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In by far the most entertaining episode of "The White Rapper Show," Grown Ass Men Sullee, John Brown and Jon Boy make complete UnCut asscakes of themselves while Persia, Shamrock and Jus Rhyme bring us Throwback Thursday a tad early.
Do the Jerry Lewis!
As we now expect, MC Serch wastes no time in embarrassing these kids. Right off the bat, the 6 remaining trailblazers are coerced into Marc Ecko's Swap Meet Challenge. In each team's case, three people have to get fresh with $300... in 2006.
I remember back in the early 90s when my SYEP check would do just that. For those of you who may be unfamiliar, Summer Youth Enslavement Preparation is about 7 weeks of usually backbreaking child labor for like $300. That money barely got a nigga right for the school year. I shudder to think what kind of knockoff gear a youngster would be forced to don in this day and age on a budget like that.
I must say, Shamrock's leeriness of Jus Rhyme was 150% warranted. Powder's string of ideas was probably the most hilarious minute-and-a-half of programming this show had produced to that point. Homie came out in full-on Richard Simmons mode.
"Mmm-hmmm. How about we put lavendar and green earrings on you, Shammy. Persia, let's get you in some Ooompa Loompa one-piece, and I'll get the sweatpants with the cut-off wifebeater. Yes. Definitely 'Street on Vacation.'"
Meanwhile, put a little funky $300 in some people's hands and they lose their goddamn minds. Jon Boy in the damn sneaker store signing autographs and shit! Dude is entirely too gassed to notice that the man who asked him is 3rd and Goal on the 1-yard line. He's obviously also too gassed to notice that the entire South Bronx is trying to figure out a way to cover its ears. If Giuliani hadn't locked all the gangsters up already, there'd be a Saturday Night Special in his mouth.
Fuck Giuliani. Sometimes a neighborhood needs to police itself.
Persia's "Gangsta's Paradise" collective came to the challenge looking like a Teletubby exploded on them. Coolio must be rolling over in his grave.
Coolio is dead, right?
Anyway, as per usual, they aren't going to just get dressed and walk a runway. They're competing to be the flyest dogwalkers in Crotona Park. Under normal circumstances, the flyest dogwalker in Crotona is the one not heating a glass bulb. Under these circumstances, the flyest dogwalker is to be determined by former Crotona's Next Top Dogwalker winner, Polka-Dot Ass Kwame.
I can't stop laughing at Serch saying "so Kwame and I are going to be the judges--." I'm sorry. I can't.
Kwame judging fashion? Even in '89 I thought this nigga was on the "Karma Chameleon" side of things. Didn't niggas think that the 90s would be over one day and that there would be videotaped evidence? Dude still looks a hot ghetto mess. I thought it was Bobby Brown at first.
After losing the challenge to Persia and a pooch with matching pumps, Sullee finally has his emotional breakdown, citing the elimination rounds of a VH1 reality series as "too stressful." Well damn, Sullivan. If this shit is too stressful, I don't think you're cut out for the real rap game, Heffy.
Fortunately for us, the rappers and what's left of the program's credibility, the challenge that actually matters lies ahead. The teams have to write, record and shoot a video for a song they create in a couple hours' time. After they select their props 4th grade kickball-style, Serch presents Persia with her prize for catching Kwame's eye with high heels.
VH1, Ego Trip & Serchlight Publishing present: Miniature Negro in a Cage!
That's right, for your personal amusement you can rent Bushwick Bill! Complete with iron cage, this delightful little dreaded eggplant leprechaun will brighten your Saturday afternoons with party-rockin tricks like the running man. The best part, you only have to change his diaper once daily. Slap a Fitti on the nigga in the morning and he's good to go for 18 hours.
As you can see above, One-Take Bobby Sullivan & Co. created a complete embarrassment to the genre while "Gangsta's Paradise" was smart enough to go the DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince route with what they had. Superstar rap video director Little X agrees. "She's A Stunner" is bullshit the likes of which you'd find on The Negro Channel at 3:22am immediately following or preceding "Slap It, Clap It" or "Money In A Ziploc Bag (Uh Huh)."
"She's A Stunner" is what Monday Madness is all about though. Quiet little Virginia Jon Boy Walton has finally found himself! That boy was born to stunt! Let him live!
