Too Short

We feel your pain, Kansas City: Too Short — our most O of OGs, the man who boasted that Nancy Reagan licked his tool up and down “like it was corn on the cob” — rocking … Topeka? The party’s here, dog, not in that rotting prairie remarkable only for hosting the heart of a cynically pious state government. But a pimp goes where he’s needed. History says he shaped Oakland and hip-hop, that they followed him and quickly watered his Cameo samples and dazzling G-talk down to witless formula. But he registered even on the plains, and riding home from junior high, we white kids would bump Short Dog’s in the House — a record nastier than cousin sex — like our uncles did KY. Rap had never penetrated God’s country like this. Rap had never been more scary. Or vital. Or, somehow, ours. At last, someone as furious as we were! And even though these days he’s a slicked-back pro, Short, the opening act — at his best — is still all this. Make the drive, but don’t bitch. Topeka needs him.