So, apparently, R. Kelly is still as fucked up as ever. He's released a series of sequels no-one has asked for to his already over-long, over-hyped, and over-wrought hip-hopera (his term), "Trapped in the Closet." And, as the aforelinked article states, he refers to the extended song series as (really) an "alien." When your big hit song features a gay priest, lesbian lovers, adultery, and a midget, it's already a parody of itself. (But that didn't stop "Weird Al" Yankovic from doing his own version anyway.) The most bizarre thing about this (d)opus (that's a portmanteau of "opus" and "dope" -- remember, you saw it here first, kids) is that people want to listen to it. The story is, in a word, reallyreallyfuckingstupid. And it's the same song over and over again. It's a sequence of now something like two dozen songs, and each one has an identical melody with slight lyric changes. My friends, we have allowed a probable child predator to profit off "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall."
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.
It's easy to work the system and win these awards even if you don't deserve them.