I Am Delighted That People Are Dying Because Of Me
Bitches! Homies! Niggas and playas of all sorts of varieties! I come to you from beyond the grave, where I was tragically put after enduring 17 gunshot wounds from a former client whose system was not used to handling the unusually high grade of crack-cocaine that I used to peddle during life. I speak to you from Heaven, having accepted the Lord Christ Jesus seconds before my death, as was my plan (when you deal in the business of selling illicit substances and slamming your cock into strange, strung-out bitches, you learn to have some insurance).
I had planned on retiring from any journalistic intentions in the afterlife, dedicating myself to marketing a creation I have concocted up here that I call "cloudcaine" and polishing my collection of fine glass eggs, but I felt I should remark on my alacrity at the film that was made out of my life, "Get Handsomely Profitable Or Die Tryin'".
You see, I always knew I was enough of a compelling character that a film should be made out of my life. Think of all of my adventures! Caps being busted at me left and right! Beating a man to death with naught but my penis, swollen with blood and heroin! Using young bitches as drug mules and me mules, riding around atop their fine-ass shoulders as I hid crack-cocaine in their brassieres! The problem was that I was always much too alive for a film to be properly made out of me -- the public would've rightly seen through it as a cheap corporate attempt to market my bad-ass gangsta image to impressionable young faux drug-dealers in an effort to stir up interest in me and my wares. But now that I have been appropriately gunned down, the film is made, legitimate and well-received!
And of course, when I say "well-received", I mean "people getting shot and shit". Apparently a fellow in my home state of Pennsylvania, already quite taken with my frankly crunk (and I use the word here as a positive adjective, rather than a noun describing a musical style or a mispronunciation of "crank") way of life, used my film as an excuse to shoot a fellow. Was it over drugs -- specifically, exemplary crack-cocaine? I doubt it. But he is on the right path. Perhaps if he left some children behind at his baby mama's, they can follow in his footsteps -- and consequently my own footsteps -- and accomplish what their father never could.
Here from atop my perch on a fine-ass angel's shoulders in Heaven, I have seen that even billboards merely mentioning my film have been taken down from some ghettos! The explanations run the gamut from "the ads are in poor taste" (apparently because they depict me freebasing cocaine while simultaneously shooting a tardy client in the face, all the while furiously fornicating with a woman in a style paying homage to Ludacris' masterwork "What's Your Fantasy") to "the ads encourage this kind of behavior in our ghettos" (well, certainly!).
But what is the harm in demonstrating to the young lads and fucking bitches off that particular lower-income district a viable career path for them to pursue? I would like to have my detractors know that I made a certain high quantity of benjamins -- and, by extension, bling -- in my biz-nass. Wouldn't they wish a similar level of success on the children of to-day? Far be it for me to attempt backseat parenting, especially since I have only 11 known offspring and have only ever met one of them in an attempt to extract his kidney for later use, but what is a better way out of the ghetto? A particularly proficient dice-player could have a chance, I suppose, but what are the chances of your child being drafted onto a dice team? The competition is fierce!
Indeed, I am wholly embracing the values and lessons my film teaches to children, such as never attempt to store crack-cocaine inside the ear canal of the biatch whom you just bedded, or always make sure to shoot people every once in a while to keep yourself grounded. I believe there are fantastic merchandising opportunities here, as well; can you imagine a "51 Cent Crack-Cocaine Play Set", which would come with play cocaine (crushed asprin and some cocaine), a lil' freebaser kit, Monopoly money to help "dealers" make appropriate change, and a nine millimeter pistol? Our children could turn play-time into drug-time, learning skills that could put them at an advantage in their later actual drug-dealing years of 10 and above. Of course, if the set became popular enough, all of the children would have the same advantage, but I would expect the particularly shrewd ones who watched my film enough would learn to shoot their rivals and thin out competition.
As I was explaining to St. Peter just the other day, my biznass is crack-cocaine first, bitches second, and fuck ya'll third. This still remains true. However, if I can further said biznass through strategic marketing strategies that strengthen my brand while also teaching children of the ghetto viable career skillz, so be it. I may be dead, but my image will live on forever, in spite of what the hatas may want. Stay the fuck up out my biznass, detractors! Stay the fuck up out indeed!