*cue Diana Ross - "I'm Comin' Out"*
Obviously, the Grown Ass Men found themselves in the Cold Ass Ice Chamber fighting for their minstrel show lives. When given the topic (battle rap your teammates), Sullee and Jon Boy, who apparently both voted for Bush (not a good look), decided to put on the "Stop Snitching" t-shirts they got at the swap meet. As a result, both contestants became "The Departed."
Serch proclaimed that he would toss all three losers if all three verses were weak, but he needed four contestants for next week, so John Brown was spared.
This week on “The White Rapper Show” our remaining gentry have apparently earned the right to contribute something musical to our great culture. The Magnificent Seven split into two teams and visit Justin Blaze at his Baseline Studios to make what Serch refers to as a “Club Banger.” I’d much more readily refer to it as Marion Barry smoke break soundtrack.
Yes. It was that bad on both sides; and in case you're wondering, we're still playing up to the stereotypes of black culture than training and assessing MCs.
While I have nothing against strip clubs, their employees or patrons (that's not a drink), when I think of skrippin club music en masse, I think of BET UnCut bullshit that’s primarily devoid of talent or effort. Only a handful do it properly even among seasoned skrip professionals. Why torture these poor white kids this way? If Nas can’t make a decent one, why should 100 Proof?
Serch telling someone their rhyme scheme is simplistic is like the pot calling T-Weed black. I know I wasn’t very old, but I do believe I remember Pete Nice scraping the floor with Serch on damn near every 3rd Bass track.
“When I say ‘Club Banger’ I mean a record that’s going to play in a club.” Are you fucking serious? That needs to be explained? I guess it does when you think “Club Banger” i.e. “Walk It Out” is synonymous with “Skrippin’ Music” i.e. “What That Thang Smell Like.”
Hearing the instrumental, Self-Hate… I mean, Jus Rhyme, really had a "Hustle & Flow" relapse on that shit! “How about ‘Beat that bitch? No? ummm… 'Stomp that ho?' Hmm…”
Ah, I remember the group of white pseudo-revolutionaries with Che Guevara t-shirts that "partied their way to social justice" back in college. One of them was a rapper too. They did nitrous in their rooms, scared the shit out of me, and failed to make any kind of sense regarding their plans for societal upheaval. Whenever I’d ask them what the plan was, they’d mumble something about a “Ghetto Revival,” do another line of coke and make their way to Starbucks.
While Powder is concerned with the mindstate of the white children he’s been poisoning with his message of self-hatred and the black children he’s been confusing with handfuls of U.N.-issue cheese and powdered milk, it’s quite refreshing to see Jon Boy stepping up and leading his team to puff-puff supremacy. I was impressed with dude in the challenge. For the first time ever I felt like his verse was clean.
Eh. Maybe that’s just my brain finally acclimating itself to the substandard level of talent I’ve been forced to follow for a few weeks now. I’m confused. I’m starting to see different sides to these kids. John Brown looks less and less like a shithead every week and I may not be the smartest nigga in the prison library, but I get the notion Persia is feeling this man.
“Okay, John. I’m sorry. You can get me back. Go ahead. Put your dick on my lips.”
On the other side of “Tha White House,” Sullee, Shamrock and 100 Proof are writing a singalong hook that is complete and utter suicide. I had to look away. I still feel ill just trying to recall Paul Wall, jr. wailing “tooooooo-niiiiiiiiiight.” I was however, thoroughly entertained by 100 Proof’s “Let’s swap body fluids!” exchange and the subsequent reactions.
Having completed a hard day of bullshitting themselves at Baseline, Serch invites new white supergroup La Coka Nostra over for pizza and Quaaludes. I love Everlast, but damn, all I can think about is how Eminem put 2 dicks in his blowhole a few years ago, so everything he said sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher.
I never knew Ill Bill was capable of civilized, normal conversation. Responsible for my favorite putdown of all time (“Go eat a dick sandwich!”), Mr. Black Helicopters put some real game into these kids’ ears that Jus Rhyme really needed to be soaking up. Jokes aside, he and Everlast leading the white rapper support group proves to be the most pertinent and constructive portion of the series to date.
John Brown looking like somebody just tickled his balls with that Coka Nostra hoodie on! Hallelujah, holler back!
What better place to test out your freshly-made club banger than seedy Bronx skeet palace, Sin City with Kool Keith? If Laqueshia and Precious like it, then you’re in there.
