 |  |  |  |
| I Refuse to Do the Rock-Away |
| Too many breasts, not enough women. |
Man, Fat Joe is going to be pissed at me. I was at a bar the other night, hanging out with
friends and ordering shots on random people’s tabs, when it happened. The DJ (and I use the
term very loosely; the guy didn’t have a single record with him, just a computer) played Terror
Squad’s ubiquitous hit “Lean Back.”
From the way everyone around me reacted, you’d think the DJ had played one of those
epileptic Japanese cartoons. I was suddenly caught in the eye of a raging storm of bad
dancing. All around me, white people, at the urging of Terror Squad’s rotund leader, Fat Joe,
started to “do the Rock-away” (except for one dude who started doing the “Running Man,” and
this chick who I think actually was having a seizure). Some of them even attempted to “lean
back” (and to digress for just a second, I find it hard to believe that a man of Joe Crack’s
corpulence could ever, under any circumstances, “lean back,” let alone “do the rock-away”).
I needed a drink in a bad way. I tried to get the bartender’s attention, but she too had
succumbed to Fat Joe’s siren song and was attempting to do the rock-away behind the bar.
Mulling over my options, I decided to go hit the can. I figured by the time I got back, everything
would have returned to normal and I could get back to ordering drinks on Paul Allen’s tab
(whoever he is).
Alas, it was not to be. The dirty sons-of-bitches who ran the bar had had the foresight to put
speakers in the bathroom. This was disastrous. The guy at the urinal attempted to “lean
back,” spraying urine all over the walls. I dove back through the doorway to safety.
Finally, after a tense three minutes, the song started to wind down. People stopped abusing
their spinal cords and went back to drinking quietly and trying to find someone drunk enough to
take home. I thought things were back to normal. I thought wrong. I had forgotten about…the
remix.
Remixes, at best, can be entertaining flights of fancy, answering the question “What if these
artists had been present for the original recording?” At worst, they can be towering piles of
crap created solely to squeeze another glass of milk out of a dying cash cow. The remix to
“Lean Back” easily belongs in the latter category.
What makes it suck so much ass, you ask? The presence of two of the most untalented (not
counting No Limit Records’ stable) jackasses in the hip hop industry: Mason Betha and
Eminem.
We all already know why I don’t like Mr. Mathers (see “Let’s All Be Nice to Michael Jackson).
But some of you out there who lack musical taste might be asking yourselves, “What’s wrong
with Mase?”
My problem with Mase is simple. He sucks. I blame him for starting the whole rapping-while-
asleep trend. Without Mase, we wouldn’t have boring, unenthusiastic rhymes from jokers like
Fabolous (way to spell, dumbass) and 50 Cent polluting the airwaves. And yes, I did just dis
50 Cent. Everyone makes such a big deal about how he got shot nine times. That doesn’t
impress me. If he’d shot nine people or better yet, dodged bullets nine consecutive times, then
I could forgive his lackadaisical flow and personality-deficient clique.
No wait, I take that back. The only way 50 Cent could impress me is if he’d caught all nine
bullets in his big-ass teeth. That’s why he’s not even half as bad-ass as my man Teller of
“Penn and Teller” fame. That guy is straight up gangsta. I have no idea how many times I’ve
seen fatass Penn try to bust a cap in my boy’s mouth, and he catches that shit every single
time, smiling all the while might I add. Plus, Teller has a real smile, not a freakish, baby-eating
grin like 50 Cent has. He’s probably got all kinds of blood, skin, and Huggie chunks up in
those gums.
Anyway, the last thing that pisses me off about this song is Fat Joe himself. Don’t get me
wrong, I do like most of his music. My problem with him is more personal. I feel like every day,
with every pound of his body, he disrespects Big Punisher.
Big Pun, as many affectionately called him, was an awesome rapper and a really, really fat
dude. In the end, his weight led to the health problems that killed him. If Fat Joe really gave
two honey baked hams about the guy, he’d slim his ass on down as a tribute to Pun. I mean, if
your friend overdosed on heroin, you’d probably try to lay off the horse, right? On at least stop
glorifying it like Fat Joe does. I mean, his name’s Fat Joe (his alter ego, Joe Crack, is even
worse. If his name refers to crack cocaine, that makes no sense, because that dude’s making
more than enough to buy powder. And if his name refers to the crack that is undoubtedly
exposed every time he bends over, I think “Joe Canyon” would be a more appropriate name for
his Pillsbury Doughboy-ass)!
