From the Ultra Secret Hush-Hush Diary of K-Fed:
- Yo diary, I’m back in Cali, kickin it loose and just chillin in my Malibu Britney Dreamhouse. Living this double life is draining, ya know what I’m saying? Working undercover for the CIA ain’t easy and these past few months have been busier than a homeboy's sperm trying to make it up a trailerpark uterus.
Feel me, check out the past few months…
JUNE – IRAN
Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad or M-Jad as I tagged him for short, called up asking me for MORE help on his cd. Ever since I went over there last year and suggested he lay down some revolutionary beats, he’s been all up in a tizzle. The CIA tells me my work is all part of some “psych ops” operation designed to confuse and delay their nuke program but all I know is that M-Jad is seriously freaking out.
M-Jad; “My alliteration is being compromised by the lack of substance pertaining to the holy words of the prophet. Also my percussion break is the suck.”
Me: “Yo, it sounds like stink cause you can’t rhyme ‘death to the infidels” with ‘talking smack like Howard Cosell.’”
I caught a ride outta Nellis AFB with a C-12 crew going to Turkey and parachuted into Tehran under cover. Soon I was huddled over the mixing board with the President of the Islamic Republic himself. M-Jad was a mess, all sweaty and acting bug eyed crazy. Couple times different dudes came in and asked him stuff about the “glorious nuclear program.” M-Jad would answer the same question different ways, too caught up in trying to program his old school Akai sequencer. At one point some mean looking general thought he was suppose to bomb Africa but it turned out M-Jad was just freaking out cause he couldn’t find his Afrika Bambaataa 12 inch.
I got outta there after a few days, leaving M-Jad still hunched over the soundboard. That shit is gonna take months to get polished up to my level of perfection but at least we got his first single, “You Dropped The Islamist Bomb On Me” finished.
JULY – NORTH KOREA
G Money Karl Rove called on the secret phone in the Ferrari and said he needed my ass over in Korea to disrupt some missile test. I told Britney I was heading to Vegas for a few days and punched it over to Nellis to see my boyz in blue. Twenty hours later I’m landing in North Korea as a member of some UN “fact finding” tour. Well here’s a fact: North Korean girls are whack! None of them had even heard of me. They just giggled and shit when I busted out some moves.
Not so with their ‘dear leader” Kim Jong-Il. He knew all about my ryhmez and said he really dug my new single, “America’s Most Hated.” Afterwards we went up to his crib with some bitches and indulged in the playa style with some Hennessy. Kim showed off some beats he cooked up and asked what I thought. I lied and told him it was dope.
That night I headed over to the missile range. Snuck in using my ultra unorthodox cabbage patch brand of sneakiness. Fucked around with some wiring and was back in my Pyongyang crib before the boyz at the Korean Worker’s Party knew what was up.
Next day Kim invited me over to watch some Taepodong’s going up. I thought he was talking ‘bout some porno’s but it was actually what he called that missile I messed up. I played all dumb when things screwed up worse than my PopoZao video and got out of there quick as I could.
AUGUST – CUBA
For an old dude, Castro can party like it’s 1999. Spent almost 3 days with him cruising the club scene of Havana with his bro Raul, enjoying cigars, rum, and slapping the sweet backsides of those hot Cuban chika’s. Sweetest gig the CIA ever sent me on. Fidel may be oldschool but he knows how to swing some rumpshaking action.
Shit, I’d still be down there but Fidel slipped a disc trying to repeat a jerky krumping move one night at the People’s Disco. Raul gave me a dirty look but I knowz he’s trying to hop up on his bro’s title. Fidel’s last words to me was “muévalos los extremos” so I know he’s gonna be inviting me back down just as soon he's in top form. I sent him a promo poster of my new album and a slammin' jogging suit to help him recuperate.
- Damn diary, I gotta split, Britney’s mom is over and she’s all up in my grill, talking about me getting a real job. Maybe I’ll call up Rumsfield and see if he’s got any time today to check out that new hotspot over in Baghdad called the Prophet’s Tear. When they’re not blowing shit up, those Sunni’s really know how to party.