Didn’t it just tug at your heartstrings to see Sullee carefully droppin them ones? Brother, you ain’t Young Hefner until you can at least drop some Pampers money in one sitting. A dancer ain't gonna bring her baby a pack of fuckin Fitti because you don't know how to behave yourself in a classy establishment!
By the time the song is over you done dropped 4 singles on the floor. A girl’s supposed to damn near break her neck on the pole for that? She can’t even go to Boston Market with 4 damn dollars, nigga. If you’re gonna go and indulge in that kind of entertainment, show some respect for the craft! Support your local skripper! We need a skripper union!
Watching Jus Rhyme lip sync his verse really made my week. That’s gotta be my next .gif file request. I need to have permanent evidence of Jus Rhyme trying to “Smack That” all on the floor. That and... well... the dildo on the lips thing.
As confusing and contradictory as this entire program is, one thing that became painfully clear by mid episode was that I was gonna lose another Final Four selection. Sink-pissin ass 100 Proof didn’t have any tricks in his Mohawk and joins G-Child in the realm of early 90s-era white rappers still better than MC Serch. Jon Boy and Jus Rhyme get to walk (with VH1 supervision) to the bodega for another week.
This week on “The White Rapper Show” John Brown, Jus Rhyme, Persia and Shamrock explore their inner gully in a series of challenges that, once again, test not their prowess and potential as MCs, but perpetuate the harmful stereotypes and idiosyncrasies of the ghetto.
Oh, yeah… and they got their asses handed to them on Hot 97, which is NOT a Clear Channel station, by the way.
Jus Rhyme in the morning symposium took the form of Xandir from Drawn Together. For those of you just joining us, Jus is on a lifelong quest to save his girlfriend, and rap from the white man.
Serch really tossed his mozzarella sticks into the deep fryer this time. Miss Jones, looking fresh out the BBW video, wasn’t about to accept any bullshit from these kids (or Ego Trip, or VH1 for that matter). Imagine if Star and Bucwild were still there! Okay, let’s not. That shit would have been messier than it already was.
See... A freestyle challenge would be great for a collection of MCs, but these kids can barely get through a 16 that they write and rehearse for 30 minutes. These kids officially can’t show their faces anywhere after this Hot “107” debacle. That touchdown cipher truly played out like a group of retards trying to hump a doorknob… and failing.
John Brown may have taken his marketing strategy too far. Didn’t Mr. Empowerment Zone say his clown ass was based out of Brooklyn? Shouldn’t this simpleton then know that Miss Jones would eat his narrow ass like a Grand Slam Breakfast?
I think it’s safe to say that my speculation was amiss. I guess Persia doesn’t want John Brown’s little viceroy in her white castle. In fact, no one’s wanted anything to do with our special boy in quite some time.
That is, no one except the one contestant more desperate for attention and acceptance, Powder.
That moose head bit was pretty funny, but man, looking at a grown man geek out like that is disturbing. That was some serious “I Am Sam” shit.
So, after completely destroying their hopes of being respected rap figures on the biggest rap radio station in the known universe, Serch dresses the kids in the finest thug fashions and immediately inserts them into the real-life version of Grand Theft Auto III. As the challenge began, I was so past criticizing the reverse coonery that all I could think was “Damn, they suckered Just Blaze AND Saigon into this shit?”
As I, of course, ponder the societal relevance of what I’m watching like the Negro Freedom Writer that I am, I observe the saddest piece of television this program has produced: The Thug Disclaimer.
Oh, yes, I of all people, understand the importance of the disclaimer. Trust me. However, a disclaimer does not absolve you or your company of responsibility for what you produce for the mass public. When your program, which is supposed to cultivate rappers, does nothing more than make a mockery of the musical genre, culture and the kids who have put their lives on hold for the carrot you dangle, you are definitely still on the hook. No cheeky disclaimer can put you in the clear.
“I hope y’all got that.”
While Jus Rhyme bust his ass on a bicycle in a manner I hadn’t seen since I was 9, the combination of summer sun, poor conditioning and pernil damn near killed The Queen of Queens. I guess the rule applies. Just because you can catch a case doesn’t mean you’re built for the urban jungle. Being that we’d seen Persia carted off in an ambulance in various commercial spots, most of us knew what was on the other side of the commercial break when homegirl went to purify herself in the waters of Lake Minnetoilet.
