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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

TIs R N Danja

I was talking to someone the other day about the dilemma I face in the entertainment industry. On top of the normal stressors of elongated hours, low pay and years of sacrifice and effort to even make it to a level that’s barely above coffee getter at times, it can be morally confusing at times knowing that budgets for anything from commercials to music video – although greatly lower than what they were in the past – can essentially cost double the amount of my yearly salary.

Score one for me though; I knew all that community college training would come in handy someday!

Real talk is that I’ve split my time post-college either in the commercial production/entertainment field and music journalism. And I’ll be honest: if I wasn’t so conflicted I’d probably had been cooning it up at Monday night’s listening party for The Game’s new album as so many others did. Not to say I’m the “realest ni**a” around these here parts, but I know I’m definitely somewhat of an anomaly.

But perhaps I’m not the only one who feels that way, as it is somewhat refreshing – albeit ultimately facetious – when artists and executives within the industries supposedly quote-unquote “care about their community, comrades and country” through various organizations, donations, programs and activities. But let’s be honest: anybody who honestly believes that a rapper is preaching about the conflict in Darfur while rocking the same sinew-soaked conflict diamonds whose revenues are likely used to finance those battles in the first place has got to be out of their fucking mind. That shit is about as see-through as a cold, wet t-shirt draped across the ample bosom of Summer Walker.

So it felt a little bit good reading that blood diamond pusher Jacob The Jeweler (too easy) got sentenced to spend about 30 months having to protect his asshole from repeated violent entries in the bing. Not to come across as vindictive, but it’s about damn time that a TI – albeit a low-ranking one – gets locked up for doing illegal shit, because Lord knows what else they’re doing. For all I know a TI could have been the one who supplied T.I. with all those Megatron blammers, because we all know he couldn’t have gotten it from some backwater country bumpkin. Tell me I’m wrong.

At the same time, it’s not like I can exhale a sigh of relief, considering that they’re like roaches to begin with; one gets knocked, and ten others take its place. And considering that most rappers tend to like expensively gaudy trinkets, it’s only a matter of time before another harbinger of desolation pushes off glorified rocks in the name of stunting. On top of that, it’s just common knowledge that urban folks love shiny shit, which is why they go to ridiculous lengths to glow the brightest. Speaking of which, I wondered what happened to Paul Wall and that Asian fellow he used to make grills with. As soon as they jumped the shark, them shits fell out of the stratosphere faster than Cory Lidle’s Cessna plane.

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