Tokyo Damage Report

snoop dogg’s autobiography: pure shizzle?

So, I read SNOOP DOGG’S autobiography. It is called the DOGGFATHER. You must read this. It is so fucking fantastic I don’t know where to start.
First, it’s my favorite kind of autobio: the kind where they brag about all the sex and drugs that they had, but AT THE SAME TIME they go “But, take it from me, don’t do that stuff!! It is terrible!! All you need is Jesus! You don’t need to fuck 4 groupies at one time on top of a bed made out of cocaine and hundred-dollar bills like I did. Often. That is so shallow and unfulfilling. Especially when it was really weak coke. But anyway: Jesus. All you have to do is pray and you will be more happy than I am, snorting heroin off of the vice-president’s daughter’s ass in my solid gold biplane. You’re so lucky!!!”
Not only does snoop have the jesus thing going on, but here is how he starts the book:


To increase the peace.
To spread the music.
To elevate and educate.
You might never hear another thing about me, who I am and where I’m coming form . but if you remember those words you’ll know all you need to about snoop dogg. Straight from the source.

I guess I’m an old white person who is out of touch with life on Tha StReEtZ. I had absolutely NO IDEA that ‘elevate and educate’ was slang for ‘smoke blunts all day and make pornos.’ Those wacky slang-makers. What will they think of next? Remember that time the president made that crazy slang expression? He was all like ‘saddam has weapons of mass destruction’ and really he meant ‘lots of sand?’ and all the reporters didn’t get it because they weren’t down with the streetz? Haha. Slang.

. I tried to keep it real, never to sell the truth, always to tell the truth. And if there’s one reason why you know the name snoop dogg and I don’t know yours, it’s because telling the truth has given me the props I need to carry out god’s purpose and plan.

‘telling the truth has given me the props I need to carry out god’s purpose?’ what the hell? Not only is that not true, that’s not even real slang!! Nobody talks like that.
You know you’re in trouble when the very words ‘I want to tell the truth’ are written by a ghost writer.

Seriously, he could not have picked a worse ghostwriter than Davin Seay. It’s like he said, “OK, I gotta promote my new sneakers today, and work on an ad campaign for my cologne, plus take my kids to basketball practice, plus. . .what the ?? I gotta finish my book today too? Ok, get me a writer. What do you mean they’re all busy? Look, get me the guy who writes Archie and Jugghead comics. He owes me a favor. Never mind what favor. He’ll know what it’s about. Get me the Archie guy, tell him he needs to finish it by tomorrow.”
Check out this description of his Sweedish audience:

As far as you can see is an ocean of pale face, blue eyes, and blond hair, and every one of them jamming hard and heavy like they were partying at a Compton club on a Saturday night.

Can you even picture that? “c’mon guys, let’s jam hard and heavy!” “Yeah, for sure! It’ll be super awesome and diggity!” seriously, try picture Snoop Dogg saying that.
Maybe you wish you could be just like me, working my game and busting my moves.
In every rap I ever recorded, in the mad flow of every street-corner freestyle I ever represented, there was only one thing I wanted to get across: the way that it is. . .

Again with the irony. Yeah, tell me how it really is. Tell me the total truth about flowing with representations, streets, def things of that nature.

It’s just as awesome when he tries to get political:
The media’s got an interest in making life in the ghetto out to be a living hell, with brothers shooting at each other all the ttime, crack on the playground, and pimps and whores on every street corner.

Now, where would they have gotten that idea from?? Those bad media people! did they listen to his song, ‘downtown assassin’?

come through blastin,me as a Downtown Assassin
Mashin,may they rest in peace in they caskets
In my zone,Don Corleone wanted
For the murder of forty men
Ordered to hit and watch him kill again and again
From the U-S-C,I shift ki’s,a 120 plane rides
Got paid by cops and judges,I budge when I buzz
I got the City of Long Beach goin crazy for drugs

yeah, lots of rhymes there about the ordinary, god-fearing citizens of long beach.

What follows that, is 150 pages of the most painful slang:
On sex:
It was my duty as a homeboy to try and get next to as many of the little foxes as I could.

On the fatness of scrilla: In snoop dogg’s world, . . . the bad guys are badder, the good guys are gooder, the scrilla is fatter.. . .

On rap: It was going to change our lives, for better and for good.

On being an UnMexican who drives lowriders and wears kakhis with pendletons: Brothers invented what’s cool and everybody else just follows along. Music, fashion, lifestyle ? black is the bomb.

On pot:
The situation with chronic is definitely one you can’t work out on a one-plus-one tip.

On the gangster lifestyle:
Every night is an opportunity to get down and loud until the sun cracks over the horizon and you head back to your plush crib.
We were straight up capitalists and we had a very simple theory of economic determination: we were about the green.
The (rolling) Twenties got our thrill from a big choking wad of dead presidents.. . .
. . . Living large and throwing down major scrilla.

On his old hotel:
We did some wicked partying down at the Stallion.

On romance:
I’m here to tell you there aren’t any motherfucking daisy fields in my neck of the ‘hood.

Picture caption:
Me, my pops, and some of my signifying homeskillets.

On integrity:
I wasn’t interested in rap as a way to get driven around downtown in the back of limo (sic) with a dukey rope and briefcase full of broccoli and some fly bitch on her knees tending to my jammy.

On success:
There’s no shortcuts, no cheats, and no microwavable creativity that you can cop.

On the enduring popularity of rap music:
Bust this ? there’s some phat cuzzes out there laying down crazy rhymes in combination.

On overcoming obstacles in life:
God isn’t interested in any chicken heads on His team.

That is amazing. All the more so, since the writer thinks ‘chickenheads’ means people without courage.

On fatherhood:
I don’t know about you, but for snoop dogg there have been certain special moments that, looking back, have broken my flow in half.
On doctor dre’s social life:
Dre was sitting in the kitchen in a gym suit, watching his cook get breakfast together for a couple dozen sleepy-eyed party peeps.

Snoop makes no note of whether the “Sleepy-eyed party peeps” were wearing feety pajamas. By the end of the book, the writing stops being bad slang, and just starts being nonsense:
On holding his newborn son:
I picked him up and held his little body, about as light as an elbow.

On his murder charge:
The d.a. . . . nothing was going to stop them until they’d hammered me to the wall with a nail gun.

Anyway, seriously, you need to read this. or i’ll hammer you to the wall with a nail gun. you sleepy-eyed party peep, you.

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