Don’t get me wrong. I love rap music as much as any other upper middle class white girl. I went to a ghetto school and have been known to, on occasion, get crunk.
But even with my affinity for gangster rap, I can still admit that those fine fella’s (and the rare lady) are horrendous wordsmiths.
Allow me to present my case with the help of one of my favorite blogs, Snacks and Shit.
Exhibit B: Exhibit C:
Exhibit D: And just for shits let’s add in another.
Adult to child in record time.
Nothing makes me feel like an insolent child faster than being shushed. Suddenly I’m not mature enough to control the volume of my voice or speak when I want. No inside voices for me, I’m immature.
Hey! You're a baby you can't shush me! I shush you! Don't judge me!
Is there anything worse? First, you sound like a drunk. And you can’t get out a full sentence without hiccuping again so then everyone laughs, again. And your stomach starts to hurt and you can’t eat and no one takes you seriously. It’s just horrible.
Even worse are the supposed “cures” for hiccups.
Drinking a beer doesn't help the "I'm not drunk" cause.
Hold your breathe and drink for 10 seconds. Hold your breathe and hop on one leg for 15 jumps. Hold your breathe and rub your tummy and pat your head. Say the ABC’s backwards. Click your heels three times and think of home.
Nothing works. Hiccups are incurable. Just as Charles Osborne. He suffered from the little bastards for 68 years.