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So, the blogosphere is abuzz about Cam’Ron’s (two apostrophes = so tight) appearance on 60 Minutes last night.

Many bloggers (or, “faggitz” in Cam’Ronese) seem to think he came off as both stupid and ignorant in the piece, which portrayed him as the posterboy for the Stop Snitchin’ movement in hip-hop. Most are trying to prove Killa Cam’s moral depravity by citing this soundbite:

“If I knew the serial killer was living next door to me? I wouldn’t call and tell anybody on him — but I’d probably move. But I’m not going to call and be like, ‘The serial killer’s in 4E.’”

What’s the problem with that? It’s like I say: let a playa play, let a killa kill.

I’ve said it many times, but if someone were to take the time to make up a Venn Diagram comparing me and Cam’Ron, I think there would be a lot of overlap.

(click to enlarge)

We’re like two G’s in an iPod. I also would never tell the police if I lived next door to a serial killer. I know this is true because when I was in high school I actually didn’t tell the police that I lived next door to a serial killer. 

You see, a good portion of my teenage years was spent watching the strange nighttime activities of my across-the-street neighbor Brent Mooseburger (his first name has been changed for confidentiality (’Mooseburger’ was his actual last name, and also the funniest last name ever)). Mr. Mooseburger seemed like any other ordinary 500 pound slob of a man who mowed his 10′x10′ front lawn with a riding mower.

Here he is with his brother:

The Mooseburger house faced my bedroom, and every couple weeks I would watch the same creepy event unfold: At about 3am, with the light of the full moon illuminating his front yard, Brent Moosebuger would exit his front door and shake hands with a handsome blond man who drove a red Corvette. The blond man would then enter the Mooseburger house, retrieve heavy sacks from inside, and throw them in the back of a rented Ryder truck. After that, the blond man would leave in the Ryder truck and Brent Mooseburger would light a cigar and start shoveling dirt into his basement through a broken window.

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Because Cam’Ron is going to be on 60 Minutes this Sunday!

Anderson Cooper (America’s favorite closeted gay) is interviewing Cam’Ron (my favorite borderline-retarded millionaire) on the topic of hip-hop’s animosity towards the police. This, to me, is on par with the Super Bowl.

I can’t wait.

Tonight on 60 Minutes: Anderson Cooper’s report on how rappers don’t like police officers. Also, Leslie Stahl discovers that chocolate milk is delicious. And don’t miss Andy Rooney as he tries to describe the beauty of a slide-rule before falling asleep in a puddle of his own drool.

Direct quote from Cam’Ron: “There’s not really to talk about with the police…I mean…for what?” [sic][sic][sic][so fucking sic].

Did you notice the restraint right there? For Cam’Ron to be talking about serial killers on national television and not bust out with something ridiculous like “Cam be a loony rebel, a serial killa/ I eat Fruity Pebbles at yo burial, n*gga,” that takes poise.

Cam’Ron is a hero. Watch it again. Just look at him. He’s stoned out of his mind. Those diamonds are so heavy his earlobes are sinking.

He got a 7 on his SAT’s and makes MILLION$ OF DOLLAR$.

I got a sneak preview of the rest of the Cam’Ron interview, unfortunately it’s only audio. I know, it sucks, but it’s kind of crazy how much Anderson Cooper’s voice sounds exactly like mine. I’d go so far as to say it sounds like a terrible attempt at an impersonation. Click below to listen.

<– Cam’Ron on 60 Minutes.

I am so tight at Garageband & iTunes.

I had a great time exploring you. But I think I need to go back to New York now because I haven’t pooped in five days.

I’m doing shows here all week. (Right here, in front of the In-N-Out Burger in Sherman Oaks.)

It’s official, the new N-word is “nappy.”

Finally, we found out the answer to the question America’s been dying to know: Who impregnated that illiterate drug-addicted skank before she fatally overdosed on a thousand different kinds of painkillers?

And the winner is…THIS GUY!

JACKPOT!

Science is 99.99999% positive that Larry Birkhead, above, was the one who fucked a clinically sad, borderline retarded human being without a condom.

P-I-M-P. ($20 says she wasn’t even awake for it.)

Yesterday’s press conference–
Larry Birkhead: “WOOooOOoooOO! I’m going to Disneyworld!!!”
Reporter: “Is that the first place you plan on taking your daughter?”
Larry Birkhead: “Daughter?”

I’m just glad this guy wasn’t the father:

Because then this story would be sad.

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Did you guys hear that Johnny Hart died?

Who’s Johnny Hart? Uhm…only the man behind B.C., arguably the best and most important funny-pages comic of all time.

Let’s take a look at the man’s classics (click to enlarge):

LOL! It’s a menorah slowly turning into a cross, through the magical dying words of Jesus Christ! Hahaha! That. Is. Too. Much!

Two Wongs don’t make a Wright? What? Oh! Hahaha! Because Chinese people are inferior to Wh(r)ite people. What’s that called? Observational humor? Oh, right, a terrible pun.

Someone had to explain that one to me. The outhouse doesn’t stink because it’s full of raw sewage. No, you see, it stinks because it has a crescent moon on the door, which is a symbol of Islam. And Islam, as we all know, smells exactly like caveman shit and urine. ROTF!

Mr Hart’s wife, Bobby, said he died of a stroke on Saturday while working at his New York home.

 ”He died at his storyboard,” she told the Associated Press.

Here’s the unfinished storyboard right here:

The punchline will forever remain a mystery.

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Today on Oprah, she asks the question ”America’s talking about”:

Well…I mean…if and ONLY if.