Colon Cancel, Slight Return

It's been a while since we took a run at 'murka's favorite fake music guy, so here ya go:  Fuck Kanye West, not even for whatever his political pose might be this week, but because he is what he's always been --  a no-talent braggart who, like his fat orange buddy, has spent enough time in a bubble surrounded by toadies and sycophants to convince himself that he is, in fact, the chosen one.

Musically, he's a thief and a cheap pasticheur; lyrically he's a joke even for that genre. He couldn't write a thoughtful lyric, or pluck anything resembling a tune on a one-stringed instrument if you forced him at gunpoint. But he's about as full of himself as Michael Jackson ever was, and for much less reason, though Jacko was long past his prime before we even hit this wondrous new millennium.

And yet Kanye refuses to do the right thing and take his fat tax refund and just fuck off already. Can we set up a fund to, I don't know, pay his wife to distract him with hourly blowjobs until he passes out from exhaustion?

Seriously, Fuck Kanye West

So did I tell ya or did I tell ya? The guy has, like, zero fucking redeemable characteristics. He's a perfect acolyte for this anal fissure of an administration -- not one-tenth as smart as he thinks he is, proudly ignorant, completely incoherent when he thinks he's trying to actually make a fucking point. He has nothing useful to say about anything or anybody. Just like his fat, elderly, doddering daddy figure.

Few things are more pathetic than watching a grown-ass forty-year-old man spew his little-lost-girl daddy issues; even Clownstick looked uncomfortable after a while. I think if there hadn't been a crowd there, Kanye probably would have tried to suck his dick.

The professional observers who are trying to make this a mental illness issue need to reconsider. He may be mentally ill, but that's not the problem here. Kanye West's problem is exactly the same as Fuckface Von Clownstick's problem:  he's an ignorant, jabbering fool who has nobody in his life to tell him no or set him straight on anything, so he's now far beyond the point where he would listen anyway.

You really can't tell people like that anything, all you can do is cut them out of your lives, and hope they finally see the pattern for themselves. Or not. If they can't get it together, you're better off without them anyway.

But this is how West has always been, always. Clownstick fans and self-styled conservatards think they're being clever by appropriating West as one of their own, like they've liberated him from the Dummycrat plantation. Well, they can fucking have him, and the wife-beater Jim Brown, and the murderous thief Don King, and the rest of the criminal types they think show the party as being more inclusive. Hell, dig up Ike Fucking Turner while you're at it.

The funniest part of it is that this serves as a perfect example of what I was just talking about in the previous post less than a week ago -- they can't tell musicians and athaletes to shut up and sing or dribble or dance, when they take a stance against their senile god-emperor, but soon as one starts singing his praises, they all reach for the hymnal and join in.

Fuck Kanye West

No story or article to link, no new point to make. Just wanted to remind everyone within virtual earshot:  Fuck Kanye West.

Don't West Your Breath

There's something hilarious watching culture critics trying to get a handle on Kanye West's newfound bromance with the one and only Fuckface Von Clownstick. Because they are who they are and do what they do for a living, these critics contort themselves in order to frame a scenario in which a "genius" like West strategizes his public love for Archie Bunker in a Bozo the Clown wig.

It doesn't occur to these dumbasses that maybe West was never a genius in the first place, as we have amply chronicled here over the years. He's certainly a special combination of cynical marketing asshole and borderline retard, scamming his moron fans with $120 plain t-shirts and 52-page "books." It makes sense that he would align himself with a fellow money-grubbing dirtbag, gulling the rubes who are simply too dumb to know the difference between actual human intelligence and mere animal cunning.

More and more it seems that "critics" are merely hacks operating without any context -- historical, cultural, or even musical -- for bolstering their empty assertions. West is not a "genius" simply because he says he is, or because they say he is. If anything, it serves as a dead-certain indicator of sheer incompetence and total lack of critical thinking skills to bestow the g-word on a fucking clown with a bad rhyming dictionary and an AutoTune machine.

This is the natural consequence of everyone having access to the internet -- there's going to be a certain percentage of "writers" who are simply too stupid to know how stupid they and their insights really are. I keep seeing these digital scriveners jabber with all sincerity what a musical genius West is, without ever providing salient examples.

