Okay, so this weeks’ hoof is a little predictable, but, to be honest, it’s one I’ve been waiting to administer for some time. Please be upshafting for Kanye Omari West.

Now, Kanyeezee – long have I admired your production skills; your miracle meandering, messing with meek and mild samples; your Allah like ability to turd polish; your eye for talent such as Mr. Hudson.
We all let slide the average word-play and the non-flushed, bog standard stagnant flow you spat, or rather coughed-up for y’ first three college albums, but 808’s and Heatbreak?

I appreciate things’ve moved on since The Blueprint, but seriously, enough of the auto-tune already. If Zapp’s Roger Troutman were still with us, he’d doubtless wedge his talkbox tube straight up your jaxy! That said, he might get distracted by Amber’s and want to stick something up her's [cheers from approving crowd ensue].

Now you’ve gone and committed the ultimate offence in the eyes of the white, right wing, middle America, country music loving fraternity at the what’sthepointinallthisanyway MTV VMA’s. Was this just a publicity stunt to gain you yet more coverage? Were your jeans just so damn tight that they restricted the correct amount of blood flow to your egocentric noggin? Whatever!

Wake up Mr. West, you Luis Vuitton obsessed fool.

Chi’ Town stand up, and then sit the fuck down again and take the friggin’ ‘oof!