50 Parade

Reebok and 50 got it hype at a recent press conference in London. Thanks to ma man Tom Labrizzle, I just made it in time to a hotel in East London, whereby a fleet of space cruisers whisked us off to deepest, darkest, er, Edmonton. Next to Tesco's and the Ikea which caused recent uproar over its £50 sofas, we were led, in procession, into a disused BOC factory. There plates of Mozzarella sarnies and bucks fizz on tap kept us content until Cent arrived in a calcavade of 2 Jags, 2 Hummers and 3 Escalades before his own shiny Phantom pulled up and out stepped - big entrance - a yawning Curtis Jackson.
What can only be described as a ridiculous procession then took place, complete with overzealous security peeps, hot chicks wearing little and hangers on aplenty as 50 made his way, via a personalised throne, to a table placed 70odd meters away from the baying press.
Don't believe the hype and all that...anyway 50 ducked his away around being a bad influence to kids, slagged of 'granddad' Sam Jackson and declared that Ja Rule was over.
10 minutes later he was gone, off to pose with the tabloids and admire his mountains of ice.
This is the bit where I voice my thoughts on such excessive displays of wealth, wonder if 50 is a bad example to kids and ponder whether The Massacre is really that bad. But then I realised, I just don't care...
Particularly having spent an hour of my life waiting for him to phone so I could interview him and maybe find out his thoughts to the above. But he went and did Westwood instead. Oh well...