A Big, Bright, Shining Star

An excerpt from Kanye West Superstar, now available in paperback and ebook


I like pr0n as much as any healthy, red-blooded Murican man, maybe even more so, but not so much that I would marry a pr0n chick.

Sure, if my career as an author of reasonably-priced hip-hop ebooks takes off to the point where I have the means, or if I found one who was down on her luck and I had some meth on me, I would make sweet, passionate love to a pr0n chick. There’s several of them I would like to make sweet, passionate love to, and in fact, I’m already putting together a list, just in case. But I’d have to draw the line at marriage.

I wouldn’t want a pr0n chick to be my child’s mother, both because I wouldn’t want him to grow up to be messed up in the head — like Hugh Hefner’s son, who’s alleged to have beaten up one of the Playmates — and because I want both of his parents to be intelligent, not just the father. I figure I’m already bringing a lot of bad genes into the equation, transferred via reproductive material that may have been damaged from years of hard living. It doesn’t seem as viscous as it once was.

And really, I wouldn’t want a pr0n chick in my house while I’m not at home, and I’m sure it would be awkward — to say the least — to try to get her to not be in the house when I’m not there, especially if we’re married. She might not like the idea of having her own separate Airstream trailer on the premises, like the one Andy Dick lives in, in his baby’s mother’s backyard. All pr0n chicks have pimps that they turn over the $300 they make per scene to, and as revealed in the documentary-like film Casino, they don’t lose touch with those pimps just because they got married.

You can’t turn a ho into a housewife

Kanye West is not as concerned with whether or not something seems like a good idea. He’s the kind of person who will accomplish anything and everything he sets his mind to, regardless of what other people think. That’s the essence of who he is both as an artist and as a person. On the one hand, this has led him to become one of the most successful rappers of all time, of ALL TIME, despite the fact that he’s not a very good rapper, and on the other hand it’s led his personal life to become an increasingly ridonkulous public spectacle.

We’ll be discussing both in this book — probably the tabloid aspect of his life more so than his artistry, but definitely his artistry as well. Because if it weren’t for his artistry — to the extent that you can call it that — there wouldn’t be a tabloid aspect of his life to speak of. Kim Kardashian is not interested in megalomaniacs who simply sit around in their mom’s basement ranting and raving on the Internets. Otherwise, I probably would have been in line somewhere behind Ray J and ahead of Kanye.

Before she was off the market, but definitely not the first.


Born in Atlanta, Georgia, in the year of our lord 1977, Kanye West moved with his mom to Chicago as a young child. His father stayed put in Atlanta, where Kanye would sometimes visit during the summer and may have picked up some of his bad taste in music. Later, his father relocated to Maryland, where he became a marriage counselor in a church.

I’m not sure what led to the dissolution of his relationship with Kanye’s mother. I really would have asked her (I have her email address), but she’s been dead since 2007. The fact that Kanye’s father was once a marriage counselor in a church makes me suspect that he’s an epic manwhore, and that would help explain Kanye’s obsession with pr0n. Guys with a few failed marriages under their belt pursue marriage counseling as a career because they’ve had a lot of experience being in relationships; and it’s a well-known fact that guys who are in leadership positions in a church get a lot of pussy thrown at them by female parishioners.

If I actually believed anything that was ever said in a church, and if attractive women went to black churches (I don’t know if a black man can become a leader of a white church, which is probably for the best), I might consider becoming a leader of a church myself, if only to have a system in which pussy is delivered to me, so I wouldn’t have to sweat trying to procure it by some other means.

Ever since I read an article by Malcolm Gladwell in the New Yorker about Jerry Sandusky bufuing those kids at Penn State, and later some guy told me a method this guy on his job uses (I probably shouldn’t be any more specific than that, though this wasn’t illegal per se — these were all adults), I’ve been obsessed with the idea of putting together systems in which pussy would be delivered to you through little or no effort of your own — essentially, using “lifestyle design” to pull an end run on natural selection.

