I must thank Kyle, again, for a link to this site. Apparently 50 Cent is now a suburbanite.
50 Cent, whose real name is Curtis James Jackson III, bought his mansion in September 2003 for $4.1 million. The sprawling estate has been owned by both Mike Tyson and Colonial Realty founder Benjamin Sisti, who served time in prison for bankruptcy fraud and other crimes.
Has 50 been in prison yet? Maybe? Well, obviously he will be at some point.
The rapper has boasted that his 48,500-square-foot mansion includes 18 bedrooms, 37 bathrooms and five whirlpool baths. Town records show a man-made pond, boathouse and separate servants’ quarters. Two samurai warriors (supposedly left by Tyson) stand guard at the entrance.
I really like that part. Mike Tyson is totally insane. Here are some great Tyson quotes:
-“[He] called me a ‘rapist’ and a ‘recluse.’ I’m not a recluse.”
-”Lennox Lewis, I’m coming for you man. My style is impetuous. My defense is impregnable, and I’m just ferocious. I want your heart. I want to eat his children. Praise be to Allah!”
-”My power is discombobulatingly devastating I could feel is muscle tissues collapse under my force. It’s ludicrous these mortals even attempt to enter my realm.”
-[To a female reporter] “It’s no doubt I am going to win this fight and I feel confident about winning this fight. I normally don’t do interviews with women unless I fornicate with them. So you shouldn’t talk anymore… Unless you want to, you know.”
-”I really dig Hannibal. Hannibal had real guts. He rode elephants into Cartilage.”
-”I guess I’m gonna fade into Bolivian.”
We’ve moved from the suburban ghetto to insane asylum, so let’s leave the planet earth, and discuss Michael Jackson. He recently went on a tirade, talking about how the media likes to crush prominent black men. ‘Black’? ‘Man’? Michael Jackson has transcended normal society to the point where race and gender don’t really matter. I mean, does any particular ethnic group identify with this ‘man’? Anyway, check out this Slate article on the trial. I like this quote:
8:36 a.m.: A hush descends as the King of Pop enters the courtroom, six minutes late. He is not looking good. MJ shuffles up the aisle in a haze, moving as slowly as one can while still maintaining forward momentum. He’s leaning against a security guard for support.
As he passes me (I’m seated on the aisle, so he’s literally 6 inches away) two things happen: 1) He stops, teeters, lists heavily to the right, and seems on the verge of collapsing in a heap; 2) I look, for the first time, directly into that famous, refashioned face. From this close, I was sure I’d see jagged, splotchy grafts that didn’t quite take. Perhaps some sort of concealed titanium support structure. But it turns out his face skin still looks reasonably coherent and unified. Disappointing.
8:39 a.m.: Oops, the drama’s not over yet. Michael is getting up again, this time with the aid of two people (one at each elbow). He stagger-shuffles back down the aisle and again pauses 6 inches from my shoulder.
“It’s the left side that hurts,” Michael whispers to his bodyguard. Michael is pointing at the right side of his abdomen. “The right side?” asks the bodyguard. “The right side, the right side,” whispers Michael.
Let me explain just how strung out and godawful Michael looks:
One evening, several years ago, I swallowed two Vicodin in the midst of getting deeply drunk. Then I woke up in my bathtub. I’d passed out while trying to pee, and my fall had snapped the soapdish clean off the shower wall. After staggering to my feet, I caught a wobbly glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror.
I looked better than Michael looks this morning.
It’s articles like these the put a smile on my face every morning.