There were two near-outbreaks of violence at the hip-hop karaoke event I attended in Williamsburg last evening. I wish I could say that statement was a fabricated setup to a joke, but it's true. There was a spate of crackers threatening to rock the mic, and bust a freestyle rhyme. And the few who were granted mic privileges sadly squandered them on rhymes like "yo, yo, yo, let the beat go, i need the flow to go, so let the beat go slow, oh no, here i go from the top of my dome, it's going on and on and on, my name's ron, here we go, almost ready to flow, keep it go-ING, i am the king", etc.

I think 8 Mile has given some white kids brain parasites, making them believe they can perform super-human feats usually reserved for black guys. There was a similar outbreak when Rocky III came out and white men all across America became delusional, believing they were the ready-fist upholders of their race. It's like a poor-man's messianic complex. The battle rap fever 8 Mile seems to be provoking is thankfully less aggressive than RIII fever, but infinitely more embarrassing.

When one of the kids finished performing his nowhere rhymes, which were laced by a scratched out drumbeat and the merciless boos of the audience (some people in the back were waving him off in the style of the apollo theater, evoking the spirits of sandman sims and jp lacey), the hip-hop karaoke host laid into him in a good-natured manner - justifiably, considering all the fuss this kid made before farting on the mic. This caused a near uprising, as the kid's cadre of drunk Italian and Irish friends started pushing weight against the hosts' chests. Please, I cried to the inside of my skull as I held myself tight - Stop the violence in hip-hop karaoke.

P.S. During an impromptu "rhyme battle" between a self-declared Sicilian in a botched Caesar haircult, and a karaoke regular, the Sicilian kid actually removed his shirt (just like eminem!) to reveal a white tank top underneath it. (just like eminem!) It was highly irregular, but no more irregular than his rehearsed, generic insults against his opponents gear, haircut, and sexuality. He promised to "rip ya, and slit ya" but his spit-ya was shit-ya. From the audience I wrote my own personal response to his rap - and convinced myself it was highly dope - and then quickly realized exactly how easy that was to do...from the audience. Here is a sample, for your own enjoyment, and from the safe confines of my web site:

Look! It's Little Caesar!
Pizza Pizza
Nice to meet ya
But it's nicer to beat ya
Uh oh duck for cover - the shirt came off
Now we know you're a wife beater
And the ladies see you're an over-eater
I got a six-pack
you got a twelve
Put your microphone back on the shelf
and listen to Tupac Shakur some more
cause your rhymes were too wack, for sure
I like your Caesar
Did your barber have a seizure?
I'm sorry - that verse was the worst
But now I'm feeling murderous
Think I'll stab you with the mic
While you scream out "Et Tu Brutus???"
Being onstage with you, these people should pity me
You rap so shittily
Now go take your sorry ass 8 miles back to Little Italy

(at this point, the crowd would pick me up in their arms and shout "levin boom-ba-yay!" repeatedly. as their shouts drowned out all other noise, the scene would become fuzzy and then dissolve to me, sitting in the audience, drunk, snappling out of the dream, and accidentally knocking a light beer over on an attractive woman.)