Call it The 4-Hour Sex Life.

The classic example would be the Hollywood producer who bangs a lot of chicks on his casting couch. A guy like that wouldn’t even have to bathe on a regular basis, if he didn’t want to, and he’d still be able to score. He’d be living the dream. In fact, there’s a few guys in pr0n who look gross and are said to not smell right, and yet obviously they’re cleaning up. Well, figuratively speaking. Video evidence of this is available on the Internets, I’ve been told.

It ends well, but then it doesn’t

Wildly manipulative and wrong though it may be (I’m officially against it, sincerely), it’s probably not against the law, as long as there’s no definite quid pro quo. Kanye West has at least dabbled in this kind of behavior. He cast Amber Rose in one of his videos and then dated her for a period of time. If him putting a finger on that wasn’t a condition of her employment, it was at least facilitated by her being there on the set. That’s what I mean by lifestyle design.

By the way, before we get into any unsavory subject matter, I should warn you that this is not some bowdlerized, Tiger Beat-style account of Kanye’s life and career. Kanye West is married to a woman who sells DVDs of herself being split in two by Brandy’s little brother. For a living. The most recent Kanye West album, as I’m writing this, has songs about eating an Asian girl’s pussy with duck sauce, and shoving his fist in a black girl’s pussy “like a civil rights sign.” If you’re the kind of person who requires a book that somehow discusses these things without mentioning them, you’ve picked up the wrong book. You accidentally wandered away from the section of the bookstore that has toys in it.


That man-ho blood coursing through his veins led a young Kanye to develop what ended up becoming a lifelong interest in pornography. It’s been one of the few constants in his life, along with music and tiny jackets. Even his beloved mother is no longer with us arguably due in part to Kanye’s fascination with pr0n.

Kanye’s mom, whom he lived with more often than not, kept a collection of 1980s Ron Jeremy-style VHS pr0n. Which seems weird to me. I know, because Pr0nHub keeps detailed statistics about who visits their site (ruh roh), that some girls watch pr0n. But how many women had a pr0n collection on VHS? I think most people just rented pr0n back during the VHS era. To actually buy those tapes cost an arm and a leg — it required a certain level of commitment to pr0nography. So Kanye’s father wasn’t the only one with, erm, proclivities. That may have even been how they found each other.

Donda West first discovered her son’s fascination with pr0n when he snuck and watched one of her VHS tapes and accidentally left it in the VCR for her to find. Awkward! The easiest thing to do in a situation like that is just put the tape back where it belongs and let the situation blow over without either of you mentioning it. Imagine how difficult it would be to have a conversation with an eight year-old kid about pr0n, let alone your own pr0n, the shit that you specifically picked out at an off brand video store in a sketchy strip mall, because it best-suited your “needs.” I shudder to think what kind of pr0n this was.

You’ll never believe what these girls saw on the Internets

What does an eight year-old boy even do with pr0n? As a 33 year-old man, I’ve got videos I’ve been watching since I was like 26 that I haven’t seen any more than about eight minutes of, because… well, there’s no need to get too graphic here. Kids might want to read this book. I’m hoping my elementary school alma mater will keep it in their library. When I was a kid, back in the mid to late ‘80s, they had that book where the guy who played Carlton on the Fresh Prince of Bel Air teaches you how to break dance, and I think putting this book alongside it would provide me with a certain not necessarily pr0n-related sense of completion — an emotional money shot, if you will.

A young Kanye probably sat there and watched those videos all the way through, while his mom was off working on her dissertation. Pr0n films are always especially long, to justify charging so much for them. There’s one scene with the chick who’s on the cover, and then they pad the length with a few chicks who aren’t attractive enough to carry their own film. In fact, Kanye may have forgotten to put the tape back where he found it because he sat there so long he ended up falling asleep and having a dream about Christy Canyon.

This is all speculation, mind you.

