Massive confusion abounded last Thursday at Jesse Hall among
lovers of the Shakespearean art form of rappery. Thousands of students piled in
to the auditorium expecting to listen to the soft, whiney crooning of Jay
Sean’s “baby, are you down, down, down, down, down.” What they got, however,
was nothing of the sort.
Big Sean, a relatively new rapper on the scene, was the
actual headliner of that night’s show.
“What the FUCK!” and “Man, this is some bullshit” was
commonly shouted as rows after rows of students realized they had been cleverly
duped. “Where the hell is Jay Sean?”
Other slightly less observant fans thought this Sean fellow
had pulled a “Lil’ Bow-Wow” move and dropped the “Jay” and added the “Big” to
make himself seem more legitimate and street-cool. This theory was widely
accepted and everyone proceeded with his or her night.
One unfortunate soul, a highly inebriated Caucasian female,
was under the impression that she was at a Lil’ Wayne concert.
“He’s that black guy, right?” she slurred. “I know all his
songs. I just love rap.”
“The ticket clearly states that Big Sean is performing
tonight,” said an exasperated Terry Commons, director of the Missouri
Entertainment Committee. “I can’t help that these performers cater to modern-day
groundlings.”
Big Sean’s “I Am Finally Famous” tour came to an abrupt and
ironic halt in Jesse Auditorium as males with pants around their ankles and
females in eight-inch stilettos and four-inch skirts booed and clamored for
their beloved Jay Sean.
“Jay Sean is my boy,” said disgruntled freshman Trevor
White. “Whoever the hell this Big Sean character is, he can’t be bigger than
Jay.”
However, once the pot-smoking, chain-wearing Big Sean came
on stage, things started to calm down. Students adopted the “if it walks like a
duck and talks like a duck” theory and decided to accept this new Sean. The
consensus was if he could sing about marijuana and fucking and had a body one
could describe as “chocolate thunder,” he was a-okay.
It appeared that he had won his enraged audience over with a
song titled “A$$.” The thumping bass and intellectually stimulating lyrics
seemed to lull the crowd into a happier, less aggressive disposition.
Females began to gyrate. Males started nodding their heads.
Everyone put their hands up in awkward rap-concert-fashion and cheered as Big
Sean took his shirt off and suggestively thrust his microphone-free hand down
the front of his pants. The crowd went wild.
By the end of the night, roughly 50 percent of the audience
realized that who they were listening to was, in fact, not Jay Sean. The others
left in an ear-ringing stupor completely ignorant of who they had just paid $17
to see.
“I’m disappointed he didn’t perform “Down’ or “Do You
Remember,'” said several confused and disappointed girls as they left the auditorium.
“Those are my favorite Tupac songs.”
