There is No Elephant in the Room.

I'm not sure what you mean. I've been here all along.

This post was written between July and September 2024. Enjoy!

Drake with braids, crying, looking sad — "The Boy" is a proponent of AI, so this is fine.

Happy Christmas! Merry Easter! Feliz New Year! Congrats Grad! Merry Mother's! Brat summer! Holy Fall! All the celebrations.

I've been here, I'm not sure where you've been. Scratch that—you know where I spent the entire early summer? At the base of Kendrick Lamar's leg like a studio rat for a month and some change. I've clawed out of that at-home studio, but let's revisit that room for a second.

The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend.

Drake has been the opposition for far too long. I've waited, achingly, in the shadows for when someone would methodically call out the alligator-ridden Floridian swamp, also enclosed by sounds of screeching cicadas he has transformed into in the last approximately eight years.

I am no hypocrite, I will say with hints of shame that I was the leader champion of the Drake fandom for too many years. I was on that train until roughly If You're Reading This It's Too Late—twitter suggests this isn't an unusual anticlimax.

Why did I leave? Incel misogyny and faux gangsterism.

There's no mild way to put it. Yes, Drake is whiny, but he was ultimately creative and emotionally vulnerable—good or bad. He would sandwich the "woe is me" with melodic humming and impeccably produced records. Also, I mean, there was tea there, okay.

He then found much success and transformed progressively into someone constantly reminding us of the disposables (AKA women) he now twirls around every which finger. It wasn't even in the usual misogynistic manner I can typically roll my eyes at. It was more one-upy, like hate-charged competition was happening there, but one-sided—you know...incel-isms. Things were getting weird.

He constantly reinforces to himself that he also is a bad bitch, who uses exclusive items that all listeners’ potential or hypothetical boyfriends could never dream of accessing. It’s always some competition with someone you potentially like. I mean, he has a closet filled with Birkins for a future committed partner of worth, a necklace created using diamonds from his past contemplated proposals, a long list of exes and flings who allegedly—according to him—have settled for worse in their created families and should be unhappy about it.

I can't tell if this man hates women, or the partners they choose for themselves, or wants to compete with women, or wants men to like him, or hates men. One thing was for sure: He started to sound very embattled.

Summary, it was starting to feel like Drake was at war with everybody, but everybody but him seemed fine. That was NOT the class I registered for. I wanted songs about how great she looked in a sundress or rescuing dancers, accompanied by Noah Shebib on keys.

In the end, I quietly exited the early mid-life and identity crisis-having, teenage girl texting, all his successful exes hating train.

I've said my piece, now let's revisit Kendrick Lamar's analysis. He said that Drake:

Is a loser with money.
Currently has horrible taste in women.
Makes uninspiring music.
Is a black, black culture appropriator.
Is a fake gangster.
...you know, the thing with minors.
Has questionable friends, which may be related to the point stated above.
Has no life, too much time on his hands, and dubious judgment regarding where/what he spends money on.
The above statement also makes him a terrible dad and example to his child (and other alleged children).
Is compensating for a deep identity crisis and low self-esteem with the wildest lifestyle decisions, several ghostwriters, and a doubtful inflated ego.
Is also applying those wild choices to fashion and hairstyle.
Is 7 years old internally.

I mean...

I was wholly entertained, so entertained, that I almost gave Future a full chance. Almost—in the conspiratorial sense, because Future assisted in igniting this ever-growing flame. The last time I was on Future's side in anything, he was asking that lights be turned on. However, things have changed with this man, and I simply cannot stomach all forms of women-lashing as whimsically—probably why he and Drake got along for a while there.

That being said, battle tramples all, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Stay calm though, we all know alliances built on mutual hate are often sheisty in nature.

Don't misstep: Kendrick Lamar is, and has remained, my favorite rap artist since 2013, when "Collect Calls" changed my life. So, this does nothing in his favor for me—he didn't need it, but who better for the job than a Pulitzer man who can also be a healthy hater?

In Other News...

This is my real romance update:

DoorDash dasher texts dasher asking for a date.

I mean, even if he was my type. There I sat, wondering why my food delivery, the same one I was setting up to eat with an accompanying movie, remained "1 minute away"? Only to read this text coinciding shortly after the time I received said meal.

So, you utilized resources you've been provided to enhance my lazy weekend, instead, to send this unromantic message anonymously?

"Where are the jobs for the men???"

I knew there was a reason I shouldn't have accepted the "Meet at my door" option. If I had been unintelligent and asked, "Who is this?," would I have received in response, "your delivery driver." What? With another meal?

Sick and Tired of Gross Humans (...so, all of them).

I've always said we were a waste of genetic material—we, being the human race. All that evolution and what did it get us? I'll tell you. General disorganization, gross lack of empathy, gender wars, planetary annihilation, fear of basically all other species, excessive littering and public spitting. I would name more, but I want to cling to at least a sliver of optimism.

I've been in a very reflective place recently, in both an internal and external sense. I think recently, with so much change happening in my life, I've been hyper-observant of my surroundings, and one of the things I've developed is a hyper-sensitivity to human hygiene. So, I've come with a few complaints:

Please, stop spitting everywhere. It is like living in a continuous worst dodgeball game of my life walking just about anywhere. You are gross, and stranger saliva is not a vision to behold. Stop. Stop.
If your dog poops on the sidewalk, please, pick it up. Concrete, gravel, and general stone do not need manure. Please.
Deodorant, especially in the summer months, is important.
- Also, that natural scent of decaying rain in a sad gutter rotting somewhere is not working. Rescue us; explore some external scent influences—perfume may be for you.
I said this during COVID, but we still haven't grasped that sneezing into your palm (which you will then lay on various objects) is a crime.
If there is a garbage can around you, please use it, especially in public. We can begrudgingly, and with much internal screaming, excuse compostables, but we do not all want to experience a simulation of your home.

Put Your Money Where Your Thirst Is.

The realest moment this summer was when I was filling [redacted] [anonymous] in on the fact that [redacted] and I were going to see The Crow in theaters for the plot only. [redacted] [anonymous] let me know she's been in the trenches with this man alone for about 6 years—a tragedy of her own doing. She should have put me on much earlier.

By the way, this is not normal behavior for me. I'm usually there for other legitimate reasons, including the storyline, actor(s) skill level, the brilliance of the source material, etc. I have grown up, unfortunately, and reached unprecedented horndog levels, so that was not the experience this time. I was in my texts and on their website simultaneously, consuming every bit of ab content they had to offer, and that usually isn’t my niche, but here we are. Growth.

Anyway, and most importantly, now that we've seen what Pennywise 2017-2019 is working with underneath all the make-up and costume, It (2017) is a romance film. Georgie, move out of the way, there are more pressing matters at hand.

Side Note: The Crow's marketing team is just like me, because what does this have to do with the storyline??? Not a thing—but thanks for your service either way, girl.