Surely there must be a snippet of remarkable lyrics or music to serve as demonstration of this supposed visionary greatness. You start to wonder after a while why we're just supposed to accept it as a given. And how does this nonsense end up in supposedly respectable publications such as the New Yorker?

The fact is that West and Clownstick were made for each other. They're two peas in a pod -- shallow, ignorant, narcissistic, obsessed with materialism and with their own delusions of greatness, stuck with trophy wives who are nearly as useless as they are, completely unable to see how mediocre they truly are.

The late great Sam Kinison once said in an interview about Whoopi Goldberg, "A nation decides not to hurt someone's feelings." That was unnecessarily mean on Kinison's part, as Whoopi Goldberg actually does have some talent and has said her share of sensible things over the years. But that nasty shot applies really well to Kanye West and his new orange butt-buddy.

The world would be a lot better off if we had never heard of either of these fucking buffoons. The best parts of both of them ran down the crack of their mothers' asses and ended up as stains on their respective mattresses. They can't fuck off soon enough.

Death Wish

So on December 23rd, we watched the Extras Christmas special series finale, which has a brief cameo from George Michael. The next day we watched the Rosemary's Baby episode of 30 Rock.

So I've spent the last several days seriously considering watching a few episodes of Keeping Up With the Kardashians, especially if they have a Kanye West appearance.

I'm With Stupid

The exciting auditions for Celebrity Fuckface continue! Who will be crowned 'murka's reigning Fuckface?

It figures that someone just released from a mental hospital after treatment for a nervous breakdown would be good to go for playing the Clownstick inaugural bawl. They can have each other; I'm sure the Pepe the Frog acolytes are looking forward to overlong filler sets from Kanye, Kid Rock, Andrea Bocelli, and whatever goat-fucking country hacks get roped into this. Maybe they can all band together for a bro-country rendition of The Horst Wessel Song.

In the meantime, nice distraction on Drumpf's part in dodging the press conference he was supposed to have, in which he was going to clownsplain how he was going to plunder the treasury while pretending to keep his conflicts of interest under control. The motherfucker's entire existence is a conflict of interest, and he revels in knowing that everyone knows it, and there's not a goddamned thing anyone can or will do about it.

Hopefully any other do-gooder celebritards out there have learned by watching what happened to Al Gore and Leo DiCaprio, who made the pilgrimage to kiss the ring over climate change, only to have Okie oil-blower Scott Pruitt tapped to head the EPA. Keep devaluing your own currency by currying empty favor with this fucking guy, see what that gets you.

Westworld

Apparently our favorite fake music person is in full meltdown mode lately, going on endless rants and ending shows after a few songs. This is hilarious. In addition to being a hack, Kanye has always been a thief when it comes to his fans' money. And they're stupid enough to keep giving it to him.

Yeezy's New Clothes

So a funny thing happened on the way to Glastonbury this fine weekend:



It would be a little too fish-in-a-barrel to simply pronounce Kanye West as a talentless twat who needs to stop trying to punch above his meager weight. He has no business being at Glastonbury, any more than he had being at Bonnaroo. And he sure as hell has no business trying to perform Bohemian Rhapsody, a difficult song even for people who can actually sing.

(And I'll even give him credit for the sample from 21st Century Schizoid Man in his song Power. There is no upside for him to do that for money or popularity; I'd wager my salary for the next five years that very few of West's fans have even heard of King Crimson. I think he did it because he thought it was cool. I can respect that, whether or not I like the song.)

But this....Jesus Christ, is he completely deaf? Bad enough that he's simply swaying on an empty stage to a recording of the song, bathed in lights, letting the audience do most of the work. But when he does finally start vocalizing, it's the sort of karaoke croaking you generally hear from random drunks at the airport lounge, despondently hoping some wayward stewardess or bored milf will spot them and impulsively blow them right after their master performance.

I have to wonder what West's fans and followers think about this, no doubt they'll have their excuses and demurrals. He's a genius because he attempted to perform an iconic rock song in front of a couple hundred thousand people, without apparently learning or rehearsing it at all beforehand. Something like that. If anything, it should make them wonder the obvious -- if this is really what he sounds like "live", then just how much sugarcoating and backing tracks are they paying for when they see him?

