Tupac, Schtupac

If you, like me, were one of the millions of humans unlucky enough to miss Coachella this year, you are aware of just how awful it was to miss the At The Drive In and Refused reunion shows. You are also by now aware that you missed The Resurrection Of Tupac. Like a late breaking hip hop Easter, a west coast Christ rose from the grave upon the wings of technology for a performance rewarding the human race for years of shit like Lil Wayne, Soulja Boy, and Nicki Minaj.

I have read several reviews of this technological reincarnation. They have been positive, negative, and every level of judgement in between. I’ve seen the pictures, the parodies, and am fully aware that at the time you read this, it is old news. This, however, is the story of how an unemployed plumber hermit drunk from upstate New York became the Prophet of Armageddon, The Heralder of the End.. author of The New Revolution, if you will.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012 began no differently than any other in the waste of existence I had been calling life. I awoke, rolled out of bed, and rushed to the bathroom to piss in the bathtub because I did not have time to wait for my morning joy rod to revert to it’s natural state of flaccid shame. I prepared an Irish coffee, poured my breakfast scotch, and began my usual unemployment ritual of sitting naked on my couch and perusing message boards/websites/social networks/fantasticneighborhood while getting drunk enough to look at myself in the mirror. I followed up my standard reading with second helping of breakfast scotch, and went to YouTube to check out footage from the At The Drive In performance at Coachella. My heart was aching with self pity for the poor life decisions that prevented me from being there in real life, so I first decided to watch the Tupac Hologram performance the internet had told me so much about.

With a click of the mouse, my destiny manifested itself, the truth was brought to light. Image after image of dead celebrities going on hologram tours flashed before me. Michale Jackson.. Sonny Bono.. Heath Ledger.. N’ Sync.. Bon Jovi.. countless over hyped, over rated performers who have ridden the charts on opinions of idiots tightly held captive in the bowels of nostalgia. A media induced Zombie Apocalypse beyond anything Romero had imagined. The iTunes sales of has been wish-they-fucking-were “classics” feeding the frenzy, sold out tours across the nation seduce millions like really good acid or too many tequila shots. An epidemic reaching out across the world, choking reality, smothering progress and setting the stage for the Final Battle. The Hologram Journey Reunion Tour.

Friends, I know understand your fear! I too, have felt the despair, the loss of hope! I would raise my voice in screams of desperation next to you, were I not chosen as Prophet of our Saviour! I saw him rise from the fields riding a white buffalo and wrapped in an American flag, automatic weapons in either hand. Leading a hoard of militiamen carrying pitchforks, bibles, and NRA membership cards, The Nuge will come! All Hail our Saviour!!