There was also an incident in which Kanye brought some nudie magazines to class and got caught passing them around to other kids so everyone could get a good look. How considerate of him. In retrospect, this was a precursor to his career casting a lot of skanky chicks with ginormous cans in videos like Drake’s “Best I Ever Had,” let alone any number of his own videos.

Directed by Kanye West, discussed at length elsewhere in Kanye West Superstar

The teacher asked Kanye where he got those magazines, and he said his mother’s closet, which, again… worrisome. Kanye’s mom was called to the school, where she slapped him and then took him home and forced him to write a paper about why kids shouldn’t look at pr0n. This was all discussed in the book Donda wrote about raising Kanye. I didn’t read it back when it came out, and the budget I had to write this book wasn’t sufficient to buy a copy (the library didn’t have it), but I remember reading an article about it in the Daily Mail or somewhere back when it came out. I may have written about it — or at least mentioned it — back when I was with XXL.

Anyway, Freud would have had a field day with that one: The fact that Kanye’s mom wrote an entire book about raising him. The fact that she had all of that pr0n. The fact that she slapped him, which may have later resulted in masochistic tendencies. And the fact that she made him write a research paper about his precocious interest in pr0n, thus forever linking education, punishment, pr0nography and his mother in his not yet fully formed, already depraved mind. Oh, what I wouldn’t give to get my hands on a copy of that paper. Is it typed in ALL CAPS?

Before her body completely fell apart, Kanye’s mom would sometimes bring home men to have sex with. Whether these were men she would meet at bars or students (or perhaps even maintenance staff) from the university I’m not sure — it doesn’t say in the song “Mama’s Boyfriend.”

In that song, Kanye talks about hearing sex sounds coming from his mom’s bedroom and fantasizing about wanting to kill those guys, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it in an I’m-deeply-upset-with-this-person sort of way, but rather in a my-mind-honestly-just-went-to-committing-murder sort of way.

If I were Kim Kardashian, I’d be concerned about sleeping in the same room as Kanye (if they really do share a bed), let alone having him around their child. It’s already been proven that those Kardashians can’t tell a decent black man from a crackhead. They see that dark complexion and their mind just goes to vigorous lovemaking. You know the mother fucked OJ, right? #allegedly

If there really was a football player named D’Vigorous Lover, he’d almost certainly be dating a Kardashian.

D’Vigorous Lover

Chastened, inappropriately sexualized and lacking a proper male influence, Kanye developed an interest in visual art and writing poetry. Ayo.

It says in the world’s most accurate encyclopedia that when he was 13 he wrote a song called “Green Eggs and Ham.” I’ve never heard the song itself, but the title is ripped off from Dr. Seuss. The lyrics may have been as well — it’s just not possible to say. As was the case with the nudie magazines in class, this was a precursor to his music career, in which he won a Grammy for a song he didn’t write and later was widely rumored to employ a team of ghost producers, in addition to the group of kids who write his rhymes, thus having very little creative input into his own music. Ironically, many of the rhymes he obviously did write are Dr. Seuss-like in their simplicity, though not involving delicious breakfast meats.

He ate ham, shitted on himself twice

If Kanye’s mom was aware that “Green Eggs and Ham was really just the book by Dr. Seuss in rap form — if, perhaps, that was something she taught in the English department at Chicago State University — she didn’t discourage Kanye from passing it off as his own work. Instead she let him talk her into paying $25 an hour for studio time to make a recording, with a setup that didn’t consist of anything other than a microphone dangling from the ceiling, suspended by a bent coat hanger, in some guy’s dingy basement. It’s a wonder nothing sexual happened down there — as far as I know.

