I thought I saw Snoop Dogg on a bus in Palermo. I admired the tight wind of his cornrows as he stepped on at one of the stops. As the bus trembled along I became quite excited about meeting the Doggfather until it occurred to me that things just weren't right.
First: He didn't have a possé – he was riding solo.
Second: His bling was a little too understated.
And Third: He was riding on a bus.
I panicked. Surely Snoop hadn't fallen this far. Surely the gangsta rap world hadn't crumbled since last I checked. My heart leapt out to the many young American rappers whose futures had suddenly become uncertain. And then something magical happened: Snoop spoke. His hands flashed and his head bobbed as he unleashed a stream of fluent Italian.
I was pretty sure that Snoop hadn't hung out with any Italian kids back in Compton. My chest settled. My head cleared. This guy was an imposter – and one of the worst kind. The kind of slack-jawed, gelly-spined bum who had decided to trade on the revered image of one of America's true darlings. The mere sight of this young man riled me. Something had to be done.
Like any intrepid traveler I quickly turned to my European phrase book in search of the most telling rebuke this young charlatan would ever witness. Time was short, he was rousing to exit at the next stop. The pages flew between my fingers and beads of sweat formed on my brow. Then, as he stepped off, I let fire with my newly knitted patchwork of Italian venom.
Unfortunately all I managed was a gracious invitation to put him in a cheap hotel room without paying the bill. He looked at me quizzically and left the bus, oblivious to my true feelings towards his devious ways. I sighed in the knowledge that I had tried my best and if I wasn't leaving Palermo that night I would have hunted him down and given him a piece of my mind. But alas I was out of time.
So beware my friends for a fraudulent Dogg stalks the streets of Palermo and there's no one there to stop him...