Gossiping Bitches proudly announces our joint cash gettin’ venture with Nokia, as part of their “It’s Your Life in There” ad campaign. Below, you will find various figures discussing one of the great joys of cell phone use: deleting the numbers of motherfuckers you don’t like anymore.
So, like, when I’m breaking up with somebody, the last thing I do is delete him from my cell phone. It is so great, because when you go to the phone and you delete it, and your phone asks, “Are you sure?” you look at your phone and you’re like, “Oh yeah, I’m sure.” [laughs uncontrollably] He wasn’t in my phone anymore. [maniacal laughter] I don’t even know who he is! David who? [deranged chortling] It’s almost like I never knew him at all. [primal howling] Or maybe he never existed in the first place? [clutching bedsheets, spitting] Perhaps he was just another delusion, like how I convinced myself that I live in an apartment when I’m really at a mental institution, committed here after I tortured the house pets of the children I was babysitting and made them watch. [wild flailing of limbs, nosebleed] And did I really have a cell phone in the first place, or was I speaking into an alarm clock all this time? But that couldn’t be true if it were answering back, could it? I was clearly instructed by the voice to trap the wandering headspell in the wave of my spherical apparatus until it was time to unleash on the Neuro Usurpers, because this is MY TIME, right now, and they won’t win, or we’ll all go together, I promise, because the FUCKING FASCIST PIGS ARE TRYING TO TAKE WHAT’S LEFT OF OUR BRAINS…[banging head against dresser, restrained and sedated by staff doctors]
So, anyway, yeah that’s what I love about my phone! [chuckles]
I don’t really worry about deleting numbers of people. I just throw out the phone, or give it to G. Dep or somebody. Once my phone fills up with numbers of artists who aren’t going nowhere, it’s on to the next one, you know? Like, take Craig Mack — please. Haha…nah, just playin with ya’, playboy. But using him as an example, he was like 400 phones ago. He was also like 1,200 phones before that. Mase? I think he was like phone 2,350. When he made his comeback, well, I never really put him back in the rotation. Even I knew that wasn’t never gonna work. Just the other day, I was looking through my sock drawer when I found an old ass phone from like 2003. You know who was in there? Da Band! I called Babs Bunny just to see what’s up, and she went off on me. All like, “What eva happen to da gwoop? You promised we’d be the Hip-hop Bonnie and Clyde. We ain’t even the Hip-hop Nick and Jessica! Shit is fucked up, yo. Nobody neva call no more. Something’s gotta give.” See, this is why none of them ever went nowhere. I called Dylan too, but he just busted out crying and apologizing. Hot fire he was not spitting. I got Sarah Stokes’ voicemail, and her outgoing message goes, “This is Sarah and I’m out doing me, fuck that. Leave a message and I’ll call you back.” I’m not even bothering putting this new Making the Band group in there. It was sad, but a few of the old members of Dream kept trying to sneak into the auditions. Oh, you know who used to buy my phones for me and enter numbers in it on the spot as I met different people? Farnsworth Bentley. Remember him? Yeah, me neither. As for right now, the only number I got in my new one is Voletta’s. She’s Bad Boy’s flagship artist right now. For some reason, people seem to want to know what she has to say about shit, so we’re gonna do what we can to blow her up as much as possible.
Doing big things in 2006. Bad Boy, ya’ heard? Ringtones, blowin’ up! Also, check for where you can have B.I.G. leave your personal voicemail message. That’s right, we’ve got so many old vocals, we can piece that together for you right quick! No, it’s not creepy, why you trippin’?
This may come as a surprise to you, but I’ve burned a lot of bridges in my time. Guru, DJ Premier, Group Ho…fuck it, the WHOLE Gang Starr Foundation. Not that it was much of a foundation, anyway. I mean, Big Shug? Get the fuck out of here with that. Should have been called the Dirty Rotten Foundation, seeing as how I was the best rapper in the motherfucker. Oh, that reminds me, D.R.S. hates me too, Afu, pretty much any promoter who’s made the mistake of booking me, ditto for any attendee of one of my shows, anybody whose girlfriend was anywhere near me, Ms. Marvel and all the Supa Human Klik, whoever they were. Let’s see, who else…ah, fuck it man, you get the point. Mad heads got it in for a nigga. You see, when a prophet comes and brings forth the righteous psychoanalytical science, not everybody is gonna get it. It’s almost as if the geometrical parallelism is too much for their biospheric, solipsistic vicissitude. Now, most of those people I listed, I tried to explain all this to them, but eventually they don’t want to hear about it anymore. They tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about, I’m just speaking gibberish, and all that. When they say not to call them anymore, I got to take their numbers off my “1-touch dialing” list. Sometimes I’ll dial the number one last time just to let them know I’m deleting it — like a last chance kind of thing — but usually I get their voice message.
Yo, if anybody out there want to give the ‘Ru a call, you can go ahead. I got like 7 open slots on my 1-touch list.
[sigh] What’s the point of it all anymore? Who will call me anyway, now that I’ve released another terrible album? Everybody hates me, so I have no one to call either. Sometimes the phone rings and I get excited, but it’s always a wrong number. I have no friends. My peers all fucking despise me. Put it this way, the last rapper’s number I had in my phone was Defari. Shit, people even like Sage more than me! Mr. Dibbs is considered a sweetheart when compared to me. And girls? Girls triple hate me. I get negative pussy. And I don’t mean depressed women. I still have a lot of respect for them though, especially since they won’t give me the time of day, afternoon, or night. That doesn’t leave much, besides family. But I just lost another number from them too. You see, I’m 1/16th Arab, and found out the government was tapping my phone calls to my distant cousin in Bahrain. So I don’t call him anymore — not that we could really understand each other anyway. I guess this all makes the question of what it’s like to delete numbers from my phone pretty moot, huh? Someone like me does a lot of fronting on the phone, just to give myself something to do while everyone is ignoring me. I’ll look like I’m having deep conversations with people, and the thing won’t even be on. Oh, I did get a call from someone who didn’t say who they were. Something about my “false modesty,” or some shit. Must have been another wrong number.