If Kanye’s father had been in the picture, he could have at least talked (“jewed”) the price down to $20 an hour. Women don’t have the sense to negotiate in situations like that. That’s why car salesmen love to see a woman coming. A man, confronted with a ridiculous price, will just be like, “Fuck you,” and walk out. “Call me at the end of the month when you dumbasses haven’t met your quota and your family’s on the verge of getting kicked out on the street.” But really, I don’t see why he couldn’t have just dangled a microphone from the ceiling in his own basement and plugged it into a tape recorder. If Kanye used more than an hour of studio time, he already paid for the price of that microphone. You can get a microphone from Office Max for like $9. Hence podcasting. It might not be the same thing Michael Jackson used to record Thriller, but neither was the shit in that guy’s basement.

Now an important member of the Chicago hip-hop community, young Kanye was introduced to No ID, the guy who produced the first two Common albums. No ID taught Kanye how to use a sampler, and the rest — as they say — is history. As is said in a courtroom, Kanye took to sampling like a duck to water. Philosophically, it was not unlike the process he used to “write” the lyrics to “Green Eggs and Ham”: you’re not coming up with music on your own, you’re taking music someone else already came up with and slightly re-arranging it.

Which is not to say that using a sampler is an invalid way of making rap music, mind you. On the contrary, using a sampler is the only valid way of making rap music. Attempting to make your own music, using musical instruments, is unacceptable. You just end up sounding like The Roots. To his credit, Kanye, when he was actually producing his own records, was a great producer. Credit where credit is due. Though even then his talent was largely squandered producing for people I didn’t need to hear rap, above all himself and a post-2000 Jay-Z.

Kanye graduated from a high school in an affluent suburb and received a scholarship to paint at an art school in Chicago. He was well on his way to becoming one of those guys who just pay some poor kid slave wages to paint their pictures for them, which they then sell to a hedge fund manager for like $10 million. The hedge fund managers could give a rat’s ass who really painted it, in part because that’s like two and a half hours pay for them and in part because they wouldn’t know from good art anyway, nor would anyone who visits their ridonkulously large houses. They’re just buying it for the brand name. That’s how the art industry works. There was an article in GQ a while back about this guy Kehinde Wiley. All he does is go over to Africa and snap photos of poor kids with flies on their faces, and then he’s got — quite literally — a room full of people over in China who paint his pictures for him.

The 4 Hour Art Career

At a family reunion once — these were my father’s relatives, and I think this was here in St. Louis — this fat lady whom my uncle was married to at the time stood up to give a sort of testimony. This was part of the event. She spoke of how blessed she was to have finally found a man who was willing to, among other things, “lay hands” on her when necessary, thus confirming a suspicion I’ve long had about at least some women. She talked about her work as a painter, and one of the things she said was that you have to be careful who you show your paintings to, because they’ll have “a room full of Chinamen” making unauthorized reproductions of your work. That’s the source of the phrase I sometimes use when a conversation turns to bootlegging.

The more you know…

I’m surprised Kanye never got into this racket. He’s been involved in various other creative pursuits besides just looping up old R&B songs on a laptop computer, including his many failed attempts at starting his own clothing line. He could potentially make even more money as a visual artist than as a rapper — and using similar “techniques.” He’s already got the name recognition, which is the key to being able to demand a premium. I know he once showed off a few paintings he did in high school, on the same MTV special in which he took a bold stance against homophobia, but the purpose there may have been to make a statement about not acquiescing to traditional notions of masculinity.

Sway didn’t have the answers even back then

Kanye was only in art school for a hot minute before he transferred to Chicago State, where his mom worked, to study English. His mom was the head of the English department.

If this was because he wasn’t a very good painter, then that was a shortsighted decision, and I bet he now regrets it. Whatever, if anything, he could have picked up in art college could have aided him in a career as a celebrity painter (in the same way that Paris Hilton is a celebrity DJ), rather than trying to pursue a sideline as an ostensibly straight male fashion designer.

