Dear God in heaven. Please tell me this is a prank and I’m playing the role of Abbott to Moffi’s Costello. You know what? I’m deciding that this is a joke and will respond in kind: Moffi Don has taken the rare role of rap satirist, lampooning the genre with a mixture of modest (to put it nicely) recording quality and clichéd money, girls and celebrity name-checking across the disc’s seven tracks. It sounds like the vocals were recorded on an Xbox 360 headset. Fidelity is not the point. Pointing out the shortcomings of this generation’s no-budget emcees is the focus. His rhythm is, shall we say, avant-garde. He seems to be wrestling with the “1,” as James Brown called it; much the same way the rest of us wrestle with the demons of our past, Moffi fights against the beats, and we the listeners lose. His MySpace says he’s from New Orleans. I don’t think that’s pertinent, I just had to look him up to see if he was a real person and not someone playing games. Folks, this is bad. I’m appealing to Obama for a bailout for the time I’ve spent listening to this.