FakeWatchBusta calls himself “The Horological Batman,” a vigilante out there policing these internet streets keeping everyone safe from the scourge that is fake high-end timepieces (“Horology” = the study of watches and keeping time; it comes from the same Greek word from which we get “hour.”) Armed with only an eye for detail and a smartphone, FWB puts anyone flossing a replica watch on blast. He’s had his accounts canceled, legal threats, and a lot of pissed off ballers, but he will not be stopped!
Although his identity is a mystery, his email address is not. We caught up over the weekend.
Now That It’s Off the Market, Purple Drank Is the New Quaaludes
Sizzurp is being pulled from shelves, yes, but don’t panic. Not all candy-flavored cough syrups are being taken away from us, and it’s not becoming illegal. Not moreso anyway.
The only syrup being taken away, and the only true “Lean,” or “Sizzurp,” is the one manufactured by Actavis, known as “Prometh,” a variety of promethazine codeine syrup that is purple, usually with an orange label. Sometimes it came with a purple label, and I know hindsight is 20/20, but that purple is much better for branding.
The FDA still allows promethazine, a regulated, prescription only, un-scheduled drug. So if you can get a prescription for it, and then you mix it with codeine, which is also still legal, you can make genuine and by some accounts legal, though extremely sketchy, dangerous and inadvisable Lean of your own. If you do, you did it of your own accord, not because we told you to, but feel free to let us know how it went.
I think the fact that you are so marketable is that you’re one of the few rappers to bridge the gap from being just a rapper to being a pop culture icon. Let’s put it this way: my mother knows who you are. You even became a meme. How’d that come to be?
It’s probably because I talked to Bill O’ Reilly and asked him if he was mad. It was nothing really. He was trying to come at me and I thought it was hilarious, so I made a joke out of it. It’s a lot of things. But the simple fact is that I’m living my lifestyle and people are capitalizing on it financially or intellectually. I don’t plan any of this, I just wake up in the morning being me.
The Wu-Tang Clan Swarm London
NEVER PARTY WITH THE BRICK SQUAD…
OR YOU MIGHT END UP DRINKING AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF HENNESSY AND ALMOST DYING
Illustration by Meaghan Garvey
As the host of Noisey Raps, the new hip-hop show on VICE’s music site, I’ve been spending a ton of time with famous rappers who like to get loco and do things poor degenerates only dream of. Getting fucked up is a time-honored tradition for musicians of all genres, but rappers, as with everything else they do, take inebriation to absurd new levels. They even invent weird new drugs and give them cute nicknames like “hokey-pokey” and “pterodactyl.” You might think, I love the hokey-pokey. This must be harmless. Then, the next thing you know, you’re being arrested for wiggling your genitals at an old lady, while the famous rapper you just made “friends” with is riding away in his Maybach, sandwiched between two gorgeous models, laughing his ass off. The thing to remember is that these guys are professionals at getting wasted. They rage day in and day out, one dust-laced blunt after another, and then they get paid exorbitant sums of cash to write songs about it. Trying to keep up with them is stupid and dangerous. Unfortunately, I had to learn this lesson the hard way from members of the 1017 Brick Squad.
It was a chilly night in October, and I had been invited to shoot Waka Flocka Flame and Gucci Mane backstage at their show at New York’s Irving Plaza. Unless you’re a geriatric or in jail, you should know that Waka and Gucci are two Atlanta MCs who make unrepentant Southern gangster rap known as trap music.
When we arrived, it looked like your typical rapper green-room scene. There were a whole lot of dudes, because—despite all their lyrics about sexual conquests—rappers love sausage fests. As per usual, a thick cloud of smoke was hovering in the air, and all you could hear was the clash of liquor bottles and the chatter of country drawls.
I’m usually disappointed when I meet rappers in person because they’re often short, meek versions of what you see in their videos. Waka and Gucci, however, look like a couple of linebackers. Their presence is super-imposing, and this was only the second on-camera work I’d done in my life. In hindsight, I should’ve taken some more time thinking about my appearance before the interview: I was wearing pop-bottle glasses and a Cosby-like Pendleton sweater. They immediately started clowning me.
The instructions my producer Andy Capper gave me were to “hang out and get some natural footage.” But Waka and Gucci took one look at me, and it became awkwardly obvious that they weren’t trying to hang with me at all. After a pretty terse greeting that resulted in Waka practically breaking my hand when he shook it, the rappers formed a smokers’ huddle on the other side of the room that I couldn’t breach. Precious time was being wasted. I had to do something quick to get in good with these guys or else I wouldn’t be asked to host anything ever again.
Like everyone backstage, Waka, Gucci, and a couple of their lackeys were passing fat blunts back and forth to one another. To break the ice, I thought it’d be a good idea to ask them what kind of weed they were burning. Gucci just looked down at me like I was a narc, handed over the blunt, and said, “You tell me.”
Now, I’ve been smoking blunts since I was 11 years old. And I grew up in the suburbs, so I’m no stranger to bongs, bowls, and weird white-people shit like vaporizers. But nothing prepared me for how high I was about to become after hitting Gucci’s burner. The closest thing I can compare it to is being pushed headfirst down a K-hole. The second after the smoke left my lungs, I couldn’t even form a complete sentence. Andy was whispering in my ear, trying to tell me what questions to ask because I was just standing there like a zombie with the microphone limp in my hand. And then everything just went black.
Breaking: Wiz Khalifa likes weed, strippers
Hey Rappers, Make These Musicals!
Confirmed last spring, America’s one true poet laureate Jay-Z will be in charge of creating new music for the upcoming remake of Annie. Produced by Will Smith and starring his, why-didn’t-you-just-name-her-Junior, offspring Willow, the film will take place in contemporary New York and almost invariably be more interesting than the original, with a better soundtrack. (Theatre weenies are encouraged to leave your raging, snobby disdain in the comments below, and also to shut the fuck up about your undergrad performance in My Fair Lady already.)
As I am both a tremendous hip-hop fan and someone who at one time ran a spotlight for her high school theatre troupe, it struck me that more rap artists should put their spin on classic Broadway musicals. Because they would be better. More relatable. And probably feature more strippers. Observe:
West Side Story by A$AP Mob and Brick Squad: A$AP Mob are the Jets, led by A$AP Rocky’s Tony, who falls in love with Waka Flaka’s Maria and loses his/her love by murdering Lex Looger as Fernando with a semi-auto instead of a dinky switchblade. Would “America” be a better song produced by Looger? Yes. Do I mostly want to see Waka in a dress half-rapping half-shouting “I Feel Pretty”? Also yes. And what I get off to is none of your business.
The Wiz by Whiz Khalifa: A) You could call it The W(h)iz Khalifa and B) you could keep the same story until Whiz and his pals make it to the poppy field. Then they get high as hell and forget where they were walking and come up with hooks about colors for the last half hour of the show. College freshmen will think it’s brilliant. No one else will understand the appeal.