Rappers Now Safer on Streets Than in Studios

study done by friends of this reporter and other keen observers everywhere released stunning findings this week: Hip-hop artists, young and old, are now officially safer doing the hard-core gangsta stuff they rap about than being in a studio, awards show, or in any way involved with show business.

The study, mostly performed on couches in front of TV sets or while reading newspapers at desks in the office, listed a number of occurrences in the past month and other events in recent history that, though anecdotal evidence, lend great support to the theory rappers are getting fucked up way too much in the music business, actually making it less safe than the hard-ass streets they struggled for years to get out of.

Among the more notorious public incidents was the stabbing of a man Nov. 15 after he punched gangsta rap founder Dr. Dre in the face. A fellow hip-hop artist on Dre's label, G-Unit member Young Buck, was arrested for the crime Friday, while some speculate the beating was put on Dre by huge motherfucker Suge Knight, who has long had a falling out with his former label artist.

Both the punch and the stabbing didn't occur in Dre's famous neighborhood of Compton in Los Angeles, but in Santa Monica at the Vibe Awards, where Dre was receiving a lifetime achievement award. On the streets of South Central L.A., there's reason to believe Dre might have been better protected and not in such close proximity of rivals like Knight, also attending the show.

The very same day as the stabbing, Wu-Tang Clan co-founder Ol' Dirty Bastard dropped dead in the studio after complaining of chest pains. The Roc-A-Fella rapper's cause of death had yet to be determined, but he had recently served time on drug-related charges and was famous for his notorious history with drug and alcohol addiction. Had he been on the streets of his hometown of Camden, New Jersey, the possibility exists he might have been thrown into rehabilitation early enough to give him a chance against the physical deterioration that well may have killed him.

Excluding the famous shooting deaths of Tupac Shakur in 1996, and Notorious B.I.G. in 1997—which some have claimed as revenge for 2Pac's slaying—rappers have been getting brutalized by assaults and murder attempts in recent years, most frequently by others in the hip-hop business. Among other incidents, the shooting of Eminem protégée and Young Buck's G-Unit homie 50 Cent, the murder of Lost Boyz member Freaky Tah, and perhaps most saddening, the 2002 killing of old school rap group Run D.M.C.'s Jam Master Jay, a serious sucker-slayer who could really cut a record from side to side. Two years later, his murderer remains at large, and the police, as usual, clueless. Rest assured, if a member of ultra-white Bon Jovi got clocked outside the studio, New Jersey police would have descended on the crime with a swarm of teary-eyed uniforms, all humming "Living Under a Prayer" in slow monotone.

While the independent study refused make further comment on its own findings, this reporter is more than happy to do it for them: Rappers, Jesus Christ, get out of the business, save yourself. Pick up a guitar and learn to play bar rock. You don't see Hootie getting shot at every other week.

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Salutations, truth-hungry nation. I'm happier than a pig in excrement that the commune has gone back to a weekly schedule, and that I'm writing a correspondence for them for the first time in more than a year! Oh, speaking of the pig/excrement thing, I also want to sincerely thank commune columnist Omar Bricks for the bag of sandwiches he sent to all his fans during the long commune hiatus. I hear most of them are already out of the hospital, and those who aren't are well on their way to recovery. I have the same trouble remembering cooking rules—alfredo sauce is served hot, mayonnaise is cold. They can't really expect busy adventurers like us to keep up with such trivialities.

No one was more devastated than I when the commune mysteriously stopped publishing last year. I even had to mention it to most of the people I knew, then they pretended indifference, but I assure you I didn't have to pretend—devastated I was. Our faithful favorite website did that touching Six Feet Under-themed edition around last May, then poof! No commune! Just when I was hoping they would be moving on to a Boston Legal-themed edition, since I don't get cable and have never seen the other show.

All my queries to fearless editor Red Bagel were returned unopened, with little crudely drawn maps to pirate treasure on the envelopes. But I sought something more—the glib satisfaction I get from knowing I stayed informed with the world's most controversial and scoop-tastic alternative news site! Hmm. I guess it does kind of warrant laughing, to read it all laid out like that instead of just yelling it at city hall. Regardless, I was not going to take the disappearance of the commune lying down. I jumped onto the phone (quite literally, since I've been living without furniture in my apartment after losing my job last year) to organize all the individual commune Enthusiasts Clubs into one massive coalition to raise money, threaten the Illuminati, save the world through video games—to do anything, in short, to get the commune publishing again.

