Sleek and Wild

Monday Massacres: Nelly Dilemma

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All the popping, and locking and thingsYouShouldntTryAtHome and thingsYouShouldTryInTheBedroom, we bring you all that. Even hard lyrics. Even soft ones(Will Smith rap). Even scary ones(Rick Ross showing face). We bring you all that. Now we bring you some prose. Just because we can. Peace. Out. Peace. In.

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Why do people let Nelly anywhere near a recording studio? Where’s the logic in that? I mean, it’s bad enough that they let him even sniff the air outside the studio…but then as if that’s not scary enough, they watch him stop sniffing the air, sniff himself for about ten minutes, hold his gonads and then walk towards the studio door…any alarms going off? Red-alert yet? No? Nothing. And then the guard at the studio door hits pause on an Eminem track he’s listening to on his I-pad, looks up, sees Nelly limping towards the door, a ‘fake voice approaching’ look written all-over his face…Nelly even brushes last night’s dinner off the front of his t-shirt, just in case it’s obscuring the case-sensitive words ‘FAKE FAKE guy’ emblazoned on his chest…guard squints and reads the message, takes it in, stands up to stop the fake guy from soiling the studio’s path any further…and just when he reaches for his hand grenade, he sees P-Dildo trying to sneak into through the back door disguised as a woman…poor guard is distracted. What the hell? He moves  laser fast and grabs Dildo by the kahunas and throws him out…(P Dildo goes on to sing a song using some improvised stuff and somehow some loonies worldwide get down to it…but that’s a story you’d undress in protest at hearing..so i’ll write it strictly for one person’s eyes…one gal. At a time. You can borrow it when i’m done. The story. Yes, yes, the story, not the girl.) Yes, P Dildo drops remix after remix, and just to make sure we don’t get it twisted, he always  announces ‘This is the remix’. Why thank you Diddy, ahem, we didn’t know that…

So guard distracted, Nelly gets past the door and into the recording studio…a sudden dark descends over Eastern Uganda, but no one worldwide makes the connection…Nelly-in-recording-studio=darkness-in-Eastern-Uganda. That goon’s making locals suffer…he looks around, pockets the face towels he finds lying on the floor, probably discarded by real musicians, like Lauryn Hill, after a long, intensive, draining songing session…Yes, songing…the word singing has been defiled by people like Nelly so real songers now have to use their own word…some examples maybe? Songer: India Arie. Singer: P Dandy. Songer: A Keys. Singer: T-Pain. Songer: Common. Singer: Chamellionare. Songer: Floetry. Singer: Sean Kingston.

So Nelly, pulling his cap low to hide his face, proceeds to the now-abandoned microphone…producer sees weak chap go to mic, but assumes that it’s a song about charity so he let’s it pass. He reaches for his water and takes several sips to steady his heart when the guy starts to sing. Shrill. Uncordinated. Shallow lyrics. Wannabe. FAKE. Producer goes for potty break. Producer’s dumb assistant enters, gets CD and sends to radio station with instructions, ‘Play this. It’s by homeless klut, play once only’. And they play once only…and fellow kluts worldwide love the ‘song’ and request for more…and ageing producer has no choice but to invite Nelly to sing. You brought this on us, you Nelly lover you…go to sleep knowing that.

   May 17th, 2010    Monday Massacres...Bollocks