Dear Kanye: We Used to Love You

Dear Kanye,

I must admit that you had me going for a while. Your musical genius was once without precedent, and no one this side of Wu-Tang’s the RZA could match your ability to turn even the most obscure audio clip into the bedrock of a hit record. I truly believed you were the “new version of Pete Rock.”

I have witnessed your genius, Mr. West. And I have ardently defended your liberal administering of said genius to the masses time and time again.  Remember when you said, “George Bush doesn’t like black people,” during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina? Remember the look on comedian Mike Myers’ face? Man, the laughter exploded from my mouth with such violence, my lips were numb for the rest of the day. Wow, that was way back when your music still relied heavily on the careful selection of only the most soulful samples.

The Taylor Swift incident? The sheer brashness of it all was a thing to marvel at, indeed. Man, the look on Beyoncé’s face was classic. Ha! I defended you when President Obama called you a jackass, and even reassessed my own feelings about interracial dating in part because of the way you have so ardently defended your situation with Kim Kardashian. A universal truth is that the heart wants what it wants. Who is anyone else to say otherwise?

When you appeared on the Kris Jenner Show to defend your relationship, I also defended you, despite the fact that you were speaking in your “white people” voice. Hell, every black person who works in the business world has a “white people” voice—which is not to be confused with speaking proper English. It’s a way of disarming Euro-Americans. I get it.

But you have been jumping the shark as of late, bro-ski.

When you came out the side of your neck and said your fiance is more influential than the first lady of the United States—the most powerful nation the world has seen in at least 1,000 years—it was clear to me that you were having trouble distinguishing between what is real and what are the fanciful musings of a stark raving lunatic.

You are aware that this woman’s likeness will sit alongside that of her husband in the White House long after all who read this have been converted to trace measurements of nitrogen and protein in the soil. While I am not aware of the half-life of silicone implants, I am certain that the painting of Mr. and Mrs. Barack Hussein Obama will be considered a national treasure by most Americans while the remains of your girl's ass entertain an audience of earthworms and blowfly larvae.

Read more at the Shadowleague.com.