TI, I can tell you, is a fellow skinny little dude. Me and Dego, another skinny mofuck, went to meet him in Kensigton at his hotel yesterday. We got a nice drop for ATD13, and smoked in the park by the Royal Garden Hotel. It was nice. After we went back to mine and Morty came round and we listened to noises and smoked. Lazy like. Morty rules. I've given her some music to make into two whole songs. The night before Charlotte and I saw TI play Neighbourhood. We'd been in a posh bar with some bankists, celebrating the launch of a finance related tome written by my boy Gwil's brother in law. I finally met Gwil's sister Claire, a lady of some legend, who a long time ago, when we were all small in North Wales, broke out and made her fortune in LA doing pop videos and such. I think in a small way she was somehow inspirational to me, although I didn't know her.
And TI was good, despite hanging about onstage for 15 minutes before actually playing with about 12 of his boys, just, sort of standing around. They bought me down a bit. TI's rapping his little ass off, and all these dudes are rooted to the stage. How are you supposed to get into that? If you're onstage with me, you better fucking feel it, and that includes you Mary, my demure, co-singing dear. Next Saturday we're playing the escape festival in Swansea, and if there isn't 100% hardcore hype banging off of that stage I sack us all.
The football today was shit. It was depressing. Even more so was a trip to the newsagent afterwards, where I aspied the newspapers. In the country in which I live, my people, the most important thing in the world is the World Cup.
Meanwhile in Canada, the swine have been deciding our fates.
They realise not that I am to be a warlord.
A ah ha.