Sullivantroduction

Hello. My name is Conor Sullivan. I consider myself to be a man with a head on his shoulders. I have enormous shoulders. I’m not Dwight Howard, (shit.......... that guy’s shoulders make him a candidate for a real-life Atlas, should we ever need one) but the good lord made shoulders to support the head and I got a melon that Gallagher couldn’t crack.

Joey recruited me for this shit-show because he wanted me to take Asher Roth down a few pegs. Sorry to say, I can’t do it. I could accuse him of being a spoiled suburbanite shithead with hair like a Troll-doll and little regard for the history, but he already levied those same claims against himself in the opening song on his album. FUCK!!! Why can’t he just let me hate him?? Because, he’s a talented guy and he is, painfully enough, a breath of fresh air.

Rap is saturated with jackasses. 1/1000 of those jackasses are dudes who sold enough coke to afford studio-time and are looking for a more legitimate kind of fame. Why be the guy who’s famous for shooting that cop on West & Pleasant, when you can be famous for being the guy who sang “Swing Your Dookie-Hole”? By the same logic, the other 999 of those jackasses are just neighborhood knuckleheads with big-fish stories. For every rapper that actually profited off drugs, there’s a thousand Tony Montanas who probably would’ve gotten hung from the helicopter.

Take my friend and yours, Rick Ross. Recently outed as a former Miami-Dade County correctional officer, Ross has been selling millions of albums with tales of intercontinental drug-dealing since 2005. In his smash debut single “Hustling,” he claimed to have a personal relationship with Manuel Noriega. Nobody stopped to wonder if it involved him serving Manny 3 meals-a-day on a foam tray. The guy has made some incredible songs, full of even more incredible claims. While he isn’t the best rapper working today, he is a perfect example of today’s typical gangsta rapper.

A day in the life of a gangsta rapper is an action movie in itself. It starts with you waking up next to a curvy latina woman, petting a Siberian white tiger. You don’t remember, because you drank tons of expensive champagne, but you had sex with the exotic beauty last night. You're not sure if you fucked the tiger. It's possible, you love that tiger. As you roll out of bed and put your feet down, you cut the sole of your foot on the stack of bill-folds lying on the floor. Man, you got so much money. You walk to the kitchen and there’s another naked chick, this one’s black, pouring you a bowl of Dom Perignon and Cocoa Puffs. You don’t even want to eat that shit, you just wanted the visual. As you slap the bowl out her hand, the phone rings. It’s your man, Pablo. He informs you in broken english that your 25 kilos will arri... FUCK!

Rappers are full of shit, all of them. When Lil Wayne tells me that he just shot a man in his face, I don’t believe him. When Asher Roth says that he’s double-fisting red cups and making out with nickel-pieces,I believe him......... because he probably is.