You’ve heard the Rebecca Black song by now, right? You’ve listened to the lyricism worthy of Whitman – “tomorrow is Saturday…and Sunday comes afterwards.”
You’ve considered your choice to one of life’s greatest dilemmas – front seat or back seat. Which seat would you take?
You’ve seen the number of views on YouTube* skyrocketing upward and onward to a cool 58 million. That’s right, there are more people who have watched the Rebecca Black video than live in Sweden, Denmark, Ireland, Belgium, Portugal, Greece and Finland combined.
*Does Word automatically update its Spellchecker? I just typed in YouTube on Word and it didn’t come up as an error. Weird.
Strangely none of that befuddles me. Well, it does. But it doesn’t befuddle me quite like the character who enters the video about two-thirds of the way through the song. You may know who I’m talking about. The rapper.
Yes, if there was ever a person more desperate for a paycheck I haven’t seen that man or woman. If there was ever a rapper packing more clichés into eight bars or so, I haven’t heard him or her rhyme.
So who is this guy? Do a Google search: “The rapper in the Rebecca Black song.”
You quickly see the results. He is called rapper, rapping black man, random rapper, and my favorite, desperate rapper. His name is Patrice Wilson. He apparently works for Ark Music, the factory that has made producing tween bubble gum hits simple, an advancement not entirely unlike the cotton gin.
But I’m not convinced of the identity of this desperate rapper. He isn’t some guy who produces music for Ark named Patrice Wilson. No, that rapper is Gary Sheffield. Take a look:
C’mon Gary. Have you spent all your MLB money already?