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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

Suge Knight Lost

There was once a time in the West Coast (you know, back when the West Coast was relevant) where many things were unfuckwitable: whether it be the food at Roscoe’s Chicken & Waffles, the year round warm weather or the faux aspiring models walking the streets, you couldn’t tell any Angelino otherwise. Sure, some denizens melted and looted the shit out of the rougher parts of town due to the acquittals of four cops who teed off on a PCP-addled, revolving door prisoner that resulted in billions of dollars in damage, 53 ethered idiots (half of which were Black. Go figure) and a ninja perpetually watching me with the steely eyes of doom prepared to do a Shaolin finger jab if I even think about running outside of their liquor store without paying for a Mexican soda, but if anything that show of violence was a testament to our unbridled unfuckwitability.

At the forefront of this was the rap scene. Many of the artists may not have had the same lyrical dexterity as their Atlantic counterparts, but many of them couldn’t match the sales of West Coast rappers. Whether exposing a young Slap-Box M to the debauchery of misogyny found in Doggystyle or relating to the stories of one-hit wonders like Skee-Lo and Ahmad, the rap game was the pinnacle of unfuckwitable. It set trends and made jigs start biting; where else would Bloods and Crips in New York yoke their idea?

Because of this invincibility some guy nicknamed “Suge” was able to finagle to game using nigh-terrorist tactics to bullyfoot his way to millions or record sales and dollars, having random people stomped out, threatening TIs with baseball bats (so that’s how you beat them!) and dangling Vanilla Ice over a balcony window to do so. In Vanilla’s defense, however, duke was more of a bitch than a bitch, but Lord knows I’d not to like to have been in his position. But after Snoop bounced down South, Dre getting tired of being slapped around like a two dollar whore (why else you think he’s on that Barry Bonds Workout Plan now?) and 2Pac being used as cannon fodder the aura of Suge started to break, and whereas people would only talk about snuffing Suge behind his back, people are now realizing how soft he really was behind those tales of rampage during Death Row’s run.

I’m not saying I’d personally run up on Suge like I was a process server with a paternity suit in tow, I’m just saying that I haven’t been too shocked as of late to see people testing Suge more than ever, especially when I started hearing the stories of his home being broken into, not to mention that time he was shot in the leg at a Miami party a few years ago. But now comes the story of Suge actually getting knocked the fuck out [1] which is, if you put it into a metaphorical sense, where West Coast music stands at today: a bunch of old farts still clutching onto past glory, only to catch a one-hitter quitter when they’re sleeping. But if anything it’s also proof that despite the fantastically terrifying tales the guy is still a mere human being, not to mention that the age-old adage “karma is a bitch” has never been more prevalent.

*waits for a random-ass Jew to punch me in the face at Rock The Bells this August*

No wonder we keep losing to the South.

[1] Is it safe to say that Suge Knight is now the West Coast equivalent of Prodigy?

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