His grades couldn’t have been that bad, because what do they even test you on in art college? Was he holding his brush at the wrong angle? Nullus. Since the value of art is subjective in nature, he could argue that anything he painted that wasn’t very good was really a modern art masterpiece. He was only there for maybe a year, if that, and I happen to know that you can’t lose a college scholarship in less than a year. They give you that first semester for free — if you don’t spend it getting drunk every night of the week and sleeping all day the next day, you’re basically just throwing away money. If you fuck up second semester, they just put you on probation. Which means that you could not so much as crack open a book and spend three semesters in college for free. You could go three semesters without even buying a book. I went to college on a full scholarship (must have been some sort of clerical error) and managed to hold on to it for a good three years just by calling down to the administrative building and explaining that I realize that I fucked up and next semester I’m gonna try much harder; this time I really mean it.

Similarly, Kanye was in a position in which he could have studied at Chicago State indefinitely without having to convince anyone that he was somehow an asset to the university. Not only did his mom work there, she was head of the English department. Some schools let you attend for free if your parent is just a janitor or some shit. (They probably get some sort of tax break for doing so.) Shit, if my mom was a college professor, I’d still be in college today. It’d be worth it just to sit in rooms full of 19 year-old girls. I miss that smell. It’d almost be worth listening to some dumbass who couldn’t hack it in the real world stand there and pontificate. It wouldn’t matter whether or not I paid attention and thus if I did very well on the exams. I’ve already got a degree. I’m just there for what you might call cultural enrichment. It’s not like I’ve got shit else better to do during the afternoons. And if I had like seven degrees, someone would have to finally offer me a job that pays more than $10 an hour, wouldn’t they? That should be a law.

Instead Kanye decided he wanted to be a record producer. He couldn’t handle both the course load at Chicago State University and looping up old ‘70s-era R&B records on a sampler and adjusting the pitch setting. This ought to come as a surprise to anyone who’s ever actually been to college. A college semester is only something like 16 weeks — of a year that consists of 52 weeks. And of those 16 weeks, you’re only spending a few hours in class. Maybe three or four hours a day, tops. Some days of the week, I only spent like 50 minutes in class. Even if you spend four hours a day in class, every day of the week, that still leaves, like, a shedload of time to watch Wonder Years and Family Ties reruns on ABC Family, play Soul Calibur on Sega Dreamcast, walk down to the gas station on the corner and cop a tall boy of Miller Genuine Draft, fap to Internets pr0n and take a nap. At least, that’s how I imagine someone might spend an afternoon in college. I should have seriously considered becoming a record producer.

College is all about getting to know yourself

Kanye quickly became a ghost producer for Derek “D-Dot” Angelettie, who did a lot of work on the second (and final) Biggie Smalls album, Life After Death. He was the guy who did those Madd Rapper skits. Yo son, tell ‘em why you mad! This was a formative period for Kanye, in that it established a couple of different patterns in his career. First of all, if you don’t count Chicago hip-hop, which doesn’t matter to me personally, this was the beginning of Kanye squandering his talent producing songs for people I don’t need to hear rap. He had beats on the second Foxy Brown album, the Harlem World album and the Madd Rapper album, which really is a thing that exists. Second, working with D-Dot may have normalized for Kanye the idea of taking someone else’s work and passing it off as your own, as the work he did during that period was mostly credited to D-Dot. He was already at least somewhat familiar with the process from his earliest days as a “lyricist” and from having attended art school, however briefly. Later he would be rumored to employ a staff of ghost producers, in addition to the kids who write his lyrics, raising the question of to what extent, if any, Kanye contributes to his own albums. If I had the means, I might pay a group of people to put together an album for me.

Jay-Z paid Kanye to make a few beats for the long-since-forgotten Dynasty album, which I remember kinda liking at the time. I think it began life as a Rocafella Records compilation and then Jay-Z — or probably someone at Def Jam — realized they could make way more money calling it a Jay-Z album, so there’s way more weed carrier verses on it than you require — with everyone on that album whose name isn’t Jay-Z being a weed carrier, for the purpose of this discussion. Kanye would go on to be Jay-Z’s main collaborator on his next album, the overrated Blueprint, and many of the albums he’s released subsequently. This proved to be a fortuitous pairing for both of them, in that Jay-Z was one of the few rappers left at that point with the kind of budget to afford Kanye’s wanton sampling, and Kanye helped keep Jay-Z relevant for a few years after he ran out of good ideas, until his own career settled into a sort of self-sustaining state of tabloid celebrity. As is said of relationships between people who met at a special meeting after Sunday School, they were good for each other.

