We join our heroes in Manhattan starting a magazine interview due to their newfound internet fame.

A young-looking white man in a multicolored, mostly blue button up and olive colored slacks approaches three brown men of nondescript origin. The rap group Das Racist are not paying any attention to passers-by.

Chad taps the taller, huskier brown man and holds out his hand to shake. “Himanshu, I presume?”

Heems simply turns around and stares at this little white dude.

“And Victor and Dap, I see.”

“Swadup, shorty,” Kool A.D. acknowledges.

“Hey man, did you really pick this place?” Dap sincerely ponders.

“Well, I've been here a few times and really liked the food, yeah.”

The three interviewees looked at each other with something to say but before anything came out, each burst out laughing. After stopping and continually hysterically laughing two more times, Dap put his electronic cigarette in his pocket and the four of them headed into the restaurant.

“May I ask how you all got your rap names?'

“What's a rap name?” Heems replies.

“Well, I suppose Heems is self explanatory. But Kool A.D. for example. Dapwell? I've also heard you refer to yourself as Young Cocoa Butter.”

“Yo I can't reveal the specificities dawg, but I prayed mad hard to Rakim and he sent me on a vision quest and- I've said to much.” Heems buries his head into the tri-folding menu.

“It's like bung-bung! You already know.” White folk around glance at Victor when he raises his voice.

Dapwell simply holds out his closed hand toward Chad, “Terrorist fist-bump.”

“Good thing that's settled. I may regret this but what are your influences?”

Victor takes the lead, “Toni Morrison love letters. That really inspired 'Girl'”

Hima, right after, “Sometimes I have dreams where Lady Gaga plays Wii in an Electronics Boutique and the controller slips out her hand and breaks the demo television. That's how the Illuminati tells me what to put in my rhymes.”

“Interesting, interesting. So you're part of the Illuminati?”

Heems looks at Vic for a second and then back to Chad, “Yo you need to cut that part out of the zine before you start messin' with my yaper.”

Dap clarifies, “It's not that we're part of it, it's that you're not.”

“Well I'd hardly want to overstep my bounds as a journalist.”

“Are y'all actually gonna order something? I can't fucking stand Asian fusion.” Dapwell asks his bandmates.

“You Chinese, blood?” Kool A.D. posits the interviewer.

“Well actually I'm-”

At this point Himanshu takes Chad's iphone currently recording the conversation and puts it up to his mouth, “Shoutsout the Beatnuts and pelicans everywhere.”

Victor gets in, “Shoutout Milpitas, California. Shoutout Richmond, Vallejo. RIP Mac Dre.”

Dap too, “Shoutout Rick Ross yelling at a frozen Kreayshawn statue backstage at the VMAs”

“Shoutout white girls smobbing forreal.”

Vic again, “Naw but for real shout out Mistah FAB and V-Nasty making out on a floral print couch while Donell Jones plays in the background.” This prompts the three of them to completely crack up and ignore Chad trying to drop some references he thinks they might appreciate. Later, Chad will find his name drops muffled on his recorder as well.

It is at this point DR loses interest with the interview. Heems drops a hundred dollar bill on the table and the three of them get up to find real food elsewhere. “You can buy yourself an everything bagel with the change,” Heems tells Chad as he turns away.

“So I'll just email you the rest of my questions?”


Later that night we join Das Racist at the club Rāv where a friend of a friend of a friend is deejaying.

A white man approaches. “Hey I like your guys' music but why do you focus on race so much?”

“Violenciiiiaaaaa!!” Hima punches said white man and a fuckin' fight broke out.


We once again join our heroes even later that night, now on the couch in a white girl's apartment in Brooklyn (who's actually really really nice and has read The Bluest Eye and voted for Obama and everything.

“Do you guys want anything besides water?”

“An ashtray, I guess.” Vic replies as he begins to roll one of his patented joints.

“Tropical fruit punch if you got it.” Dap requests jokingly.

“And a banana cognac, biatch! Nah but I don't call girls bitches,” Hima clarifies.

Dapwell corrects him, “Unless they wanna be called 'bitches' am I right?”

“You right, you right.” says Vic.

Jenny comes back with a dusty ashtray and a half empty Hawaiian Punch brand fruit punch.

“Oh shit, you actually got some. And it's in the can!” Dap could hardly contain his excitement.

“How long has that been in your fridge?” Heems wondered aloud.

“Honestly, I just looked inside on a whim and found that on the top shelf,” Jenny replied.

“I guess if you trying to coincidentally poison me, that's cool.”Dap took a sip, “This is terrible. But I'll finish it.”

“Did you stay at the club?” Victor asked.

“I did actually. I ran into Big Baby Gandhi I believe it was.” she replied.

“BIG BAAABBYYYYY!” Young Cocoa Butter irreverently hollered.

“Have you heard any of his music?” Ashok asked Jenny. “Dude is the truth.”

“I have actually. He showed me a couple of his songs. And yeah, I really liked them. I think he does the feeling-weird-about-being-a-brown-man-in-America thing like you guys really well,” she opined.

“So you feel like you understand the plight now? You deeper than other whites?”

“I'm just saying I like his craft. He doesn't reference obscure '90s TV shows like I expected before I heard him.”

Hima faked being appalled, “You don't fuck with Sister, Sister, Jen?”

“I just don't think that rappers who try to bite that hyper referential style like you guys can do it as well as you guys.”

“You right, you right,” Vic said again.

“Maybe I should just sit back and enjoy what I like but when other people try to do what you do it just sounds stupid. It gets old before you run out of references is all I'm saying.”

“We just do us and try to get our scrilla up. As much as we'd like to, we don't control the white folk who listen to our shit.” Himanshu, now both serious and hiding his intoxicated head under a blanket.

“You guys don't think you have a responsibility with what you'll inevitably inspire in your listeners?”

“Should Eminem not rap because he prolly inspired Mac Miller to rap?”

“Should Bill O'Reilly not keep saying in capital letters 'TILLER THE BABY KILLER' because some crazies might listen and actually kill him?” she retorts.

“Should Dexter not air because that dude on Dateline the other night was inspired just to kill regular people and not just killers and rapists?” Dap cuts in.

Heems, suddenly changing topics, “Who the fuck is some white crime scene investigator from Miami working under Horatio Caine to judge which fucking drug dealers should get chopped up and who shouldn't? Just cause he got a fucking bloodlust? Like I ain't got no fucking bloodlust? C'mon, man.”

“But nah Eminem shouldn't have rapped if it would've prevented the Mac Miller juggernaut. Em shoulda just managed Bizarre and hung back.”

At this moment, Victor stands up and begins reciting the “My Salsa” song and dance from the end of D12's “My Band”.

“There's so many ways to wild out.” Heems sums up.

Dap watches for a minute then sits up on the couch, “Ayo, my back hair is mad itchy right now, son.”

Victor had yet to finish rolling the joint.
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