Once upon a time, there was a scrawny, insecure, commonplace, light-skinned black boy living in a New Jersey suburb, in a two-parent household. The spoiled, waffle-colored boy never had a worry in the world. But being a follower of hip hop culture, he was tantalized by the frenzied lifestyle that the culture represented—a lifestyle that he initially didn’t feel compelled to participate in to portray the feigned tough guy persona that he felt would woo his peers. In hip hop culture, only the most menacing and malign morons meet the mark of magnanimity. But as the genuine street dudes that the boy attempted to attach himself to relentlessly called his bluffs, he felt as if he was bound by his followership to prove himself to his reprehensible role models. So, the yellow bone, overaged boy began to act out in flamboyant, vivacious, undisciplined, erratic, self-sabotaging fits of pusillanimity and subservience. Everything the boy did was for attention, as he sensed that he lacked the natural charm that innately appealing people aren’t necessitated to force. Frustrated with his failure to find a following of his own, the boy turned to the family vice—substance abuse—as an unhealthy coping mechanism. The boy’s parents, two mature conquerors of life, tried their best to reel him in and guide him down the proper path, but he was too immature and knuckleheaded to be tamed. All along, the puerile boy was using his fair complexion and bass-heavy voice to attract naïve, shallow, doltish, insouciant, easy, promiscuous girls—who just liked being seen with quasi-popular light-skinned niggas. Being able to secure slews of strumpets slightly satisfied the boy’s insatiable stomach for significance. Sluts saw the boy as sultry, but all his relationships were short-lived because he seemed so soft and sensitive that the females of ill repute didn’t feel safe around him. Even hoes desire masculine men, right? But a deep voice can’t camouflage deep-seated emasculation. Fast forward, and now the boy is a full-fledged man-child. In the moment, the man-child, who has always been a talented communicator, has decided to be a rapper. Yet, with his flawed personality, penchant for harboring envy, struggles with mental healthiness, addiction to mind-altering substances, and delusional sense of superiority, the man-child incessantly blocked his own blessings, neglected to maximize his potential, and fell short of substantial success in the music industry. As time progressed, everything the man-child touched tended to tarnish. To this day, every friendship, business partnership, and general connection that the man-child engages in ends up in shambles. During the man-child’s messy and contentious break-up from his hip hop super group, a fan, the prestigious Beau Amoureux, took to Twitter to express his contempt for the man-child’s egotistical, disrespectful, callous perspective toward the situation. Beau Amoureux essentially read the man-child’s mind by masterfully analyzing his behavior and statements, and told him what he thought no one knew about his true feelings. Beau has been under the man-child’s skin and stuck in his head ever since! Presently, the man-child has founded a media network that accommodates a moderately successful podcast that’s in his namesake. On said podcast, the man-child, and his childish male co-hosts, unremittingly taunt and tease Beau Amoureux by reading Beau’s blog and subliminally criticizing what Beau says. Pathetic, isn’t it!?
If you’re slow, the “man-child” is Joe Budden. Joe, we both know that I could effortlessly “Ether” you at the drop of a fedora! This really ain’t shit! Why are you playing yourself like this? You can’t get to me, sir! You’ve recognized my talent. You admire my intelligence, mental fortitude, and individuality. And you’d love to produce a Beau Amoureux podcast on the Joe Budden Network, you may even desire for me to join the JBP, but you know good and goddamn well that you could never fuck me over in a contract because I’m too smart! So, instead of reaching out or shouting me out, like a normal person, you’ve opted to make shit weird—as usual. Why?! All you’ve done, is demonstrate the enduring precedence that I have in your life, and the unfading effect of my everlasting impression. Everybody who works for you, and everyone around you, is aware of how powerful my influence already is! Charlamagne got at you over me, and I don’t even know y’all niggas! How many times have y’all read one of my posts and allowed my words to set the tone for the pod?! How many times have y’all sat and brainstormed about how you’re going to allude to me? How bad does Ish wish he was as smart as me? How enamored with me is Mel? How hard does Ice front about disliking me? How inspired by me is Flip? How does Parks feel at all? Why is that nigga in the background occasionally laughing during the allusions? I’m something like a big deal. Mad people are going to read this, Joe. And after being put up on game, motherfuckers will be clever enough to find and follow the crumbs. My jacket is clean, nobody is going to splatter me with dirt or blood. And I’m not running from shit. So, feel free to say “Beau Amoureux” as many times as you’d like—if you’re real. Otherwise, just stay off my blog and stop poking at me. I do what I want, when I want, the way I want! And this goofy-shit that y’all are doing is more annoying and disturbing than flattering. With Mel’s lust being the exception, of course. Ultimately, this can be whatever