Well, stop me if you guessed where this is going: The Shanesly, Vermont commune Enthusiasts Club was the only club out there! I mean, I'm sure there are others, but they sure are hard to find. Not very well-organized.

So I've taken it upon myself, as the world's single biggest commune fan (though my friend Rudy with the crippling depression is starting to come around in a big way!) to form the world's first National commune Enthusiasts Club. Or NcEC, for those of you who like odd acronyms.

I actually did all this about 8 months ago, and I have to say the result has been really overwhelming. Or just whelming, maybe. We are getting responses, and not just from those pricks at the "Do Not Call" list headquarters. I have over 15 interested potential members already! Most of them have the same thing in common: A thirst for the undiluted truth, as only an anti-corporate website can deliver. They are also all single and live with a great number of cats, which I find curious. What is it about the commune and its many feline fanciers?

Whatever I did, even if it felt unproductive at that time, it's worked! The commune is back in business, and better than ever! Or maybe it could use some improvements, but that's hardly my call. However, if they do want any insightful critiques from me, they'll find me living in their very own local Flatbush, N.J. Y.M.C.A.

In all honesty, though, it's not as much fun as the song made it sound. I have to sleep very lightly to keep from getting a kidney stolen in the night. But what's a kidney as a price to pay, really? I have two of those, despite that awful Guillermo's insidious intentions; there's still only one commune.

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Hello, computer persons. Boris is here from road.

Boris think life is big adventure thing with mystery chocolates, like Andy Gump person does says. So true like fortunate cookie. But Boris is allergic to chocolates, so Boris life is like big box of cereal with prizes and things inside. Same different thing. Both ways is so fun, not matter. What can happen when Boris does climb on bus to use bus toilet and is ending up in Illinois? No person does not know. Except now that is in past, so all persons does know who reads Boris column. But no persons does not know futures before is happening, except for magic floating Disney head.

Prize of Boris life cereal box today is Angels from Hell friends and chopping motorcycle adventure thing. So fun, Boris pretend is Prince on motorcycle thing and does hum songs, but this thing is different because Boris looking more like little koalabear hanging on back of big Angel from Hell and does not have fun Prince purple clothes. But is same idea.

Is hard to write commune column thing from road, because ride is bumpy and Boris writing so impossible to read. Also does take so many postcards to fit on column, even if using special Boris tiny writing. But is fun to be special traveling job person, like man who does sell bowling ball vacuums.

Most Angels from Hell persons does not write columns so them does want to know what Boris is doing all times writing on helmet with grease pencil. Boris does explain of commune job thing, which is telling stories from Boris life to get magic cans of beans. Angels from Hell not think this is so interesting unless is naked girls reading commune, which Boris does not know. But surprise is Angel persons does know of commune thing already because so many are boyfriends of commune person Lil Duncan, so funny. Lil Duncan is most popular commune person for sleepover.

Boris is having fun with Angels from Hell, though Angels does think Boris is getting too many souvenirs to fit on chopping motorcycle thing. Is true, but too hard to say goodbye to giant piñata or big pink stuffed bear animal, and Boris always finding big fun things to get for remember places on road.

That is bad part of riding on back of big chopping thing, no place for to fit trunk and also pants does creeping down thing to show Boris asscrack to world. So bad for drivers, and cold for asscrack. But Boris is wearing helmet and going too fast for persons to see this is Boris asscrack, no way to know this. They are thinking is someone they do know with similar asscrack.

Not sure how Angels from Hell persons does celebrate the Christmas, but Boris is thinking would be fun to put light strings on chopping motorcycles. Though this idea might need very long cord thing to work. Not sure. Also not sure how Santa person or friends will find Boris to give Christmas presents, but Boris will leave out carton of milk and little bag of cookies from vending machine just in case. And hopefully Louis will find present of cottage cheese snowman Boris did hide behind heater. Is important to have friends for Christmas, or as Louis say, Xmen. Boris does send Louis postcard to say wish you were here at sausage factory love Boris, so is good hello. Now is time for goodnight sleeping. Merry Xmen to all commune persons, goodnight!

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