True Story©... Step Into the Ring
I just be minding my motherfuckin’ business…
I also, unfortunately, have this awful habit of making it my business to make other people’s lives less-than-enjoyable for my own entertainment. With that in mind, one can more than easily imagine how often some shit I have done comes back to bite me in the ass later on down the road.
Rewind back to October, when I made a crude attempt to pitch a gameshow wherein rappers would attempt to cook crack with the prize being that they get to CONTINUE recording. I called it the Wrist Twistin’ Kitchen.
Not long after that failure, I received contact from Jiggaboo Jericho Jackson and as we all remember, hilarity ensued.
In my head, I am absolutely clear of any problems that might so happen to arise from my misguided attempt to get rich on the interwebs and I am now free to move on to my continued supervillainy normal life, right?
RIGHT?!!?
Wrong™!
Despite, per the rules of the gameshow, Jiggabo Jericho being the only one “allowed” to continue to attempt rapping for whatever living he could eke out of it but he chose instead to attempt writing a memoir… poorly.
Nevermind him, we have dealt with that problem already. Now it is Lil’ Dookie Smoak’s turn.
I have no clue where this guy might have gotten my number from, but the phone rang… Recent developments have it where I actually answer most calls that don’t come across my screen as “Spam Likely,” so I answered it.
Me: “Hello?”
Caller: “Yeah, [n-word], I got yo ass now.”
Me: “Excuse me? Who is this?”
Caller: “Smoak, [n-word]!”
Me: “I’m not even gon’ ASK where you got this number. What do you want from me?”
Dookie Smoak: “You can’t make me stop rappin’!”
Me: “What the shit are you talking about? Are you HIGH right now?”
Dookie Smoak: “I get high every morning and through the day.”
Me: “No surprises there.”
Dookie Smoak: “But you can’t make me stop rappin’!”
Me: “I asked for clarification, not for you to say it again.”
Dookie Smoak: “I talked to my manager and–…”
Me: “… you mean your mother?”
Dookie Smoak: “Yeah! But I was talking to my manager and she said that there was no contract saying I had to stop rappin’.”
Me: “Fine, then fuckin’ RAP!”
Dookie Smoak: “… cause Blick Flair was a viral hit and I need to–…”
Me: “VIRAL?!!? Negro you had sixteen downloads when you came to me and now you’re at 37. Two were from me, one to my old laptop and one from my desktop when the laptop went to heaven. Five were from people who sought it out for a good laugh based on what I told them and seven more from people THEY told. Lord only knows where the last seven came from.”
Dookie Smoak: “Well I’mma record a followup.”
Me: “WHY?!!?”
Dookie Smoak: “Because I’mma be that next shit outta NC!”
Me: “With ‘Dookie’ already in your rap name, you might wanna stay clear of being anything fecal-related.”
Dookie Smoak: “So you’on wanna hear it?”
Me: “Look, I got a lil time today… What are you naming it?”
Dookie Smoak: “Blick-Fil-A”
Me: “I’m hanging up.”
Dookie Smoak: “Wait!–…”
I had time, but I don’t have time to give this bullshit. I hung up the phone and sent his subsequent calls straight to voicemail. I was torn between blocking him and letting morbid curiosity allow him continued access to see just what brand of shit show was to commence.
It took three days, but the text came with a SoundCloud link to a diss track titled FMP: Fxck Moe Phillips. I will not darken your lives with the link to this track, nor will I quote it – and you should thank me for that – but it was EVERY amount as bad as you might expect from a “rapper” who calls himself Dookie Smoak.
I was at work while I listened to this shit, and was angry at myself for silencing Catfish to do it. Back to the task of my daily tasks and the damned phone rings.
Me: “Hello?”
Dookie Smoak: “Now what?”
Me: “Dude, that is two minutes and 31 seconds of my life I ain’t getting back.”
Dookie Smoak: “What?”
Me: “That was ASS, my dude.”
Dookie Smoak: “Where YOUR mixtape at?”
Me: “I don’t rap.”
Dookie Smoak: “I ain’t heard none of YOUR songs!”
Me: “Shit, ain’t nobody heard YOURS either! 37 downloads is nothing.”
Dookie Smoak: “Damn, you a hater. That’s your problem right there.”
Me: “When I hang up this time, I’m blocking you.”
Dookie Smoak: “… just like a hater.”
Another challenger in the ring, Moe greet those
Sounds like a dummy mission, ‘cause Moe beat foes
Come on through with any expectations, Moe meet those
You’re better off takin’ a real job, go sweep floors
I hope you recorded nothing else, go delete those
I make this shit look easy ain't it; Moe cheat code
Moe’s a starter in this game, while you in street clothes
Come around here one more time, lil boy and I’mma finish ya
You sick tryna go viral off me, call you influenza
You can even bring your girl to watch, cause Moe skeet hoes
Me: “I’on even need a beat. Are we done here?”
Dookie Smoak: “That shit was—…”
Me: “‘Ass?’ You were gonna say it was ass, right?”
Dookie Smoak: “Yeah, and you–…”
Me: “… I am not a rapper and have no designs or delusions that I ever was or will be one.”
Dookie Smoak: “Well–…”
Me: “And frankly, neither should you.”
Dookie Smoak: “Hater”
Me: “My mortgage gets paid off of my chosen professions, I am good at what I do. What's to 'hate' about that?”
Dookie Smoak: “Fuck you, bro.”
Me: “I’mma tell you like I told Jiggaboo Jackson… You WANT to rap. You NEED to learn to weld.”
Dookie Smoak: “Still a hater, I see.”
Me: “Not everyone trying to talk sense into you is ‘hating’ and not everyone who gives you a modicum of attention ‘loves’ you.”
Dookie Smoak: “The fuck is a modicum?”
Me: “Stay in school, kids.”
Dookie Smoak: “WHAT?!!?”
Me: “Good bye… Lose this number.”
I didn’t wait or give him a chance to NOT lose the number. I have had this same number since I was 21 and I am not about to let that get fucked up now. I blocked his number and reported it as spam.
Being a truth-teller is hard as fuck sometimes. Sometimes you gotta meet the ignant where they are.
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