Open Letter to My Followers

I’d like to start with an apology for my unexplained absence. I’m sure all three of you have been wondering where the hell I have been these past months and why I haven’t been making those court enforced payments, well let’s just say that my life has reached a crossroads and I have decided to make a dramatic change.


If you follow me on Facebook then you may already have a clue; if you don’t follow me on Facebook, then you are leading a shallow, empty unfulfilled life and you need to get with the program.

As of today and after an extraordinary amount of time lying on the toilet floor in an alcohol induced, mind altering, state of altered reality and elevated consciousness; I have decided to forgo my former life and transform myself into a black hip hop artist named Dil Do Ahm Awavin; (in the air, in the air, like you just don’t care)

Before you say, “It’s been done! Where’s the originality! You suck, and my personal favorite, Get him!” ,let me explain in further detail.

You have heard of a certain Mr. Joachim Phoenix trying this recently, hence you may be confused and making rash assumptions about plagiarism and copyright. If you didn’t hear about this, then please ignore this paragraph. Mr. Phoenix’s amateurish attempt did not work, because a) it was not real and he wasn’t 100% committed and b) he tried to transform himself into a WHITE hip hop artist and as we all know, white hip hop artists have no street cred. As a BLACK hip hop artist I will be able to say fo shizzle ma nizzle, without getting my azzile kicked and the rest will just follow. NOTE; THIS IS NOT A STUNT, THIS IS FO REAL.

My transformation has thus far not been easy; I have run into problems being accepted into the hip hop community and discovered several unforeseen pitfalls. For instance, asking for and buying a “Big Bag of Crack” resulted in the inhalation of enough plaster of paris to ensure that I will never use my bottom again; calling supermarket checkout operators, “my ho’s”, will not see you elevated to the head of the 12 items of less queue. My other dilemna has been finding a handgun, because as you know, no rapper or hip hop superstar can be without their 9mm, semi-automatic handgun at any time. Now finding a piece can be difficult, and what you should never do (so I have learnt) is to never ask an Asian sailor, at the docks on a dark night, if he hook you up with a glock; this may result in being offered a rather large “woman” with a rather large Adams apple.

These are the trials and tribulations I must go through in the name of my art.

So for now, I, Dil Do Ahm Awavin, am working on material that will find its way onto my new album. The first track will be filled with a biting political and social commentary on the need for the Monarchy in our society, set to the rhythm of “My Old Mans a Dustman”, it will be da bomb. Anyone with rhyming words for Queen please email me directly. So far I have Jeans, Jellybeans and between her knees.