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Consequence and Diddy’s Coon Picnic

I am going to give you a minute to observe this special camera time with Consequence, Diddy and some dude they refer to as “LB.” I refer to him as the “coon catalyst.” See, you don’t know what I mean yet. You haven’t gotten that far yet to have the same confused look I did when he started spea—

I’m sorry. What’s that, now?

No. You’re hearing that shit correctly. The guy in the winter gear describes their work as “coon music.” It took me a few listens, but he starts out with “ace boon coon,” like my mama and uncle used to say. He then progresses, dropping the “ace” and “boon” from the equation. Perhaps we should rewind the coonery and assess it from the top.

If you’ve ever needed evidence of what I mean by “present a camera and watch the monkeys dance,” you’ll have to understand by the end of this video. It’s as if the decision to be a professional musician involves a contractual obligation to throw out your best rehearsed slogans, rapsterisms, salutations and pearls of conventional ignorance i.e.: “You already know what it is. It’s your boy ____, CEO of ___ Records” and “At the end of the day, you gnome sane [insert your most ostentatious display here].”

[Blogger’s Note: Notice how it’s always [corny name here] TV when a nigga gets his phone out and “directs” a video he will put on YouTube without editing.]

Shit, niggas do all that even when they have nothing to do with anything. Nigga never seen a microphone or Pro Tools in his life tombout “You already know what it is, man. It’s your boy __. We out here gittin money, nigga. Fuck what you doin. Keep hatten on me. Get on your job. I need more haters. But stop hatten, though” shit. I blame the rise of ghetto DVD magazines. Smack is gone [I think], but niggas still talk like they’re about to battle Murda Mook on 141st and St. Nick.

Consequence should neeeeever film a video from this angle. It’s too close and from below. I don’t think I need to really explain what’s wrong there. The shit is definitely not safe for small children. You would think, given his name, that Consequence would understand the conse–… Sigh. Nevermind.

Note how extra niggerish Puffy comes out to play in this clip. This looks like bottled-up niggerishness welling over. Yep, this is repression of the Tom DuBois variety–as possessed by Stinkmeaner.

[Blogger’s Note: What’s goooooood, nyiggaaaaaaaa?!?!?!]

Is it just me, or does Consequence talks like he’s got a couple of screws loose? I know he looks a little old for what seems to be acceptable for a rapper, but dude can’t be senile just yet, right? He sounds like a cross between a party boat DJ and Don Cornelius trying to remember a grocery list.

“You gotta get you some chocolate chip Cookie Crisp, now… And some grits. Stop fuckin’ with them vanilla wafers.”

Mind you, the Cookie Crisp to vanilla wafer metaphor isn’t about race. You ace boon coons out there need know better. Puffy explains.

“And we ain’t talkin’ about race. We talkin’ about music. This that black—”

See. It’s not about race. It’s about black, soulful shit. That’s not race-related at all. It’s just related to race.

Truth of the matter is, none of these negroes know what the fuck they are talking about. And despite the economic and social stature of its cast, this video possesses the entire niggerish DVD checklist. Stacks on deck? Check. Disrespect for the non-Benjamin bill? Check. Destruction of legal tender? Check. It’s all there.

Puffy doesn’t “even know how that [lesser bill] got in there.” These men were surely astonished to find an errant $20 bill in a prop stack. I think they’re supposed to get their deposit back when that shit happens. Don’t even trip. Puffy can definitely afford to drop paper on manicured and prepared stacks.

The sad part about the dollar destruction is that Consequence is like “That’s alright! I’d have fucked with that $50. They don’t even take Benjamins at Burger King.” They didn’t even consult him before tearing up that money. That’s like taking an Ethiopian child to Splish Splash knowing he’s been thirsty all his natural life.

I sure would love to hear me some of this “coon music” these fellers are gushing about. Well played, Combs. You knew win or lose I’d have to listen to “coon music.” I didn’t listen to Press Play. I only heard like 12 of the 96 versions of that one Dirty Money song with the Biggie molestation. I wasn’t getting a ticket for The Last Train to Merchandising. You knew I’d have to experience Coon Music.

Questions? Comments? Requests? This that Coon-y Mu-sic! ron@ronmexicocity

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