Posse On Trendwatch alert: 2011 will mark the rise of the mentally imbalanced rapster.

I don’t play as many video games as I used to, but whenever I’m relatively deep into a good game of Madden (this current version still sucks balls, though) with the score close and the clock winding down, I tend to lose my shit every now and then, screaming at the virtual wide receiver for dropping a seemingly wide open and celebrating like I was the one who kicked the game-winning field goal.

David Akers, I am not.

My NFL aspirations start and stop at my PlayStation 3 controller, however, and I don’t ever see myself trying out for a spot on the Eagles as if I was Marky Mark. I’d personally prefer to live to an age where I can hold my own children without suffering from a severe case of the shakies than rake in millions of dollars every year risking my own well-being for a barbaric sport. Or maybe it’s just because there are easier ways to make a buck in this lost world we live in without risking my life and ending up like, say, Corky Thatcher from late 80s/early 90s television drama Life Goes On, trying to do so. That’s also why I’ll never be some drug-peddling block star-turnt-rapster either… well, that and the fact I don’t have the heart to sell drugs to my community.

Stupid conscience.

These days, however, it doesn’t even seem like you really need to push weight to be clinically off your rocker, as some artists today were seemingly bred just to ingest paint chips. Think about it: any rapster who, after seemingly making it out of the very cesspool of despair that inspired them to pick up a microphone in the first place, ends up neck-deep back in shit’s creek for doing unnecessarily dumb shit is obviously a couple pills short of a full prescription. Artists like “(I Eat The Asbestos From The) Brick Squad” affiliates Gucci Mane and Waka Flocka are dead ringers for Special Olympics contestants with Gooch (literally) checking in to a loony bin and Waka deciding it would be great to expand his burgeoning empire by getting on the hoe train, The Godfather-style, in his own home, while T.I. apparently wants to receive the Medal Of Honor in that shit for riding around shining with E-pills and kicking it with fellow felons while still on probation.

It looks like they’re going to have pretty stiff competition too, as actual mentally challenged rapsters are stepping into the arena as well. We all know about (and mocked, let’s keep it real here) a pair of the more prominent “acts” out, Eli Porter and 50 Tyson, but I had no idea that the two have been actually beefing with each other for the better part of winter. Now, whereas I felt I actually had a good chance of kicking it with Lilith and Beelzebub in Satan’s crimson gates when I did before, I can actually laugh at these two battle each other online with no fear of repercussions from whatever deity decides to watch over me any given day of the week.

2011 is going to be interesting. Watch.

[1] This whole post was sponsored in part by this damaging head cold that doesn’t have me thinking straight, so if you feel a certain ways about this… uh, sorry?