I hear you’re paranoid and depressed? Here’s some news for you, bro: Get in the queue. Every day, millions around the world suffer from depression. And in silence. They don’t have millions of Twitter trolls drumming up the sympathy vote for them. They go through that long dark tunnel alone and hope to the god person that they will come out into the light. They don’t have access to million dollar psychiatric care and enablers to help make the demons go away. Couldn’t you see this long train to nowhere hurtling your way? It’s called the Karma Train.

For over a year, you’ve gone out of your way to be anointed the Chosen One. You have demanded that the world recognise your genius. You’re Yeezy. Must be related to Dozy and Dopey. You have been allowed- yeah, bro, allowed- to have mindless rants because you’re yet another social media created cretin. Yet, these rambling rants have been applauded by those muppet cronies of yours led by your equally vapid cheerleading moron squad made up of your wife and her dysfunctional family.

You stand there trying to be some working class hero in thousand dollar sneakers and criticise the entire world, but why don’t you look closer to home? Is parading your children at such a young age creating a positive role model for this and the next generation? What kind of parenting skills are there in bringing a three-year-old to a haute couture catwalk show wearing designer clothes and making her the centre of attention for the paparazzi? I forgot: You and your relatives run away from the paparazzi. Hell, you do. You need them to stay relevant.

Your wife being robbed in Paris? Serves her bloody right for parading her wealth for all the world to see. It’s obscene how you and your entire family flaunt wealth when out there, in the real world, millions are dying through famine and religious wars orchestrated by some devil standing at the crossroads pissed that he never got his hands on that last song Robert Johnson recorded. We’re meant to pray and feel sympathy towards your wife? Please. Again, it’s karma, bro. It’s karma attacking you and your family for placing such a high premium on being famous for the sake of being famous.

Now please don’t tweet that you have suddenly discovered religion and want to save the world. Save that for when you appear on Oprah or do the talk show rounds and cry like a blabbering mess while promoting your new record about saving the world. Don’t make the record. It’s too late to save the world. Even Saint Bono couldn’t do that.

What you sow, you reap, and right now you’re reaping a harvest of negativity, confusion and largely guilt for having flickered and tinker tailored with your fame in such an asinine fashion. The Big Fall was coming. Noah could have seen that. And he’s dead.

Keep away from Twitter, bro. Someone new has taken that role away from you and he is bringing all of America and the walls of Jericho down with him. Yet, you admire him. Why? Because he’s now the President elect of Twitter? Because you’re now claiming radio air play is rigged just like he was once claiming that the votes are rigged? Until he won. Has all this to do with the fact that nothing you’re doing is not working? But who are you? You’re a very average musician trying desperately hard to be recognised as an artistic genius, but who hasn’t recorded anything with any substance since “Love Lockdown”, and hasn’t worn anything original since getting up onstage in Edison Chen and Kevin Poon’s made in Hong Kong Clot line of clothing. And that was almost ten years ago. Now you’re begging for money because you’re bereft of it. What happened to being Famous? What happened to all that shade given to that other media manipulator named Taylor Swift? What happened to being a self-acclaimed genius? Run outta wind and faked out puffery? What happened to moral values?

You’re in the news, because you’re nothing more than a novelty act. You’re Krusty The Clown, and a hashtag on Twitter. It’s come down to, What stupid thing is the funny man going to say and do next? And, bro, you have done bugger all in years other than morphing into a Kardashian and living a lie thinking no one will call you out on that. Times change, moods change and patience runs out.

Time’s up. You’re invisible now, bro, you’ve got no secrets to conceal.

Hans Ebert
Hong Kong
27. 11. 2016

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