But what Kanye really wanted to do was rap. Jay-Z, who owned a rap label that would sign seemingly anyone, wouldn’t pay him any mind, because at the end of the day Jay-Z is still an MC. He’s the guy who once recorded Reasonable Doubt. Kanye doesn’t just spit simple Cat in the Hat rhymes like the RZA complained about on the intro to disc two of Wu-Tang Forever, the Realest Words That Will Ever Be Spoken, he really did rhyme cat with hat. Damon Dash finally signed Kanye as a rapper just so he’d continue making beats for Jay-Z albums. I guess he figured, they let Memphis Bleek release albums. How bad can it be? They found a shampoo commercial for Memphis Bleek, and he doesn’t even have any hair.

You do a commercial, you’re off the artistic roll call

I thought The College Dropout was terrible, but apparently I was in the minority. It went on to be one of the most critically acclaimed albums of its era, for what it’s worth, topping the Village Voice’s Pazz and Jop critics poll and winning multiple Grammys, including Best Rap Song for “Jesus Walks.” It remains his best-selling album, to this day. I’d liked some of the shit Kanye produced on the past few Jay-Z albums and some of the work he’d done for various other artists, but The College Dropout to me was the sound of Kanye indulging a lot of his worst instincts. Employing gospel choirs, violin players, people singing through vocoders and what have you, Kanye was trying too hard to convince people that he was a genius. As if. His ego got the best of him. In that album I could see everything that would eventually go wrong with his career.

Kanye quickly followed up The College Dropout with ‘05's Late Registration, one of the few other Kanye albums I’ve heard. Eschewing the sped up soul sample sound he pioneered with the Blueprint, which had been played out a good two years before College Dropout came out, I found it to be more listenable than its predecessor. It didn’t sell quite as many copies, but the song “Gold Digger” might still be his biggest hit single to date. It’s arguably the best thing Kanye ever did. I only hesitate to say for certain because I think it should be left up to someone with more of an interest in the matter to make that designation.


“Gold Digger,” in retrospect, may have been intended in part as a message to the girl he was engaged to at the time, Alexis Phifer. Though not half bad-looking, she was no Kim Kardashian, in the sense that she wasn’t making $50 million a year just to go outside once a day in a questionably appropriate outfit and have her picture taken. An aspiring fashion designer, her line probably didn’t make it any further than Kanye’s own line, which is to say that it went quite literally nowhere. Kanye wasn’t about to marry her, have her divorce him just because he was constantly standing on tables and declaring himself a genius, and end up on the front page of the National Enquirer looking like Johnny Carson after he lost Half.

Here Johnny, I made $70. Put that with the rest.

I don’t think he was really interested in marrying her anyway. Since he dropped her like a bad habit, he’s been in two major relationships and he’s been pictured in night clubs and what have you with any number of random skanks, all of whom were either white or… you know, white-ish. White enough to qualify for a contract on an iPhone without bringing the deed to her mother’s house down to the Apple store as collateral. Girls with dat privilege. Like many a black man who hasn’t already permanently disappointed his mother (I would imagine), Kanye may have felt pressure to marry a black chick. He didn’t want to suffer the indignity of hearing his mom mutter snide remarks about his white wife under her breath on Thanksgiving, or maybe even prepare a separate set of dishes with no seasoning (just the way they like it) for the special guest — separate but not equal. I imagine these are things that go on in interracial families at Thanksgiving.

