This is a video of Talib Kweli talking about how Kanye West would horrify the Talib Kweli audience back when they would tour together. Ye would also try to turn rap shows into Moulin Rogue, which Kweli frowned upon. That Kanye West is such a rapscallion! But according to Kweli, we should nurture and be grateful for these antics. I, for one, am totally appreciative since I get to blog about it. Aside from that, well, let’s just say God Bless Talib Kweli.
Ha ha ha, very funny! Except, it’s not, you silly bastards. 2009 might not be the year to spread celebrity death rumors, you know? Not that me and my staff of none possess the sort of righteousness required to shame people into ending their premature Internet grave-dancing, but we’ll be damned if we’re going to join in it. It’s a little morbid, even for us. Listen, Kanye West ain’t going nowhere anytime soon no matter how badly some of us you want him to sit down. Kanye West will continue to make music and headlines and mischief at award shows in perpetuity, which means FOREVER. You hear that? Forever and ever and ever. When it’s all said and done it will be him, a gang of cockroaches and Wall-E. Because they are both robots. Robots must be dismantled but they cannot die. This is science.
Kanye West Death Hoax: “You goin’ too far!” (c) Ye — Miss Info
“Sweet levitating Christ, What is this?” you wondered all of 2009, as you reflected upon that faraway time when we questioned Puff Daddy and his crew of Shiny Suit Warriors. Good times, those. But no more. Recent months have given way to a new strain of atrociously dandy fashion choices within Hip-Hop. You have here Lil’ Wayne and his Smedium Money crew, who like to sing in auto-tune and laugh at their own jokes. Then there’s Kanye West and his merry band of Mariannes, who all made a big colorful statement early this year at Paris Fashion Week, and that statement was “Beat me up.” Fashion is all about standing out from the rest of us common folks, declaring to the world that you are cooler-than-thou and therefore confident enough to look like a complete asshole and suffer no repercussions which, of course, is the true essence of Hip-Hop–simply not giving a fuck.
We open on a dimly-lit, cavernous nightclub on straight night. In the midst of this bacchanalian decadence is national treasure and Taylor Swift-interrupting cyborg Kanye West, who is sporting a convoluted mullet and has gone on a ravenous cocaine binge. After belligerently insisting on paying for a champagne delivery, wastefully gifted upon him by the nightclub owner’s vampire brides, the cyborg realizes that the deejay is playing one of his own songs. The audience, regretfully, also realizes this as the cyborg makes his way through the crowd, interrupting otherwise peaceful club-goers in strict accordance to his M.O. He then bumps into Fonzworth Bentley, who mistakenly doesn’t realize this is straight night. The cyborg suddenly finds himself in a mysterious room where he begins to have sexual intercourse with a woman that has neither watched TV, listened to the radio, logged on to the Internet or subscribes to Tiger Beat, or she would know who this cyborg is and would not be having sex with him. Cut to: The cyborg is back in the V.I.P. area, waking up from a deep sleep on the couch with his pants around his ankles because it really isn’t straight night. He then stumbles to the bathroom and vomits an entire sink’s worth of rose petals. When he crashes to the floor like a pussy, he notices the Aztec hunting knife used to kill Jason Voorhees in Jason Goes to Hell: The Final Friday. As he screams like a pussy, he slices himself open and more rose petals spew forth from his abdomen, revealing an umbilical cord. Attached to the umbilical cord is a disgusting little furry hellbeast that resembles Pat Sajak. The cyborg releases it, setting the Pat Sajak mutant on the sink. They look into each other’s eyes and have a tender moment of unspoken words. Then the cyborg detaches a mini-hunting knife from the hunting knife he just used and hands it to the disgusting Pat Sajak bastard, who then slices open his own abdomen and dies on the sink like a pussy. The End.