It's a truism these days that since music is for the most part free, musicians have to perform and sell swag to cover their nut. This applies less to established people (I hesitate to refer to him as an "artist") like West, but it still applies to some degree. He's not some indie group cobbling together their demo with Pro Tools on the drummer's laptop; he probably dumps money into his magna opera, from licensing samples to paying producers to hobbit wax.

Going to a concert as a fan, especially a large stadium or festival, is obviously about more than just the music, it's about the event. But there has historically been at least the implicit agreement that there would be some spontaneity to the music, that you would get something special in return for paying through the nose for tickets and swag and refreshments, and battling traffic and a gigantic mob for a glimpse at your musical wampeter.

But for musicians to provide that truly live experience, they actually have to be able to do something musical, to sing or play an instrument with at least some competence, to improvise, to be spontaneous.

[Side note:  That last link is a terrific example of what I'm talking about, in a good way. I first heard Suit Fugue at least fifteen years ago, have listened to it countless times since, and it still makes the hair on my neck rise. In barely two minutes of running time, Kevin Gilbert took Bach's canon principles of composition and counterpoint, and used them to accurately eviscerate the shithead music industry. It's an outstanding piece of music, and qualitatively superior by itself to West's entire catalog put together. If you've got an hour to spare, check out Gilbert's live performance of Genesis' Lamb Lies Down on Broadway. It's fucking amazing, and captures the magic of what live music used to be about, those fleeting moments that will never happen quite the same way again, but happen anyway because of work, skill, and genuine passion. It's a refreshing contrast to today's canned, pre-recorded, choreographed pseudo-performances, each the same as the last and the next.]

One of the worst things about West is his utter dependence on AutoTune. Here is an instance where you quickly find yourself wishing he'd used it.

Dork by Dork West

I'm not above occasionally checking out some fake hairy Persian titties; it's my Sattiday mawnin' cartoon jam, yo. But what's really hilarious is her idiot old man's self-fellation at the 'roo:

"I ain't going after nobody on the radio," he said, according to The Associated Press. "I'm going after Shakespeare, I'm going after Walt Disney. I'm going after Howard Hughes. I'm going after Genghis Khan. I'm going after Henry Ford..."

Uh-huh. Sure. Check out Shitspeare in all his lyrical glory, just as a f'rxample. Forget the historical incoherence (Romans versus Trojans? At the Battle of Thermopylae? Does he not have people who can Google this shit for him, at least? Do "Spartans" and "Persians" suddenly not rhyme? Should I be ashamed at doing a close reading of a moron like Kanye West?), he just flat fucking sucks as a writer, even by the impossibly low standards of this sort of music.

At the risk of one, stating the obvious, and two, sounding like a cheesy self-help author, one of the essential keys to "greatness" is doing something that most other people cannot do. Read those Black Skinhead words aloud to yourself, if you can do so without giggling. It's pretty standard repetitive junior-high woofing, that literally just about anyone could do. No fresh insight, nothing interesting in the rhyme scheme, none of the things that talented hip-hop artists actually do. It's just awful.

I know, complaining about a jagoff like Kanye West is like complaining about the weather. Soon as his fifteen minutes are up, some other no-talent asshole will take his place. Still, it would be nice to find out for sure, just to watch this dickhead go away, and hopefully take his fucking Autotune machine with him.

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays

We all know how I loves me some Kanye, so I just wanted to shout out that, while I think paprazzi are detestable and should get real jobs and some goddamned self-respect, this really did make my day. As gaping assholes go, this seemed rather karmic. Maybe his Auto-Tune will make the boo-boo go down faster.

Westward Ho

It's been at least a few weeks since our good friend Kanye West has gone the extra mile to remind everyone what a complete douchebag he is. Seriously, I'd rather be trapped in a chlamydia sandwich with Paris Hilton and Kate Gosselin than be in the same state as this fucking clown:

At the beginning of the evening, Kanye West stormed the stage just after the first award, for Best Female Video. Taylor Swift won the award, and during her acceptance speech, West abruptly cut the teen singer off, grabbing the mic and protesting in support of Beyoncé, who was also nominated.

