Something about the Game screams “mama didn’t hug me enough.” If you read the homie, Clover’s interview with Black Popeye a few months back in XXL, maybe you have already joined me in concluding that he’s very likely out of his rabbit ass mind. I don’t know what it is, but something about him makes me wish I could write prescriptions. Not to mention I never believe a damn thing he’s saying.
One minute he puts on airs that he’s harder than a Viagra patient during a Golden Girls marathon, the next thing you know you find out he’s a contestant on a dating show. Then there’s the beef with 50, only these days (as of a week or so ago at least) the Game’s oh so grateful to 50 for helping his career.
And now he doesn’t want to be a part of hip hop anymore because no one else wants to take a stand? I’m not sure if he’s distraught over the miniscule number of mainstream rappers who don’t care about anything beyond what they got and what they want or the fact that none of the cool rappers wanted to work with him. I never believe rappers when they say they are retiring, and I definitely don’t believe someone who makes a big deal out of serving a couple of hours of jail time like his next public appearance will be the crossroads.
Now back to him crying: Am I the only one that fought back laughter as Game fought back tears?
Somebody hug him.
Oh and just so you know, I’m not saying it’s not OK to cry. I actually almost cried earlier today when I found out people have been told to avoid eating any the catfish from the Gulf of Mexico. Just when I was craving some catfish and Hennessy. Indeed, I know pain.