Iggy Azalea's Verbal Blackface Enrages the Dildosphere

The first time I ever heard mention of this Australian born, white mudshark rapper was from my brother, who informed me she had something of a prodigious talent at “spittin’ rhymes.” Indeed, on pop-radio she is a rather popular “artist,” particularly in the role of guest starring on other people’s songs, which seems to be the extent of all modern hip-hop in general. The fact a white Australian is currently the leading female in rap music has produced a pants-wetting cosmic horror in the socially conscious Dindu community that could only be exceeded by President Obama appointing Darren Wilson as chairman of a national race relations board. There are several reasons for the titanic rustling of jimmies in the Dildosphere, but it mostly comes down to a very real fear from blacks themselves that white people will eventually dominate the entire genre. Accompanying this dread is the sad admission that yes, hip-hop effectively died years ago and its decaying corpse is being danced around by Jew recording moguls and represents nothing but soulless, superficial commercialism for consumption by middle class white teens. There honestly isn’t anything left to appropriate from this long dead “culture,” but that hasn’t stopped SWPLs everywhere from bitching about it.

Has housed more black dick than a public urinal in Ferguson.
Has housed more black dick than a public urinal in Ferguson.
Women’s and Gender Studies Dindu Brittney Cooper is feeling quite culturally cuckolded by the big-assed Aussie herself, and goes wading into some philosophical waters even muddier than Azalea’s black dick filled gash:

“I resent Iggy Azalea for her co-optation and appropriation of sonic Southern Blackness, particularly the sonic Blackness of Southern Black women. Everytime she raps the line “tell me how you luv dat,” in her song “Fancy,” I want to scream “I don’t love dat!” I hate it. The line is offensive because this Australian born-and-raised white girl almost convincingly mimics the sonic register of a downhome Atlanta girl.”

The very idea such an unmistakably and irredeemably white girl from AUSTRALIA could so convincingly imitate the speech and voice patterns of feral American negresses is a terrifying proposition for “ProfessorCrunk,” and she then bends over backwards trying to explain why as a black person, imitating white speech patterns and verbal habits is both necessary and justified, while the reverse is basically the same as burning a cross in someone’s yard. Essentially not talking like an uneducated pavement ape around white folks is “code-switching,” and is necessary because blacks are trying to survive in a white dominated world where literal Grammar Nazis will lynch them for “axin” a question. On the other hand, being a white person and “taking something that doesn’t belong to you and wasn’t made for you, that is not endemic to your experience, that is not necessary for your survival and using it to sound cool and make money,” is completely unacceptable, although precise reasons as to why are lacking, and the implications are bizarre, given the writer’s clumsy attempt to draw a distinction between being a white rapper and being a white rapper imitating a black rapper.

This flirtation with existentialism obviously invokes the dilemma of whether the Azalea is acting in Bad Faith, but I’m not sure Sartre really meant to address the fears of a diabetic sheboon complaining about white girls being better at the rap game than actual POCs. Effectively the subconscious apprehension about rap music and hip-hop “culture” itself being completely inauthentic is on full display here, which no doubt goes a long way towards explaining why literally anyone can passably imitate the styles and patterns of the genre. *Iggy Azalea is ultimately just faking being a faker here. *While short of implementing some sort of bizarre cultural segregation policy to keep white mudsharks from profiting in an American black music genre that should belong to Indo-Trinidadians, the author finally admits to the obvious here and complains that when black males acquire any sort of power or money, they drop their fat, loud, obnoxious negro hoes and promptly acquire themselves a white woman.

"Black men keep on proving that when given access to power, money and influence, be it political or cultural, it is not Black women they ride or die for."
“Black men keep on proving that when given access to power, money and influence, be it political or cultural, it is not Black women they ride or die for.”
No shit Sherlock, it’s common knowledge that no man actually wants a Dindu Waifu. Can you really blame them? What are you going to do about it? Clearly the misogynistic patriarchal black males themselves aren’t going to listen to your shrill rent-seeking demands, and that’s a lesson we can all appreciate.

Ultimately the real lesson here is that like most things deeply associated with the black community, rap music is a garish, unsophisticated, crass, lowbrow genre easily accessible by permanently stoned Dindus, and like anything else, white people are going to be better at it, especially when the bar is already set so pathetically low. Of course this represents a pretty serious identity problem for The Blacks, since Not-Seeming White is going to be real damn hard when whites have a complete hegemony over all forms of cultural expression. Naturally the reverse question of what to make of blacks trying to appropriate white culture is never even posed by the Dildosphere, although thankfully here at TRS this hypocrisy has been investigated. As others have noted, *you won’t hear anyone complain that blacks have “appropriated basketball” from white folk. *

In a final turn of irony, hackers have threatened to slut shame Azalea with a sex-tape leak to punish her for not owning up to her cultural appropriation of rap music and insensitivity about Ferguson.

Based mudshark is based.
Based mudshark is based.