Written by John Peurach
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Topics: Kanye West, diamonds

Wednesday, 20 October 2010

image for Diamonds Are A Kanye's Best Ill Grill Friend
IF THE TEETH FIT: "On second thought," says Citizen Bush, "it's only you, Mr. West, who I don't like.&

HOLLYWOOD - In an attempt to further remind the world that he may just not be of this planet (originally), controversial rapper extraordinaire Kanye West has apparently seen fit to exchange his bottom set of teeth for a new and improved row of diamonds with, of course, plenty of room for a few all-important gold inlays.

Or, as heard straight from the yawing yap of someone now in proud possession of a sparkling lower set of Master K-9's during his coming out appearance on "Ellen" (one can only hope she had her sunglasses on and was at least close enough to a basin to rinse and puke out in), he (that is, who else?) claimed that he, "just thought that diamonds were cooler."

Well, apparently so.

Or, at least that's what Kanye seems to be trying to say (much of which is understandably misunderstood because of the sheer brilliance of the choppers on display and also due to the fact that one's own non-stop reflexive laughter, upon first glimpse, seems to more often than not drown out most of the mental case's words of otherwise useless explanation) during this initial kick-off phase of his latest "No Way/Yes Way" media blitz tour.

Which, as of now, is still scheduled to conclude with an anything but free New Year's Eve concert for the 2 or 3 fans actually impressed (and not currently incarcerated) with this latest look at me stunt at a still not yet dismantled pay phone booth in North Las Vegas, Nevada.

Meanwhile, recent information has surfaced that would seem to suggest that the southside bridgework West is now so proudly sporting was not exactly the first item on his personal reconstruction to-do list. And, in fact, is most likely the third or fourth bit of odd (if not more so) inter-bodily transformation he's apparently availed himself to ever since his on-air melt down with Taylor Swift at the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards.

Apparently, in November of that year West went through a grueling set of exploratory tests to determine the viability of installing most, if not all, of an official NFL football (awarded to Atlanta Falcons running back Michael Turner as game ball, primarily for his late game clinching TD run against the Washington Redskins, and subsequently purchased on e-Bay) as a an actual lower GI replacement for his somewhat less than eye-catching, and, for the last several years, intermittingly sub-standard bowel and/or rectum combo.

According to Dr. Radar Patel, Chief Internist (and shortstop on the company soft ball team) at the By Any Means Necessary Clinic in Irvington, New Jersey, "As much as it seemed like a good idea at the time, considering the willingness of Mr. West and, of course, the recent game time freshness of the object intended for interior deployment, neither anyone on my team that day could in fact get their hands completely around the football's laces. And, well, after three hours, neither could any nearby portion of Mr. West's previously thought to be receptive colon. So it was back to the drawing board, and hopefully a festive Thanksgiving holiday for everyone concerned. Including Mr. West who, if I remember correctly, had to be helped along quite gingerly to his car. And, as it turned out, was noticeably irritated that we don't validate parking here at the clinic, unless the job is completed and/or more than $20.00 has been unwisely spent at our award-winning gift shop just off the lobby."

Not one known to stop when nature (or security guards) puts a roadblock in his path, West would eventually soon go on to seek and search out others among the medical community who might assist him in his never-say-die (only, WTF why not?) quest to be this planet's Ultimate Total Space Case (excluding of course, UK darling Cheryl Cole ever since the verdict from the Red Hair Jukebox Jury came down).

Meaning, of course, that a few of the more notable attempts for head-to-toe improvements, which West has apparently endured since his botched attempt to wrap his ass around a tighter than usual spiral, have proven to be anything but typical, even for one so inclined to go where few have been known to travel with proper Earth to Wherever credentials.

But, lucky for West, he went online and found Otherwise Interior/Exterior Cosmetic & Surgical Attachments Ltd. a full (if you pay upfront) medical corporation based in El Paso, Texas, which apparently came to be the only place that in turn provided West with the correct amount of unnecessary augmentation services that he felt he richly deserved (or was entitled to) in order to stay outside the box, ahead of the curve, and/or at least two yards beyond were it seems trash-talking, elasticized red carpet gadfly Joan Rivers had thrown in her somewhat overly-soiled towel years ago.

First there was the plastic surgery removal of West's two ears, which were then promptly replaced by those of famed British anarchist writer Colin Ward, who, due to his untimely demise at the age of 85, had no more use for them, since, due to a glitch in the post-life continioum cycle, he was otherwise required to be seated between well regarded crooner Matt Monro and erstwhile prop comedian Tommy Cooper for the rest of eternity.

Next up was the full and complete replacement of West's well-traveled down there business end, with a more streamline, easy-to-grip, aluminum bat model, that, of course, would hopefully be less likely to scuff and/or become entangled during moments of onward and upward (hopefully consenting adult) close encounters of the get to know you better kind.

All of which may have seemed swell enough as a plan of action prior to the change over, but has since proven to be anything but an enjoyable walk in the ballpark, so to speak. Or, as West has unavoidably had the recurring tendency to find out, whenever his new aim and shoot equipment freezes up a tad every time he uses it to help keep the refrigerator door open during his nightly after hours search for a cup of soy yogurt to help bring him down after an extra long night of viewing perhaps one too many Jada Fire or Georgina Smith DVD's.

Helping to make matters with the kickstand even more difficult to get used to is that fact that no matter how hard he tries, West still can't get used to the ever present "ping" sound every time a member of his on-call 24/7 Crib Army is once again entrusted with performing some emergency tenderization with the aid of a repeatedly applied ball-peen hammer, that, in the end, generally results in relocating the big fella back into the College Dropout's loose-fitting pajama cargos, so he can at least get a few hours sleep before it's once again time to have his traditional AM start the day meal (three eggs over easy, bacon, toast, and mineral water) poured directly into his stomach via the recently installed Coors Light Silver Bullet Commemorative Sterling Coaster in his abdomen.

All in all a small price, it would seem, to pay in order to now be one so recognized as such a totally out there and way-like beyond the beyond fashion plate trendsetter.

In other words, have not fears that Kanye West is unprepared to pay the freight for such psychologically questionable yet entirely doable (and so far maintainable) physical attributes, that have otherwise been achieved to forever alternate assorted strategic dimensions of his Grammy-Award winning human shape rig and, of course, the obvious demands of his reportedly based in another atmosphere ego.

Meanwhile, as it apparently stands now, whenever West has to sit one out to let things comes to pass, once another diamond has unexpectedly joined up with ill-advised portions of his nightly feasts, only to find itself traveling at a fairly rapid clip through his southward moving interior gastro-intestinal system in search of an exit ramp that invariably, once located and ventured through, is the, all in good time, more or less below the belt field of play that is frequently dealt with by a rotating team of collegiate interns enlisted to fish out anything of noticeable value from the recording artist's most recently completed afterthought.

After all, the man be no dummy.

As, I'm sure, all might be prone to agree, 24 Karats is still 24 Karats, no matter which end of a smile (or pile) you're lucky enough to find it shining at you these days.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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