Thanks to O-Dub for putting me onto this gleeful bit of idiocy.
- If one cannot convince Rihanna to leave her Caribbean Chris Brown love nest to writhe in your video, one must do the next best thing: get her low-budget, Kool-Aid haired, tatted up, Trinidad & Tobagian equivalent.
- If one is a Buddha monk boasting the nickname, Capo, and assessing wardrobe options for their annual champagne extravaganza, it is never a bad idea to rigorously scan the 1986 “Aspen Excursion” Winter Issue of the REI catalog for fashion tips.
- If one is an ascetic pilgrim with the name Juelz Santana, one must cultivate the “Tim Duncan” look. This way, people will perceive greatness instead of your reality: your life as the Sebastian Telfair of rap.
- In one's quest to produce the most trite celebration of excess, one must go hard to make fun look so dull.
- If pondering ways to top the homo-eroticism of naming one's crew, “Skull Gang,” the solution is green tea, zen meditation and a champagne-soaked, all-male wet t-shirt contest.
- If one is struck by the insatiable need to “get it on the freeway,” one must drive slow, no matter what they think of Kanye West.
- Stealing four bars from “Big Poppa” in the middle of a verse is always an amenable approach to earning airplay at Hot 97. See also the Tao of Sean Carter.
- If one must mock Lupe Fiasco and his spasmodic snake shimmy spectacular, one must do it well. Using the phrase, “No Lupe,” will suffice.
- Sex shall not be had in the champagne room unless it is had with Juelz Santana Freekey Zeekey, and/or Ron Burkle.
- When searching for a hook-man, satori can only be found from a singer who can serve as his own yin and yang: meaning, he must rip off Akon and T-Pain in equal measure.
- Pop champagne. Pop it hard. Pop it slow. Pop it when ballin'. Pop it when unemployment and economic turmoil are rife. Jones. Dipset for life. (No humble).
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