enemies, or that there is racism in the world. Both may very well be at play. But, fuck if I’m going to sit here and listen to this moron talk like Tiger is being crucified for some shit that isn’t his own doing. Why is he asking reporters to look inside themselves because they are discussing breaking news about a [self-hating] nigga who did some dirt? I could sit around here and talk about my personal shortcomings, which I do from time to time on my podcast. But, then I wouldn’t be writing about the news, would I? Stop the bullshit, Ron. Some of those writers are horrible people who have their dogs shit on neighbors’ lawns and don’t clean it up. That’s completely irrelevant to the job that need be done. They have to cover the stupid shit niggas like you and Tiger do. Look at that. I’ve put Ron Artest and Tiger Woods in the same sentence. I bet that’s all this nigga’s ever wanted.
If anyone need be on trial here, it’s the society that values up-to-the-second information about celebrities. While Woods’ “serious car accident” would always have be news, his personal life need not be. However, Artest condemns this public school of thought with one hand and incessantly tweets niggorance with the other. He doesn’t see the role he plays in… Aw, fuck it. Why the fuck am I writing all this heady shit like Artest would understand if he ever came across this? The nigga would stare at me with his head cocked sideways like a fucking poodle if this were a face-to-face conversation.
I guarantee you Woods is not building his legacy to support his wife and kids, as Artest suggests. That much has been exhibited by Woods’ having thrown raw dog dirty dick to every wing tray-carrying skeezer he’s ever met. He didn’t even pick the cute ones. Nigga didn’t bother to be discreet. He took one of those bitches to Australia. He’s Tiger fucking Woods. Mawfuckas are going to notice when he steps off the plane with a jumpoff—especially a homely one.
Artest also asserts that Woods has given his wife “a life that people can’t even dream of.” Nigga, people can dream of this shit like this. They call such dreams nightmares. You can tell by the severity of Woods’ asswhoopin that Elin Nordegren would obviously trade it all for a shred of respect and actual love. I mean, she did trade it all, as the scene from Caddyshack III: Da Derrty Version she performed on his car and cablinasian ass sets the wheels in motion for a divorce. She signed a very gulliver prenuptial agreement that indicates she’s entitled to double bogey dollars if she doesn’t stay married to him for 5 years. The agreement reads more like an incentive-laden athlete’s contract and I wouldn’t be surprised if Tiger’s agent drew the shit up. As a divorce right now would mean Nordegren falls well short of the first monetary milestone, she ain’t gettin nada. No Sporty Thievz.
[Blogger’s Note: You just know Tiger Woods loves himself some Caddyshack.]
[Blogger's Note: Is that John Forte pumping gas in the intro?]
But I digress. Back to the letter.
“I thought you were 36 or 37 until I read the news today. A 33-year-old man who has been a model citizen with so much at stake. This is your first publicly known issue since you started your career, compared to my 50 or more publicly known issues and mistakes. You have been the perfect role model for me and my sons for longer than anyone I have known.”
There are no words. But, I’ll try. Is Woods supposed to have gotten a free pass on the first “publicly known issue”? Everyone’s clean until they do some damn dirt, dumb nigga. Also, the shit is neither cumulative nor relative. Niggas don’t get passes based on the nigga next to them having more infractions than they do. And, if anyone can explain how Woods is “the perfect role model” to a grown man and his children by swinging a damn golf club really well, I’d gladly appreciate it. Not to say Artest’s kids weren’t already fucked, but if Daddy was watching Woods’ every move, them little niglets are extra fucked.
Oh, nevermind. I see Artest includes “with the exception of a few legends”. I bet that list included Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, Patrick Ewing and a slew of other publicly confirmed NBA MVPs. You know, Most Venereable Penises.
How about this one? “And us athletes know how much you personally love your family.” Translation: Only grimy niggas like us can relate.
Finally, how can this travesty of higher education spending be “just a fan mail letter to Tiger Woods” in one breath, “indirectly addressed to Tiger himself” in the next, and attached to a plea that “everyone support Tiger in these tough times for his family”? I’m sure Woods would have appreciated the confidential, USPS-sealed version infinitely more. Besides, Woods ain’t got no family left. He damn near killed wifey’s moms. Ol’ girl been had bus tickets. He couldn’t be any more alone. Plus, I gots no support for a nigga of this kind. How the fuck am I supposed to support this nigga? Should I tell him that everything’s okay? Let him know I got a sister he can fuck around on if he wants to get his family game back poppin again? Mane, fuck outta here. What I need to do is get at these kids who think that just because they can make a little change or get a little fame that they’re allowed to treat people like dog shit. Maybe I should tell Artest’s kids, since he probably won’t.
Ron-Ron, can we get a letter like this to Kobe since you’re in a writing mood these days? Love the blog, nigga. Please don’t stop.
Questions? Comments? Requests? Need a new role model? firstname.lastname@example.org
Oh, yeah. Tiger beat, indeed. See what I did there?