con

Reading The Signs

Ho ho ho.

Truth be told, I have never voted Labour, or anyone else either. I refuse to legitimise this farcical circus of nincompoops. I also have had debt collectors up my ass since I was 17, so I don't like to be on the electoral roll.

This one time, I was working for some totally bogus company called Calortex ("it's Calor gas and Texaco, two brands you can trust!") convincing people to swap their gas supplier, and me and this lad I was tag-teaming round Birmingham with conned a whole street full of old ladies into doing it, and figured we deserved the afternoon off, so we went to the pub and got mashup, then this lad convinced me to get a store card from Top Man and blow the £400 card limit. Which I did. I wasn't even a Topman sort of a dude - I was rocking PVC trousers and fluorescent orange goggles in those days, but I still managed to drunkenly blow £400 in a matter of minutes. I got a great big camouflage print bubble jacket. I think I got my mean white top from there too. You know - the mean white top wot zipped to my left shoulder blade:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ghJo_XLjQ2g

Yeah, I miss that mean white top. And, true talk, I felt like I'd just got paid that day. HEY! But as it was, all those old ladies we thought we'd convinced to switch from British gas to Calortex sent back their contracts with covering letters accusing us of LYING about how much money they were gonna save, just like we'd been taught to, and our wages got docked, which totally screwed up my repayment plan. I quit soon after that and moved to London, where I avoided all letters that came in buff  brown envelopes, and got an administration gig at a book PR, where I overheard intense conversations between my boss and Mohamed al Fayed about the royal family's homicidal tendencies. But that's another story.

I should make a list of these stories. In case you weren't tuned into last week's Doncast, I have deduced that a comic strip a day is too tall an order even for a superhero like me, so one a week is gonna have to do. And that worked out pretty well this week - I got to put a lot more time into my Death's Head strip than all those that preceded it, and it's been linked all over the place. Why, it showed up on Robot 6 tonight! I'll have you know that getting on Robot 6 was one of my GOALS this year! BLAOW!

I did a really good impression of an air-horn when I saw that. I might show it you on Wednesday, when The All New Weekly Doncast happens. 5pm GMT! If it's anything like last week, it'll be awesome! You better axe somebody!

I used to think that's what the young Snoop Doggy Dogg kid said in that skit on Doggystyle. "Axe somebody." Rah, I thought to myself, lil' kids is raw out in LA! In my school the worst that happened was a teacher got stabbed. And you know what? That's pretty bad. If that happened now, there'd be a load of outrage in the papers about how effed the effed up this new generation is. Well sod that brothers and sisters. My generation was some raw ass monkeys. I remember when I was in primary school Simon Waskiewicz (yeah, there was two of us in that class of 16 in that lil Welsh village with crazy Polish surnames) wiled out and threw a whole damn table at Miss Roberts. That dude was crazy, because Miss Roberts was the scariest person in the world as far as I could tell. She used to make me feel sick just looking at me. Everyone used to say she had evil powers because she never got married and she was a virgin, but none of us really knew what being a virgin entailed at that point. We thought erections were for pissing through letterboxes with.

Sheee-it. What a waste of a story. I could have turned that into a comic. Look at me, dropping gems like a butterfingered watchmaker! Shout out Curren$y for that one. I am gonna leave you with a photo of my new clock. CLOCK, I said! I got three of these. I bought them for a pound each from the Poundland in Stratford that used to be Woolies, and stuck pictures of rappers in them. They're for telling the time in different parts of the world. This one's set to New York. I got the picture from The Gangsta Rap Coloring Book. I got two copies of that thing. Martin Carr got me one for my birthday the other year, then my Dad got me one for Christmas. Thanks, dudes! See how you make my life better!

The Wheels Of Doom.... Um, Change. Hope. Whatever.

Ola, my friends. I write to you via telephone from the back of a grimy ole train headed to London Victoria, where I shall rendezvous with my fine female companion and attend an election party. I imagine everybody there will be whooping it up in support of The Obama Man, and it will be hard for me to keep such soul destroying observations as "he will still nuke Iran" to myself. Nobody wants to hear this stuff - not even me. I want to believe everything will be glorious tomorrow, but I am a student of history, and there wont no Superman be saving anybodies Metropolis any time soon. The wheels of doom will keep rolling. Shit, even children too young to remember Nevermind coming out know what happened after Tony Blair was crowned our glorious saviour.

