The New Crunk
Today, I have no firsthand experiences to speak of, so I’m going to turn the wheel over to … Michael Douglas, star of firecracker Hollywood classics Romancing the Stone and Disclosure.
Yo Kansas City,
Michael Douglas here. I’ve been watching your hip-hop scene and comparing it with what’s going on in the Bay Area, and I have one word for you to carve on the inside of your thigh with a shard of a pig rib dug from the bottom of your mama’s three-week-old garbage pile (aka, her bed): HYPHY. What is “hyphy,” you ask? Multiple chizzoice, biatch:
A. Me punching Ricky Martin in the face repeatedly while the new E-40 video plays at full blast on a giant plasma screen television and Cat Z. breastfeeds Barack Obama.
B. The lost “krumpin’ nekkid” scene from Fatal Attraction, remixed by Keak.
C. Bootyvote.com (not safe for your lame-ass office).
D. A Bay Area music movement that white people in Kansas City couldn’t understand even if they taught adult-ed classes on it at National Numbskull Finishing School.
E. The lost “me-kicking-Toby-McGuire’s-ass-for-being-a-pussy” scene from Wonder Boys, which ends with me high-fiving Too $hort.
If you answered C, then, yeah, that’s the answer. Good job, dipshit. Now clean yourself up and go to a goddamn blues club or trailer park jamboree or what-the-fuck-ever.
If you answered anything else, then there may be hope for you and your pathetic scene.
That’s all. Mike D. out. Save the ducks, motherfucker.