GTA champion Jus Rhyme had the opportunity to select any remaining contestant with him to his prize “A Thug’s Night Out” with N.O.R.E., who was quickly bored with both clown-asses. For those of you who don’t speak the dun language, N.O.R.E.’s words and body language translate as such:
“Aight. We were gonna bring y’all with us to the club and maybe to a house party after that, but we can’t be seen in public with you bitches. Y’all can finish off this champagne and cookies. I’m gonna go get my dick sucked. Peace.”
What makes all of the above even more awesomely awesome? NONE OF THAT SHIT factored into elimination!
After running around like assholes, catching cases and having heart attacks, they are told that shit was purely for the amusement of the viewing public. I’d have been ready to kill me an MC Serch. Sometimes I rub my eyes in disbelief that Prince Paul is involved in this buffoonery.
The true challenge came in the kids having to write thugged-out nursery rhymes. Persia seized this challenge as an opportunity to shank John Brown in the shower and fucked it up something terrible. Once again, all that bark and Persia couldn’t bring a damn thing to the table. I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was. She and Sullee have been choking on the black dildo since day one, but damn. I really expected her to gun up with all the bacon on the line.
I guess John Brown gets the last laugh and his claim of Persia only having 3 verses rings true.
With that said… I’ve never had a synthetic dick on my lips.
Oh, what I would have given to see the new-superstar Jon Boy in this episode instead of Powder.
This week on “ego trip’s The White Rapper Show,” our crowded three journey from the Mecca of all hip-hop (no pun intended), to the city that has over the years become the “Mecca of White Hip-Hop.” If Jus Rhyme, Shamrock or John Brown are to make a Rabbit run, it’s gotta go through Detroit.
From the moment I heard they were going to Detroit, I had the strangest feeling they were going to Saint Andrew’s to get their asses handed to them.
After a brief John Brown/Shamrock Prison Peace Summit by the bunk beds, we observe a true-to-life cost of being a VH1 buffoon. Fixing the scope of his AR-15 at the $100,000 prize instead of rolling with the notoriety that would have come to him in already having excelled so far in this nationally televised “competition” (i.e. Persia), Jus Rhyme spurns his PhD grant in Colored Liberation and Salvation Studies to chase his new dream of becoming the next white rapper MC Serch Shanghais in the cold, cold industry.
Powder putting his entire educational future on the line for this shit proves him to be an even bigger shithead than I initially thought. You know you’re fuckin up something terrible when John Brown has that concerned face as he advises you. “Just not the wisest move, man.”
Actually, let me have that one back. That face could either have been concern or John Brown’s general discomfort “around too many white people.” Ghetto Revival, baby! Hallelujah, Holla back!
Bringing these assclowns to “The Mecca of White Hip-Hop” to pay homage to the likes of Eminem and Kid Rock is akin to bringing a bacon egg and cheese to the mosque on 127th & Lenox. Not only are they not welcome, but they are sacrilege in the eyes of the city that molded those Caucasoid champions. Besides, Jus Rhyme got a white woman pork face. The bar has actually been raised since the early 90s. I’m surprised Serch of all people couldn’t come through there with a trio of rappers that he might be able to beat in a battle himself.
At the site of the once integral Hip-Hop Shop, TJ the Trouble Man gave the white rappers a little history on the establishment (turned lingerie shop) and the Detroit scene. "Eminem, yadda, Proof, namedrop, blah blah, yadda…" Did that nigga say Maurice Malone was pumpin his shit out of there? Damn, that gives me a tad more respect for the nigga with them terrible underwear ads of the late 90s.
Ironically, hip-hop music itself is now a lingerie shop-- A collection of panty-drawers and a complete farce of what it once was and could have been. If they wanted to bring this shit full circle, they should have hung John Brown up on a rack next to a tried-on thong.
I don’t have much to say about ICP except them motherfuckers really look like some disgruntled molester birthday clowns. Their makeup jobs are supposed to be the scary part, but I’m more alarmed at how they just talk to people normally like they don’t have that shit on. I wonder if they “clown up” every morning before they start their days. Do they have makeup artists on site? Oh, the questions that arise.
Later, talking to Kid Rock, as former Mr. Anderson-Lee explained the ills of growing up the lone white kid in a circle of hostile silverbacks Serch is like “Nah, they wasn’t takin my chain. I paid entirely too much for protection for some shit like that to happen.”