Kanye’s mom died in a tragic plastic surgery mishap, thus freeing him to act a damn fool, to the extent that he wasn’t already. She was getting both liposuction and breast implants, at the ripe old age of like 60. This was a few years still before the onslaught of VH-1 hoodrat reality series — at that point there may have just been that show with Flavor Flav and Sylvester Stallone’s improbably bonerific ex-trophy wife from back during the Rocky IV era — so I’m at a loss for why she even needed all this surgery. She must have been making a pretty good living as Kanye’s manager, charging 15% of whatever he was making, i.e. probably like millions. I’m sure she could have found a guy to take advantage of her, regardless of what her tits looked like. I think I speak for most black guys when I say that money is the one thing I actually don’t need from a woman. As long as it doesn’t bother her that I’m not contributing anything at all to the relationship financially, I could care less how much money she has. She could have all the money in the world or no money at all. I can’t fuck a pile of money. (Well, I could.) I already live in the ghetto, so for me dating a broke chick is just a shorter drive.

Kanye’s mom may have internalized the western standard of beauty as presented in so many Kanye West music videos. He cast Anna Nicole Smith in the video for “The New Workout Plan” and Pam Anderson in the video for “Touch the Sky.” Those were the two most lusted after pairs of cans of the 1990s, when Kanye and I were both in high school. They both may have been in some of those issues of Playboy Kanye found in his mom’s closet. They were definitely in Playboy. I think Pam Anderson was on the cover of at least two Playboys I bought after I was old enough to start buying Playboy, i.e. a kinda old-looking (at least to white people) 16. I only just now remembered, as I was typing (ahem, writing) this, how many Playboys and various other nudie magazines I bought back in the day. What a waste. Day in and day out I see chicks on Instagram and what have you way hotter than maybe anyone who was in Playboy the entire decade of the 1990s — admittedly, not their peak. If Anna Nicole Smith were born in, say, 1993, she never would have advanced beyond manning the flour table at a fried chicken restaurant. I wouldn’t trust her on register. She didn’t seem to have the intellect.

You too can be a video hofessional

In a sense, Kanye killed his own mother. She did what she could to try to curtail his youthful fascination with pr0nography, forcing him to write that essay, which in retrospect may have doomed him to drop out of school, but there was nothing she could do to stop Kanye from doing what he wanted to do. If she hid it in her closet, he’d just find it and take it to school. The same indomitable spirit that would later lead him to drop out of two different schools he was going to for free, pursue a career as a rapper despite the fact that he can’t rap, record his first single with his jaw wired shut, so on and so forth, led him to defy his mother, and his mind was warped at an early age as a result. He suffered from delusions of grandeur because he knew that he couldn’t make enough money to make sweet, passionate love to the kind of girls he saw in Playboy as, say, a lowly English professor, and it was that desire to miscegenate that fueled his rise to the very top of the music industry — what seemed like the result extreme self-confidence was really just sex addiction manifesting itself as creative energy as a means to an end, with that end being his life becoming a pr0n film of sorts: He would cast girls he saw in Playboy in his videos. He would marry a girl who first became famous for making a sex tape with Ray J. Together they would reenact scenes from Kim K Superstar, ultimately resulting in the birth of a daughter he’d name North West, possibly as a tribute to Peter North, who blew some of the biggest loads of all time, of ALL TIME. Kanye West once produced a song called “Two Words,” Peter North was known for shooting three ropes. CONNECT THE DOTS PEOPLE. Kanye may have pursued Kim Kardashian in part because frequent Peter North co-star Christy Canyon is Armenian. This shit is deep.

On a certain level, I feel like I’ve only scratched the surface. While my knowledge of modern pr0n is legendary in corners of the Internets you don’t even want to know about, I only know but so much about the old stuff. My mom didn’t keep a secret cache of magazines and videos that I could regularly access. Nor did my old man, who lived there as well. Who’d a thunkit?

Byron Crawford is the author of five books, including Kanye West Superstar, from which this is an excerpt. Purchase Kanye West Superstar from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, CreateSpace, iTunes, Kobo or Smashwords.

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