Disclaimer: This post is intended to be satirical. Meaning, if your ass can’t take a joke, slide down the silly aisle and bypass this post.
Now if you can tell a joke, enjoy!
I ain’t never really did this but right now I need help. Like, what’s it gonna take to get me back on the radio?
Man, this failing thing ain’t it. What more do people want from me?
See, that’s me being sorry. Don’t I look sad?
I’ve done my community service.
I know you see that. That’s me…cleaning up the community with my service.
I’m visiting the troops (almost all of them), reading to children, and raising money for charity. But folks still want to bother me.
Do you see Perez Hilton’s tweets?
I don’t know what happened during “the incident,” but did I hit Rihanna and Perez’ mama at the same time?
I didn’t know my reach went that far! Do I need to apologize to him too? #cbizsorry
Why won’t people let me live my life and move on? Rihanna obviously has because she’s still calling me.
Wait, no she’s not. Don’t tell a judge that. That’s a set up. Illuminati shit. #freecbreezy
But for real, I’m trying to move on and let my fans know that from the bottom of my heart I’m trying to be a better man.
They told me not to do this, but lemme ask you a question…that ain’t touch your soul my nigga?
My fans are the shit…they’ll hold me down #cbfansrock
Yeah, some of them might scare me, but they still rock. But I don’t know if they’re enough because it’s like a conspiracy against me.
They’re lying. I’ve seen my stats. MY SHIT DIDN’T SELL OUT! THEY JUST DIDN’T STOCK MY ALBUM!
It’s not fair. What do I have to do to fix this? I can’t win without radio. They’re trying to send me to underground.
Is that where they sent Tevin Campbell? I can’t stay down there. The fuc I look like.
My mixtape good, but I can’t be no mixtape artist. Do you know how much they make?
I gotta get back to crossing over.
I want people to know that they go back to dancing off beat to my music at their wedding again. I’m nothing without my fans and these fools buying my shit on iTunes.
Don’t make me go back to the underground.
Help me get back to steezin on these heathens.
First things first: Hire a private investigator to uncover which members of your team are blood relatives to Rihanna. Them being kin to her is the only logic I have behind their strategy with you.
That or they spend most of their days drinking cocaine-flavored gin. Whatever the case is, those muthafuckas don’t like you. At all. Or they don’t like you enough to tell you to hire a real crisis management team.
You know, some hurly burly looking fools who don’t have anything in the world to do but make you look good as possible considering the circumstances.
Circumstances I obviously get you’re tired of talking about but need I remind you that it’s literally only been a year. If people won’t let go Twitter beef from a year ago, I imagine they’re not going to easily forget that you knock the shit out of one of their favorite music artists.
I know, I know: I don’t know the “whole story,” but let’s move beyond that. I think the judge that sentenced made that all clear.
Speaking of sentences, quite a few folks feel as though you should’ve been playing peak-a-boo in prison so it’s probably not in your best interest to complain about a backlash considering the public has never had an affinity for abusers.
Right now there’s still a big opinion that your cellmate ought to be playing pin the tail on the donkey. I’m not saying I agree or deny that I wouldn’t play myself, but you get what I’m saying?
Yes, you can be rehabilitated, and I’m sure you’re on the right path but just because you want folks to forget about it doesn’t mean they will.
Who you think you is? Michael Jackson? You’re only about seven steps ahead of Joe Jackson in the public eye at this point and that’s mainly because there are no pictures of his remix of “Beat It.”
You know what, though? I think you definitely deserve to still become the preeminent male entertainer of your generation. However, that’s only until you do the following.
Doesn’t that look relaxing? You should definitely look into it. You know, somewhere far…far…far away. Where you can relax, relate, and release all of that frustration outside of the microscope of the media.
If you burn easily, don’t fret:
Go play with a kangaroo. Warning: They punch back.
Sorry, bad me. Those jokes must be old now. Sorry.
Anyway, wherever you go, just go. Take a nice long break. Trust me, we’ve seen the other no rhythm having male singers try to jig, get it big, so believe me when I tell that you’ll be fine when you come back. Although I’m a fan, based on that All-Star performance Usher will probably be using a walker in six months tops. Patience. Wear it like a bow tie.
Give people a chance to forget a little bit. You can’t snap your fingers and duck walk at a local House of Blues and expect everyone to still want to support you. It doesn’t work that way. Not even for cute people.
Oh and do me this one big favor:
“When the whole situation happened she was dead a*s wrong and was trying to get back with him,” the friend tells BOSSIP. “He was like you’ve taken this a little too far, if you’re not going to tell the truth don’t dog me and lie and act like you didn’t do anything. And when he stopped acting like he was going to stay with her she fu*ked Kanye, Kid Cudi, T.I. before he went to jail and she fu*ked Drake… All within a months’ time she fucked everybody.”
Tell people around you and even those across the street from you who placed a bug in your studio to shut the fuck up. Trashing Rihanna doesn’t help you.
She could be a slut, a hoe, a freak, with a different and/or clit near her forehead every week. Doesn’t matter: When it’s prepositioned with the main talking point, “She did Chris dirty” people instantly roll their eyes all the way back to the night before the Grammys. You don’t want that, do you?
It’s obvious these dancer queens are sucking up because they yearn to suck you off, but Breezy boy, pause their speaking privileges. It’s not you saying it, but you can tell what the agenda is. They’re being messy like the lil’ girls that ultimately get jumped in 8th grade; banish them along with your freebasing PR person.
None of that stuff is helping.
Now, when you do record your fourth album, think long and hard about the music you make. I know you love that sort of dance-pop-electro thingamajiggy music, but that appeals to a certain demographic.
Said demographic loves you about as much as Scooby loves Michael Vick right now.
I suggest if you still want to go with that fold you book an appearance on Oprah the month she her talk show ends and stick onions in front of your eyes until you stand on her set. Cry in front of Oprah as if she had just told you that you’ll have to open for Sammie on his tour.
That is, if she allows you to sit on there. Damn, didn’t your impulsive ass throw shade to the Goddess of I’ll Get Yo Ass?
Beg her for forgiveness. Then go on her show to cry. Then try to create “Forever” part 95.
Now go pack and save yourself before it’s too late and they teach Diggy Simmons to dance or put Justin Bieber on a protein diet.
P.S. You need to change your number to a domestic abuse hotline. That way if Rihanna calls you she’ll be forwarded to someone who can help. Or have someone tell her if she keeps calling her green card gets revoked. Whatever’s clever.