y’all want it to be. But be warned that there’s no potential outcome where I lose! Now, back to regularly scheduled programming. How many problems have you caused? As a bonafide cynic, I believe that all of humans’ antagonisms are founded by false senses of importance. Everybody is important to themselves, right? In a putative “dog eat dog world”, many unsophisticated people don’t realize that it’s their determined disunion that develops disunity. Granted, I am a self-proclaimed cynic. But cynicism doesn’t mean that I’m insensitive and divisive, it means that I generally expect people to be self-interested and unsympathetic. Knowing that, it makes sense for me to protect my personal interests by disallowing other people to take advantage of me. However, in tenaciously guarding my best interests, my aim is never to break other people’s guard or disservice them by selfishly putting them at a disadvantage. If there’s an art to war, there’s an art to love, too. Being a passionate person all my life, I’ve had to learn how to temper myself. For me, being angry has never been good. Luckily, having such a strong mind, almost magically, I’ve always been able to gain my composure under pressure. At the peak of my anger, something within my psyche never fails to calm me down. I assume that it’s my conscience, because I feel the same thing when I see other people in compromising situations. Sometimes, I wish I could share my strength with other people—just loan motherfuckers a piece of my mind. And the most realistic way for me to do that, is this!
When I listen to other people talk about overcoming life’s obstacles, they seldom sound like they’re fully healed from their experiences. The memory is a motherfucker, ain’t it? It’s no secret that prescription medications, recreational drugs, alcohol, and other harmful substances act as memory blockers. Like I’ve mentioned before, I view trauma as the consequence of a person’s inability to move forward. If you’re constantly reminding yourself of all the things that make you feel bad, you’re constantly going to feel bad. I know that curing trauma isn’t as simple as forgetting things, but it can be that simple. I’ve always believed that smart people like to simplify complicated things and stupid people like to complicate simple things. In itself, psychology is humans telling humans how humans are supposed to act and feel. Doesn’t that just sound like a recipe for disaster? When people are dictating what’s normal, no matter how you look at it, they are trying to control other people. You don’t think the divisiveness that we experience throughout life translates to medical professionals, including psychologists and psychiatrists, who are certain to have biases and prejudices because they’re human?! For instance, if a voluntary escort with sexual trauma seeks therapy from a licensed psychologist who has practiced chastity and abstinence, how is the psychologist supposed to refrain from imposing their personal beliefs onto the patient? We are naturally too different for normality to make sense! Altruism is an unusual trait in humans, and it’s destined to be rare in people who work for profit in industries that are notorious for having exorbitant rates and fees. Note that this blog has been free from the beginning, it will stay free after I’m rich and famous, and I won’t stop sharing my opinions in attempts to provide perspectives aimed to aid people in discovering ways to make shit make sense from their own perspectives. We must think for ourselves. But in thinking independently, it’s astute to view things from different angles, or perspectives that you don’t naturally access, to disclose details that you may have never uncovered without being made conscious of. If everybody had all the answers, life wouldn’t be so quizzing for everybody. In other words, your failures are the result of you succeeding to provide the incorrect answers. And who doesn’t fail? Joe Budden took his beige-ass to those ugly-ass couches and said that the thing that I think I’m going to be great at ain’t the thing that I’m going to be great at! Motherfucker, I ain’t even started yet, and I have prominent figures thinking differently! What the fuck are you talking about?! You’re on my dick because I’m great! And if you weren’t a crab, your entire audience would know how great I am, too! Joe, just admit that I am a version of you that you’ve always aspired to be but believe you will never achieve, and I’ll leave you alone. Because I don’t believe that you have the discipline or enough occupied time to leave me alone! I’ve been letting you slide in the main, and I have only been getting at you intermittently in the interim. Nonetheless, you seem to think that I write solely for your entertainment. First of all, people are just people to me. I don’t hold you in high regard, I just appreciate your inconstant but existent vulnerability. I don’t think you’re the best podcaster, I just find your antics and contrivances entertaining. I’ve never been a fan of your music, but I don’t think you’re a horrible rapper. And primarily, I know for a fact that none of that is true for you, in my regard! You believe in me, you think highly of me, you want to be my friend, but you’re intimidated by me because you know I see right through you! Tell me I’m lying! And if you’re out of the loop and you’re reading this shit thinking that I’ve lost my mind, get the fuck off my shit—and stay off it! I’m me because I know who I am. Enough said. Peace.