My woman, along with everyone else I spoke today, is confident of a democratic victory for The Democrats. But only a fool would count that vengefull Stingray extra McPain out at this juncture. Even a blind pig finds an acorn once in a while... And The Swine do own the paper-trail-free digital voting machines, after all. And all they have to do is blame the disparity between the exit polls and the election results on racist white folks, then declare marshal law when the peacenicks, the beatniks, the freaks and darkies begin to riot. It'll be just like the arse end of the sixties all over again.

Christ! Did I just write that? What a rotten trip to lay on a hopeful people, now, of all times.

Anyway. My American friends: how are you feeling right now? Did you vote? And for who? Was it easy? Was it hard? Did the machine wink at you?

For good or ill, I am very interested.

Akon: A Con

akon locked up"I got accepted by the gangster crowd because they saw that I wasn't afraid of nobody and I would fight anybody...Before I knew it, I became the most popular kid in Jersey City as a good bad guy." Akon, 2005

"I always had a way of getting over on people, whether manipulating or conning them." Akon, 2007

Sweet soul singin' sensation Akon has been outed as a dirty liar by those investigative journalists (what, what the fuck is one of THEM?!) over at The Smoking Gun.

Turns out the crooner DID NOT go to jail for a combined 4 and a half years like he claimed, the basis of his whole career - his label is called Konvict Records, every song he does has the sound of prison bars clanking, etc. His public personal has been like a cross between Robin Hood and Simon Adebisi from Oz.

Akon has claimed over the years he was the "ringleader of a notorious car theft operation," who went to jail after some underlings snitched him out. In prison Akon was a scrapper who "had fights every day of his life", AND a singer. He claimed he wrote his hit Locked Up in jail.

The song, he recalled, "was like an anthem in there" and C.O.s would often ask him to sing its chorus, which goes "I'm looooocked up! They won't let me out!"

N. E. WAE. Transpires that whole backstory was "to an overwhelming extent, exaggerated, embellished, or wholly fabricated" according to The Smoking Gun:

"While the performer's rap sheet does include a half-dozen arrests, Akon has only been convicted of one felony, for gun possession. That 1998 New Jersey case ended with a guilty plea, for which the singer was sentenced to three years probation. Another 1998 bust, this one in suburban Atlanta, has been seized upon by Akon and transformed into the big case that purportedly sent him to prison (thanks to his snitching cohorts) for three fight-filled years. In reality, Akon was arrested for possession of a single stolen BMW and held in the DeKalb County jail for several months before prosecutors dropped all charges against him.

So there was no conviction. There was no prison term between 1999 and 2002. And he was never "facing 75 years," as the singer claimed in one videotaped interview."

Damn homie! What next, we find out Lil Wayne never shot crack?

Here's a video of Akon telling porkies. Now, these revelations aren't gonna make me enjoy dude's excellent music any less. I never believed a word of it anyway. But These interviews? Not so much. I like interviews. They are one of my favorite side effects of the pop star thing. But I do like to be able to believe an interview. Is that perverse?

Music journalism is an oxymoron, and I have said this for a long time. Music writers, as they should be called, primarily copy-paste press releases these days, with no thought, or care, for the content, or consequence. But, since we're aware that politics is merely the entertainment arm of the war industry, should we really give two craps about pop singers?

I mean, don't we all know it's bullshit by now? Do we really want our pop stars to be one hunnerd percent honest? Does a rapper need to pretend to be a bandit in real life in order to sing abut it? I mean, it's not like Johnny Cash ever did. What do you mob think?

Stream: Akon ft Nas - Locked Up (remix)

Stream: Obie Trice ft Akon - Snitch

Lush

So I fell alseep on the sofa after 5, and was awakened gently by Super Phil at 6:20, and it transpired Bird left my bag with my passport in it at the venue last night. But Bird's got me another ID card, so we're outside waiting for Jeff to pick us up at 6:30. And at midday we're in LA, and soon after that we're in Interscope's offices,and I'm filling a bag with Nirvana, Guns N Roses, Gilbert And Sullivan, Dre, Peter Gabriel, Police and other such back catalogue. Jimmy Iovine has a signed letter from Tupac and a video console that won't switch on. And loads of ideas. A balcony. A lush view. LA is lush to look at, from these places of advantage. Like, later we visit Jeff and Trent's, and there's this fucking alien cat that loves me, and an incredible, incredible view, of this desolate wilderness spattered with money.

It was a lovely day.

But in the nighttime it is hard not to see that LA is awash with cunts. It is a sad and massive amount of cunts, and I am not sure whether it is sad because this is what the world did to them, or because this is what they do to the world, or because they are cunts, and you can see their faces rotting right in front of your eyes.