The Internet is a crazy place.
Say what you will about Gucci Mane's technical prowess on the mic, but he's truly a master of self promotion and his work ethic is exemplary. Just this year, he's put out ten (TEN!) mixtapes, working at a level normally reserved for 2011 Lil B or Lil Wayne in his mixtape era. Somewhere along the way, Gucci discovered that discrediting his peers on Twitter was both an effective way to garner promotion, and a task that could be conveniently completed from the comfort of the polar bear-themed throne that his taxidermist recently dropped off (probably.) Gucci has never been one to shy away from acts of aggression, but up until this year these acts were mainly contained to rap verses and real life altercations. You know, the way a rapper should beef. It started off innocuously enough, with Mr. LaFlare expanding his list of targets beyond Young Jeezy when he came at A$AP Ferg for coining himself the "Trap Lord", since there can obviously only be one ruler of a system as meritocratic as the trap. A few months later, he insinuated that his label-mate Waka Flocka was up for sale to the highest bidder, forcing the media to take notice of Gucci's antics and causing frat-bros everywhere to explore exactly what IndieGoGo can and can't be used to fund. Most recently, in an effort to promote his (probably last) album on Atlantic Records, Diary of a Trap God, Gucci went full no-regard by putting everyone he has ever had contact with on blast for various reasons. Most of which had to do with them being pussy; or for the finer sex, for being in their pussy. Those tweets were conveniently swept under the carpet-over-the-loose-floorboards when Radric announced that he had been hacked. Fortunately, not even 48 hours later, Gucci Mane managed to un-hack his device and find his way back to the land of 140 characters. And thus begins the story of the six minutes where Gucci Mane and I became best friends after he offered me 10 million dollars to write his autobiography.
At roughly 10 AM on Wednesday morning, Gucci Mane was on full Twitter-mode in an attempt to convince his two million followers to download his commercial album, which he had leaked a few short hours ago, a move that would seem bizarre if literally anyone else had tried it. During another round of Gucci asking the public whether he should or should not sell Waka Flocka, I interrupted Gucci to make him an offer he couldn't refuse. I would accept $100,000 in order to both run his Twitter and begin collaborating on his autobiography. What was meant as a tongue-in-cheek joke was returned with a solemn response from Mr. Mane. A simple tweet that read "10m". Now, while this was probably a case of mistaken comprehension on his part where he imagined that I would pay HIM the money in order to control his Twitter, I decided to run with the joke like I was Usain fucking Bolt.
I immediately got to work brainstorming potential titles for our new book, finally settling on Grew Up a Guwop: The Gucci Mane Story. I started planning out the structure of our future best-seller, searching down potential publishers and trying to secure an author recommendation from Mobb Deep's Prodigy. I sent the rough outline to my new friend and collaborator, who was currently in the middle of a tweet war with himself. Getting his attention wasn't easy, but I was able to do it through a show of dedication when I presented him him with alternative ideas for his book title based of his most recent tweets, most of which turned out to be the song titles on his album (didn't listen). The exception of course being "eggbeater my botanist" which would be a comedic non sequitur had anyone else tweeted it, but becomes a terrifying threat when it's coming from Gucci Mane and caused a series of questions to spark in my mind. Is he bragging about the fact that his botanist is also great at making omelettes? Does he use an eggbeater to trim his garden? Is an eggbeater what Gucci calls a tank top when he slips onto his physique to go out and trim his lawn?
Even after our steady tweet exchange, Gucci Mane had still not followed me back. This caused me great stress, as I obviously didn't want to reveal all of my intellectual property publicly. I just felt as if my idea would be safer if it was in the stable and steady hands of Gucci Mane. Some minds are a steel trap, others are a maze. Radric's is a lightning-struck waffle cone, which is obviously very secure since it combines a devastating force of nature with a lightning bolt. Since my steady stream of tweets didn't seem to inspire The Main Mane to follow me back, I debated whether or not he had become bored with our fledgling business partnership. What if Gucci would soon try to sell my ten million dollar contract off to the highest bidder, or say something illicit about having relations with me in a cheap motel? I couldn't take that risk, so I decided to go for plan b: offer to collaborate on a coloring book. Since they're less exhaustive to create and are currently experiencing a renaissance thanks to Bun B and Shea Serrano, I believed that I had finally found the key to making Gucci Mane a happy partner. I proposed that the title of our coloring book be named after Radric's two favorite things: Guns + Sluts.
By keeping a narrow scope on the content, we not only gave ourselves the creative license to tell Gucci's story through his own eyes, but also opened up the theme of "living outside the lines" for exploration. I sent over a rough sketch of the cover and waited with anticipation.
Minutes later, Gucci Mane took notice of my business savy B2C technical knowhow and decided to bless me to be the second person he followed since he unfollowed everyone in an earlier accidental attempt to unfollow Tyga multiple times. I was honored to be recognized, and in spite of the stream of requests that came afterwards consisting of people asking me to DM Gucci with their shitty mixtape, I felt true nirvana for those few fleeting minutes.
But before I could even call my mother to explain to her what a Gucci Mane was and why this was a big deal, my world came crumbling down around me. At first, I thought that Gucci had unfollowed and blocked me, since I wasn't able to see any of his tweets. But thankfully I came to find out that Gucci had decided to delete his Twitter, which is still offline as this article is posted. I'm not sure what's worse: the fact that Gucci disappeared off the face of the social network that was embracing him so wholeheartedly, or the fact that he didn't wish me goodbye before he left. Although I understand where he's coming from, since saying goodbye to a true friend is never easy. I can only assume that he deleted his account in order to fully absorb my very poignant and funny DM (yes, I managed to send him a DM. No, you cannot read it) and think about our future ventures. So Gucci, if you're reading this, please contact me through the comment section below so that we can start working on the Guns + Sluts Coloring Book and/or Grew Up a Guwop (eggbeater-my-botanist): The Gucci Mane Story. I will discount your offer of ten million dollars by up to 50% if you contact me today. I accept PayPal, cash and tightly bundled bricks of cocaine. I will also accept the "free scooter" that you keep mentioning.
Slava Pastuk is still waiting for the DM. He's on Twitter — @SlavaP