A Rumination On Soulja Boy
Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em and his incomprehensible fucking name (why would you make your stage name an imperative sentence?) have a new single out: “Turn My Swag On”. Why his Swag is now apparently electronic in nature, capable of a binary on/off existence, I do not know. But I’m willing to judge it as incredibly terrible for being so.
There is, however, one issue with the song. There’s a background effect, subtle, yet present. A tiny set of dings.
These are the same dings my car makes when the door is open. Now, imagine you’re listening to a song on the radio courtesy of fine six-speaker Hyundai Elantra stereo sound system and the door ding sound comes on. And then it goes away. And then the sound comes back. And you’re listening to a terrible song that you don’t turn because you’re almost to the parking lot.
First, you look at your door. Then you look at all the other doors. Then you look at the dashboard panel. Then you wait for it again, and it pops up, and you do the same thing all over again. It’s like putting a laser beam in front of a cat…while the cat is driving. It wasn’t until the song came on again when I got in my car this afternoon that I figured this out. My anger is not because Soulja Boy makes terrible, incomprehensible music about ejaculating on a woman’s back…although he does. My anger is not because of his inexplicable penchant for wearing sunglasses with his stage name written on them in Wite-Out.
My anger is because Soulja Boy has crossed the line from musical menace to public menace. He must be stopped at all costs.