All My Best Friends are Metalheads

"Yo, wassup homies?" asks the little dweeb. "Connor Conn in da hizzouse!"

"Connor Conn" is the alleged gangsta name for one Connor Perry Wilcox, an 18 year old wannabe from one of the richest suburbs in the United States. Drawing all of his influences from Top 40 radio and MTV, Mr. Wilcox personified the absolute worst kind of gangsta cliche: the clueless poseur who's trying way, way, way too hard. He also can't seem to go more than three words without making ridiculous gestures with his arms and hands, as if he's constantly flashing gang signs.

"Like a great muthafuckin' rapper once said, life ain't nuttin' but bitches n' money, and Scotty Scott represented that philosophizzle to da bitter end, yo! My nigga Scotty never fronted, he jus' do his own thing, scoring with a million hoes, and not be givin' two fucks! See, my dog Scotty Scott n' me, we from da streets, we harder than steel, we realer than real! Scotty say he wanted Connor Conn to keep on keepin' it real!"

At this point, Josh Burbank comes up to the podium, carrying a manila envelope. He gestures for Connor to stand back.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen..."
"Yo, g! What up wit' you? Why you frontin'? It be my turn to rap!"
"Connor Wilcox is not by any means a real gangbanger from the 'hood, people!" Josh says. "In fact, I have some photographic evidence that this so called 'Connor Conn' is the person who would adopt a trend, or a persona just to look or seem cool. Check this picture out!"
"I'ma bust a cap in yo' ass if you be doin' what I think you doin'!"

Josh holds up a large photograph of Connor when he was fourteen years old. He has a mullet, and he is also wearing a Poison T-shirt.

"This, ladies and germs, is the so called hardcore gangsta 'Connor Conn' just four short years ago in the eighth grade. This was during his so called metalhead days, which he abruptly adopted after being mocked and ostracized by his much cooler and popular classmates!"
"Yo, homie, what you talkin' about? I don't like no heavy metal! I'm from the streets, g!"
"Shut up. Now, I have another picture of Connor from just two years ago, after he had shed the wannabe metalhead persona, and adopted one of a skate punk. You will notice that in the picture, Connor has a really bad hairstyle, and he's carrying his cheap Wal-Mart bought skateboard. He's only carrying it because he has no idea how to actually skate without falling down and hurting himself!"
"Yo, that's wack! Me and my homeboys gonna beat yo' ass down if you don't stop talkin' shit!"
"It isn't talking shit when it also happens to be the truth, Connor. This is why you don't have any real friends, because everyone sees the little, insecure, socially retarded asshole hiding behind three of the more outrageous high school stereotypes! Connor has never been out of the suburbs in his life! I also have it on good authority that he doesn't even know jack about hip-hop beyond what he hears on the radio, and he's still listening to his hair metal cassettes and his M.C. Hammer and Vanilla Ice CDs!"
"Bullshit! I listen to Fiddy, Lil' Wayne, Wu-Tang, 2Pac, Biggie..."
"No, Connor. You don't."

At this point, Connor's highly embarrassed parents have come to take him home.
"Yo, Mom! Dad! What up, g?"
"Connor, we've warned you about acting like this in public!" Dad snaps. "Son, aren't you worried that someone's going to shoot you if you keep acting like some rapper?"
"B-but, I'm hard! I'm street, yo!"
"You are also grounded for three months, if you haven't forgotten, young man! You were the one who decided to swear at your homeroom teacher at school!"

Connor and his parents leave. Josh breathes a sigh of relief.

1. Follow Connor and his humiliated parents home.
2. Another obscure character comes up to eulogize Scott.

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