I want to be a rap star. Those guys are freaking cool. A lot of their songs start with them shouting their own name. I try doing that and I look like a moron who’s full of himself. But a rapper shouts their name to a beat, and they get a million dollar contract.
That’s where the similarities end. When I say similarities, I mean, nothing similar what so ever. Let’s break it down.
Successful rapper: Gets chicks left and right.
John: Doesn’t get hit on at a gay bar.
Successful rapper: Drives a tricked out hummer.
John: Drives a hyundai sonata where he paid extra to get alloy wheels.
Successful rapper: Lives in a mansion in beverly hills.
John: Lives in a tiny apartment in Huntington Beach with some ghosts.
Successful rapper: Eats at fine restaurants with the choicest drink.
John: Eats a plate of refried beans with grilled onions on top SO GOOD!
Successful rapper: Probably has a 6 pack and super cool muscles.
John: Get’s winded singing the 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-tweeleeellllve song from Sesasme Street.
Successful rapper: Meets celebrities at the nicest clubs in LA.
John: Forgot where burger king was, so cries to himself in a Pic-n-save parking lot.
Successful rapper: Lives on the moon in a gold space ship with hands that shoots lasers.
John: Kept spelling it “raper” and then forgot what an actual “rapper” is.