"I'm sorry, but Beyoncé had one of the best videos of all time," he proclaimed as B looked on from the crowd, stunned.

Soon afterward, West was escorted from the building.

You know you're a jerkoff when Heidi Montag comes off as a voice of reason compared to you. Somebody needs to beat him unconscious and lock him in a dumpster. In an industry littered with talentless, self-absorbed assholes, Kanye routinely distinguishes himself from the pack. It's as if he has some sort of compulsion to constantly prove that he can be an even bigger dickhead than previously assumed. Texting "2mrw" for "tomorrow" just seals the deal. Where's Mark David Chapman when you could really use him?

At some point, this worthless turd-burglar will be asking people if they want fries with that, and that day cannot come too soon. Hell, without AutoTune, that day would have come years ago.

Let's Get It 'tarded

You know, this would explain a lot, but is essentially an insult to the developmentally disabled. Kanye West is clearly a talentless moron and a card-carrying asshole, but actual retardation would be too convenient of an excuse for his peculiar brand of off-putting hackery. And I don't think I was aware that Kanye had "written" a "book", but it would be understandable if I had heard and subsequently scrubbed my brain of the very thought of such a thing with a gallon or two of Jameson's. It's doubtful whether he can read a book; he certainly has no business writing one, or even pretending to write one.

I put “book” in sarcastic, douchey, Internet quotes because I don’t know if something is technically a book if it’s 52 occasionally blank pages with gems like “Get use to getting used!” taking up full pages.

God, what a fucking wanker. A guy who regularly goes out of his way to proclaim how much of a waste of time reading and education are, imparting his wisdom with a "book". That's rich. Maybe it's time to create a new epithet for the scummy breed of no-talent celebridouches -- your Kanye, your Pee Diddly, your Spencer Fucking Pratt. People who need to be put on a transatlantic flight with only half the necessary fuel to get across the ocean.

But consider, if you will (and you might), the notion of this sort of vanity publication. Ordinarily, your illiterate celebritard would go the usual route and hire a ghost writer to pen a regular-length "autobiography", which of course Kanye has already done. Hell, even his late moms got in on that act, explaining to any who might inexplicably care what it was like raising a self-absorbed assclown.

Yet here this dickhole needs a ghost writer for a fifty-two page publication, barely qualifying for "manifesto" or "pamphlet" status, certatinly not a "book". And even with said ghost writer his attempts at profundity are ridden with fundamental grammatical errors. Even the Amazon product description is clunky.

Kanye West teams up with co-author J. Sakiya Sandifer to make his literary debut with Thank You And You're Welcome, an entertaining volume of 'Kanye-isms'--the creative, humorous, and insightful philosophies and anecdotes used in creating his path to success. It captures the same wit, playful irony, and piercing insight found abundant in his lyrics.

"Found abundant"? Maybe found abundantly, or in abundance. Jesus Christ, even Who Moved My Cheese? had a fucking proofreader. Whether he knows it or not, Kanye really is being honest with his hapless audience, at least in the infamous one-page profundity excerpted above. Get used to being used indeed, Kanye fans, because every dollar you've ever put in Kanye's pocket might as well have gone to buying a Big Mac for a street person.

Which, when you really get down to it, is what Kanye West is -- a pimped-out panhandler, bamboozling millions of suckas out of their money, which they clearly didn't work nearly hard enough for. He can't write, can't sing, can't dance, can't act or would have done so by now just to see himself on a movie screen, and literally seems to have no marketable skill beyond self-promotion. I'm embarrassed for Paul McCartney for even allowing himself to be photographed sitting next to this fuckhead, but compared to Heather Mills, that's small potatoes.

Put it this way -- if everyone had the work ethic of Kanye West, if we all made careers out of fellating ourselves with autotune machines and beat-boxes and stale samples and called it a music career, dressed like slow-witted four-year-olds, and needed ghost writers to publish something that is the literary equivalent of a seventh-grade girl's diary, we would be unqualified for much beyond cleaning each other's gutters.

As always, that would explain a lot.