After the jewels of wisdom from Detroit rap legends, the rapster barbecue is interrupted by an eclectic group of classic Midwestern weird folk (which are different from the weird folk of other regions in their own special way). For example, shit heard at the gathering include but are not limited to: “Uh, oh. Here comes Tupac! He sometimes he’ll sneak up behind me and start fucking me in the ass when I’m doing my yard work. You boys had better be careful.” “Ain’t no shame in my game. I’ll warm a sausage or two.” And of course, lest we forget “I’m trynna promote this uh, fishin!”
A soiree like that would propel me to pursue racial harmony as well, Jus! However, them 15 Anti-Racist Principles that comprise AR-15 are highly disturbing. They are creepy, whiny, roundabout, redundant and don’t express to me that anyone involved with the organization has any serious plan to make a difference by doing anything but whining self-hatred to whoever would be stupid enough to fucking listen.
“Study legacies of resistance?” “Sustain an anti-racist culture?” “Choke on my own dick?” What the fuck does it mean, Jus?
The only thing that held my attention through the "Marshall's Law" media blowjob challenge was the anticipation of the prize. You know how they like to play on words all the time. I thought when dude said “A very, very hefty prize” he was gonna pull some Majin-Buu lookin’ broad out or something. You know these ego trip people don’t know how to act!
Jus Rhyme was salty when he didn’t get picked by King of the Burbs and Champion of Eminem Interview Knowledge. Still, he relished the opportunity to devise anti-racist principles in solitude back at the “How White People Really Be Livin’” house. That trailer reeks of bologna and welfare. I can tell.
Jus’ monologue to the camera parallel’s Dave Chappelle’s "8 Mile" sketch entirely too well.
I don’t know if he was going for “School of Mexico” but Mr. Serchlite is definitely trying to show these kids how to “hate” in preparation for being slaves thrown into the coliseum only to catch a rousing thumbs down. By his approach, I can tell Serch caught that "Mad Ciphas" marathon on BCAT and MNN public access cable networks.
Quote of the Day: “You left this outside! Ohhhhh!” *tosses police t-shirt* - Jus Rhyme (see, even Jus hates snitches!)
I know I ain’t been to Detroit to see my folk in a while, but I know for a fact y’all got better niggas than them Cardi Boys to bring to the battle table. They ain’t horrible, but they ain’t say Eminem, One Man Army (who goes by OneBeLo these days), nothing… I’d rather have seen them battle the Cheddar Boyz. At least the battles would have been somewhat entertaining. The crowd acted like the locals ripped it, but from what I heard, both sides should have been booed off stage.
If Shamrock had any composure, he wouldn’t be so bad. Unfortunately, to an MC, that’s like saying if New York wasn’t so plastic, horse-like and whorish she’d be fuckable. That Gatorade “it” that needs to be in you to perform at a high level in moments like this… Shamrock doesn’t have. It’s a shame, because from day one, he’s the one I wanted to root for. However, I don’t feel right pumping a rapper that doesn’t believe in himself.
I have to admit, Jus Rhyme’s problem is not lack of heart. In fact, the clown is quite courageous and I commend him for that. Unfortunately, when you can’t rap worth shit AND are a complete corn ball I can’t pump you up at this level either. Go listen to some black people rap; loosen up your bandana and come back when you’re done with school.
Damn. White people need to get their shit together. Stay in school!
I’ll give you one more jewel for that cloudy brain of yours John. You can’t call a nigga an “Uncle Tom” and ridicule him about being harassed in the burbs. People can usually tell the difference between one who is joking and being clever and one who is speaking out of his milky ass in complete ignorance. Once again, you are the latter. I’d like to meet the “serious people from the street” that support your jackassery.
With that said, these kids were put into a very tough situation and stood strong. I’ve watched people get their asses handed to them in that very hall growing up. It’s nerve-wracking even for a teenage spectator. My hat does go off to the contestants for not crying, running away, collapsing or calling anyone the n-word. (That’s what I do when I’m frustrated. I just call everyone in the immediate vicinity the n-word.)
They still suck though.
Jus Rhyme’s pre-elimination WWF Saturday morning hype speech was pathetic and indicative of why it was obvious that he wasn’t gonna get a chain from Flavor Flav to stick around the house a little more. Goldie deserved it anyway. Still, out of the remaining finalists, I still don’t see a champion in this regard. We’ll have a winner, but we won’t have a rap star. Sadly, Touchdown Brown and the kid who took a meathook to the face as a baby have a better chance of being America’s Next Top Model than they do being taken seriously as recording artists.
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Posted by Ron Mexico at February 21, 2007 11:02 AM
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