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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

The Odd Couple

“What happened to the Mobb, Curtis?!”
“You’re not gonna beat me, Cam.”

How accurate was that statement?

I hate to admit it, but it’s been rather difficult for me to ignore the media blitz known as Hurricane Curtis West, what with it even getting play on ESPN and the various connects I “acquire” music from. In its own way, their labels’ respective TIs orchestrated this shit to a well-tuned tee, and despite the fact that their albums (trust me when i say that you don’t want to hear my thoughts on them) were leaked a couple Fridays ago by the same Senegalese immigrants in Harlem who sold me a huge vat of Shea butter for $5 when I was in New York, it’s obvious that the majority of the music buyers (read: the ones who don’t know of the various Internets black markets) have fallen for the shit hook, line and sinker.

Aside from preferring to spend my hard earned, toner-changing money on things that matter more to me like, say, Dominoe’s Pizza and vodka, not to mention the fact that I’m just a cheap bastard (ladies, if you’re interested...), the chances of me legally obtaining those two albums is about as slim as resident faux cyber-goon sharkcity’s chances of writing a convincing dissertation on why his funny-style moniker doesn’t sound like he was an extra in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. In other words, don’t bet on black.

But I digress.

The interesting thing about this is that while Curtsy has been failing miserably at garnering some form of buzz for his shit sammich since February, Kanye simply snuck up and swiped all his momentum with two “meh” singles. So if the cover of his album was any indication, Fiddy’s situation is so harrowing that he would actually link up with Jim Jones on Rap City to chop it up. And while I could care less than a shit about him, you have to wonder how Cam’Ron feels about the whole thing. I mean, not only has he one of had his retinas crushed by Tru-Life and his MySpace page hacked by his Puerto Rock e-terrorists, now his BFF would rather have tea and crumpets with his nemesis while he’s lounging in one of my city’s quick-nut motels in some dih-duh-dih-duns and Timbos.

I think it’s safe to say that Cammy lost this one. But it’s not like that’s saying much because Curtsy would rather hang out with a guy who rocks button-up muscle shirts and skinny jeans than deliver a cohesive album, while Kanye throws bitch fits about not winning an MTV award as if it were a Nobel Peace Prize. You know who really won this shit though? The A-Rabs making all kinds of money from this shit, laughing straight to the bank the entire time.

[1] If you honestly think Jay and Dre have anything to do with this, go play in traffic please.

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