Perhaps I Shall Extend My Talents Into The Rapping World
Hello and welcome to all of you, my very dearest brothas and sistas. Those of you familiar with my exploits will no doubt recall that the last time you left me, I was in a bit of a peril, having grown quite disillusioned with everybody all fronting up in my shit in the great city of Philadelphia. I quite love dealing crack-cocaine, of course, but it is largely a thankless job, much like being a garbage man, or a crack whore. I therefore began to wonder if perhaps a new perspective on life was the answer to my weariness.
Luckily, the answer came to me the other night, as I was in the throes of a particularly severe cocaine-induced hallucination, having taken a particularly high grade that I normally only reserve for clients of royalty, or those who pay me in sexual favours.
"But you're ignoring the very basic principles of my theory," I was saying to the lampshade, whom I have been having an ongoing debate with concerning my views on wormholes and interstellar physics. "I'm saying that while Einstein's statement was true, it simply wasn't --"
"Enough of this biz-ness!" shouted my television, an object that has traditionally been silent during my hallucinations. "51 Cent, you done lost your damn roots."
"Balderdash!" I said indignantly, carefully watching to make sure the three-headed bat flying over my head was not going to tear any holes in my skull. "I'm just the same as I ever was!"
"Well, whatever," the TV said. "The point is, you need to become a rapper."
"Eureka!" I shouted, and then my dryer latched onto my face for a certain amount of time.
Later, as I was nursing the burns on my cheeks and forehead, I recalled the conversation. Could my skills at drug dealing somehow translate into the rap world? I decided that since a great many other rappers were drug dealers or still continue to be, the odds were in my favour.
With this decided, I purchased some recording time in a small recording studio and enlisted the help of a few of my clientele -- Shaqizila Daniels and Mr. Slim Jim, to be more precise -- and produced a great many songs, one of which I have posted a portion of below:
"My pertinence to you lies not merely in my rapping skills,
But also my drug dealings to pay the bills
I do enjoy enticing attractive women with nice legs,
But not as much as collecting fine glass eggs.
I'm a playa,
Don't fuck with me,
Or I shall surely strip you of whatever iota of dignity
You may have possessed up until this moment
Which, assuredly, is likely not a great deal!
Of dignity, I mean.
In any event, I should also inform you that
I engaged in drug-induced sexual conduct
With your mother and spouse or significant other
For the past several evenings
And this was fueled by our incessant consumption
Of alcoholic libations
That we purchased with your very own money!
O-ho, you are surely livid now
As well you should be, sir."
I have submitted this song, entitled "51 Cent Simply Cannot Be Stopped By Any Conventional Means", as well as some other sure-fire hits, such as "Bitches And Hoes: I Have A Great Deal Of Both", and "Money: I Do Have Some, But I Wish I Had More, And Also Some Bling-Bling" to several record companies. I anxiously await the reply letters, especially since in order to grease the wheels of the music industry, I must confess to attaching a medium-grade crack-cocaine sample to each submission, as well as a signed photograph of myself!
Until I hear back from the companies, however, I still must assume my standard role of a mere non-rapping crack-cocaine dealer. I must say, though, that the prospect of a career change has given me more tolerance for my present path. Even taking my 11th gunshot wound today just caused me to chuckle a bit and think to myself as my blood spurted out of me, "Oh 51 Cent, you old salt, you!"