In conclusion, Eminem still sucks, Mase is lazy, 50 Cent eats babies, Fat Joe has zero respect
for his dead homies, and Teller is as hard as they come. Fuck with him at your own risk,
suckas.
friends and ordering shots on random people’s tabs, when it happened. The DJ (and I use the
term very loosely; the guy didn’t have a single record with him, just a computer) played Terror
Squad’s ubiquitous hit “Lean Back.”
From the way everyone around me reacted, you’d think the DJ had played one of those
epileptic Japanese cartoons. I was suddenly caught in the eye of a raging storm of bad
dancing. All around me, white people, at the urging of Terror Squad’s rotund leader, Fat Joe,
started to “do the Rock-away” (except for one dude who started doing the “Running Man,” and
this chick who I think actually was having a seizure). Some of them even attempted to “lean
back” (and to digress for just a second, I find it hard to believe that a man of Joe Crack’s
corpulence could ever, under any circumstances, “lean back,” let alone “do the rock-away”).
I needed a drink in a bad way. I tried to get the bartender’s attention, but she too had
succumbed to Fat Joe’s siren song and was attempting to do the rock-away behind the bar.
Mulling over my options, I decided to go hit the can. I figured by the time I got back, everything
would have returned to normal and I could get back to ordering drinks on Paul Allen’s tab
(whoever he is).
Alas, it was not to be. The dirty sons-of-bitches who ran the bar had had the foresight to put
speakers in the bathroom. This was disastrous. The guy at the urinal attempted to “lean
back,” spraying urine all over the walls. I dove back through the doorway to safety.
Finally, after a tense three minutes, the song started to wind down. People stopped abusing
their spinal cords and went back to drinking quietly and trying to find someone drunk enough to
take home. I thought things were back to normal. I thought wrong. I had forgotten about…the
remix.
Remixes, at best, can be entertaining flights of fancy, answering the question “What if these
artists had been present for the original recording?” At worst, they can be towering piles of
crap created solely to squeeze another glass of milk out of a dying cash cow. The remix to
“Lean Back” easily belongs in the latter category.
What makes it suck so much ass, you ask? The presence of two of the most untalented (not
counting No Limit Records’ stable) jackasses in the hip hop industry: Mason Betha and
Eminem.
We all already know why I don’t like Mr. Mathers (see “Let’s All Be Nice to Michael Jackson).
But some of you out there who lack musical taste might be asking yourselves, “What’s wrong
with Mase?”
My problem with Mase is simple. He sucks. I blame him for starting the whole rapping-while-
asleep trend. Without Mase, we wouldn’t have boring, unenthusiastic rhymes from jokers like
Fabolous (way to spell, dumbass) and 50 Cent polluting the airwaves. And yes, I did just dis
50 Cent. Everyone makes such a big deal about how he got shot nine times. That doesn’t
impress me. If he’d shot nine people or better yet, dodged bullets nine consecutive times, then
I could forgive his lackadaisical flow and personality-deficient clique.
No wait, I take that back. The only way 50 Cent could impress me is if he’d caught all nine
bullets in his big-ass teeth. That’s why he’s not even half as bad-ass as my man Teller of
“Penn and Teller” fame. That guy is straight up gangsta. I have no idea how many times I’ve
seen fatass Penn try to bust a cap in my boy’s mouth, and he catches that shit every single
time, smiling all the while might I add. Plus, Teller has a real smile, not a freakish, baby-eating
grin like 50 Cent has. He’s probably got all kinds of blood, skin, and Huggie chunks up in
those gums.
Anyway, the last thing that pisses me off about this song is Fat Joe himself. Don’t get me
wrong, I do like most of his music. My problem with him is more personal. I feel like every day,
with every pound of his body, he disrespects Big Punisher.
Big Pun, as many affectionately called him, was an awesome rapper and a really, really fat
dude. In the end, his weight led to the health problems that killed him. If Fat Joe really gave
two honey baked hams about the guy, he’d slim his ass on down as a tribute to Pun. I mean, if
your friend overdosed on heroin, you’d probably try to lay off the horse, right? On at least stop
glorifying it like Fat Joe does. I mean, his name’s Fat Joe (his alter ego, Joe Crack, is even
worse. If his name refers to crack cocaine, that makes no sense, because that dude’s making
more than enough to buy powder. And if his name refers to the crack that is undoubtedly
exposed every time he bends over, I think “Joe Canyon” would be a more appropriate name for
his Pillsbury Doughboy-ass)!
In conclusion, Eminem still sucks, Mase is lazy, 50 Cent eats babies, Fat Joe has zero respect
for his dead homies, and Teller is as hard as they come. Fuck with him at your own risk,
suckas.
| How do you spell "badass?" T-e-l-l-e-r, of course. |
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