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Ebro, Kodak Black and the business case for virtue signaling

Internets, I applaud Ebro for taking Kodak Black to task for his alleged "non-con" lovemaking, not be
Ebro, Kodak Black and the business case for virtue signaling
By Byron Crawford • Issue #86 • View online
Internets,
I applaud Ebro for taking Kodak Black to task for his alleged “non-con” lovemaking, not because I think it served any purpose other than virtue signaling, but because I think it could be a bold new direction for the Hot 97 morning show.
Maybe this could be their thing: They invite troubled young rappers up to the studio, ideally the week they’ve got an album coming out, when they’re more inclined to “play ball,” and try to get them to comment on pending legal matters—but phrased in such a way that it seems like they’re not trying to get the guests to incriminate themselves, as if they’re on Vlad TV, they’re merely taking a courageous stance against something that’s already obviously wrong.
For example, have I mentioned that I’m against clubbing baby seals? We take that seriously here at Life in a Shanty Town.
I feel like this could be a much better strategy for them than their current strategy, which involves doing interviews with all of the exact same people who do interviews on The Breakfast Club, which no one watches, because why would you watch an interview with someone on Hot 97 when you could watch an interview with the same person on The Breakfast Club? Why do either, when you could do something preferable, like take a cheese grater to your own unit?
The current incarnation of the Hot 97 morning show, which came into being when Peter Rosenberg completely failed as host, and yet somehow managed to keep his job (while Cipha Sounds was kicked to the curb, natch), is basically a shittier version of The Breakfast Club, with each of the show’s personalities (if you can call them that) functioning as a sort of Great Value version of their counterpart at Power 105.
Ebro, who’s similarly light-skinned, would be the DJ Envy in this equation, but with a less amusing personal life. Peter Rosenberg probably has more controversial opinions about black people than Charlamagne, but alas, is hamstrung in his ability to express them by the dictates of political correctness. Laura Stylez has a low center of gravity, which could come in handy in a physical confrontation.
Initially, it seemed like this could be a good, if counter intuitive, strategy for Hot 97, if it could persist in this current incarnation for as long as it took for Charlamagne Tha God to somehow step on his own foot.
Once upon a time, it seemed likely that Charlamagne would eventually be frogmarched out of Power 105 by the police, not unlike when Star was arrested for threatening to pull an R. Kelly on DJ Envy’s seed.
Charlamagne was wild, in ways that I imagine would come as a surprise to people who are only familiar with him in his current guise as the world’s most tiresome mental health awareness proponent. (Therapy is another thing we take seriously here at Life in a Shanty Town.)
A while back, someone put together these YouTube compilations of him staring at female guests’ tits the way a hungry African child stares at a ham sandwich, and explaining to guest after guest how the length of his peen varies ever so slightly with the seasons.
But Charlamagne has proven to be surprisingly resilient. Not even a false rape accusation from a long time ago, and the world’s most disingenuous online petition, could get him let go from Power 105 (though it seems to have cost him his deal with HBO).
If Hot 97 ever wants to overtake The Breakfast Club, it’s gonna have to be through some means other than attrition. Perceived moral superiority alone won’t be enough, but if they can combine it with some cynical, narcissistic, social-media-baiting stunt, possibly at the expense of some poor kid’s freedom (thus upping the ante), I feel like they might have something.
I encourage them to give this a try, not because I want them to succeed, but because I’ll take lulz anywhere I can find them.
Take it easy on yourself,
Bol

 

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