Fuck 50 Cent.

Yeah, I said it. I know he’s a physically rock solid, tried and true O.G. But you know what? He is a completely untalented physically rock solid, tried and true O.G.

Now, as many of you know, hip hop is not my forte when it comes to my musical preferences. However, my tastes do vary more so than the moods of a bipolar penguin with seasonal affective disorder and a one-way ticket to Bermuda, so I actually do have some block-rockin’ beatz on Kilgore.

Kilgore is my new iPod. Devastator had to be put to bed.

Devastator was my first iPod, in case you didn’t pick up on that.

If people can name their cars, computers and cocks, I can name my iPod, dammit.

As I was saying, I do like some hip hop, and I have my few favorite artists that I’ll gravitate to. I’ll always appreciate trendsetters from the early days like Run DMC and to a lesser extent, the Beastie Boys. I’ll always appreciate the raw and complex social commentary offered up by the likes of Public Enemy and Tupac Shakur. I can even appreciate the lyrical abilities of cats like Biggie Smalls and Eminem.

But 50 Cent doesn’t have an ounce of skill (or skillz) in his million dollar body when it comes to rap. The most memorable part of his debut affair, Get Rich Or Die Tryin’ was the downbeat to “In Da Club.”

And that’s it. Seriously, that’s the only part of that entire album that I find listenable/tolerable. He doesn’t rhyme with the proficiency of an Eminem or the fire of a Tupac. In fact, most of his songs sound the friggin’ same to me simply because of that dull, monotone voice of his that never seems to change it’s tone.

And yet, the man has still somehow managed to pop up everywhere. Since his release of The Massacre earlier this year (which, to my understanding, is aptly named since the album is massacring a potential art form), he has managed to cross over into nearly every other branch of mediart (my term) save for literature. Not surprising since I doubt a book would cater to most of his audience. But he has managed to parlay Get Rich into a lackluster cinematic hack that many consider to be a rip on Eminem’s 8 Mile. And if it is not a full rip, it is, at the very least, attempting to recreate the success of said movie.

Then there was the mind-blowing atrocity that sparked this post in the first place… the man released a video game bearing his name, voice, music and image. 50 Cent: Bulletproof recently hit the shelves. Like everything else Mr. Jackson has done, it tries to dovetail off of a precedent already set… in this case, the freeform, ultra-violent, socially bankrupt phenomenon in gaming started by the popular GTA series. I suppose it’s no surprise that with San Andreas being as huge a success as it was, developers everywhere have tried to cash in on the whole “gangsta” image perpetuated by the game’s early 1990’s setting. That being said, based on the reviews, this came appears to fail miserably. As a “passable” affair, this game should be a rental at best.

Imagine my horror when I found it to be the number one selling game at one of my local game stores. And that seems to be the norm everywhere.

Why? Why is this the number one game in the nation? Can it really be just because 50’s face is plastered all over it? Is he really that dominant a force in the hip hop world? Doesn’t a lack of talent stand for anything in this sick, sad world anymore?

Here’s the thing about hardcore gamers, folks… they are loyal to the bone, but in smaller droves than the average moron. However, word travels fast in the gaming world, and hits and misses are oftentimes quickly dignified as such, sometimes even before the plastic wrap is torn off the case. So if this game really is as piss-poor as we are being led to believe, then there really is no hope for humanity, and style has officially slain substance.

Look, here’s the bottom line… 50 made it for two reasons. One, he has a great look. He’s in great physical shape, which is huge with the ladies, and his thugged out threads only endears him to would-be gangbangers. Two, he is a legitimate tough guy. You don’t get shot nine times and survive without earning yourself some serious street respect (or “cred,” if you will).

But he is not talented.

He never was talented.

Please for the love of God, just go away, 50… You don’t know how bad “Candy Shop” makes me want to go to the liquor shop.

If Eazy E were alive, this prick would’ve been waxed a long time ago. And music would be in a better place for it.

When I told my buddy Vas about this post, his reaction was downright emphatic. Being a budding filmmaker himself, he was quite enthralled with my decision to lambaste Mr. Cent. In fact, I believe his exact words were: “I hope anyone that sees his movie dies. I hope that they die, and that their children contract Chlamydia and then burn in hell for being the offspring of such people. And I want this all to happen in the theater as they watch the last five minutes of his movie.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself. And that’s my 2 cents on 50. I want my change back now, motherfucker.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.