Nation, what are we doing? A little over a week ago, a large series of incredibly newsworthy things happened, and when I say newsworthy, I mean actually newsworthy; not just TV3 Newsworthy. In the space of a few days, a second New Zealand SAS soldier was killed in Afghanistan, our government had its sovereign debt rating downgraded by two credit ratings agencies, and the closest thing al-Qaeda had to another Bin Laden, Anwar Al-Awlaki, was blown to pieces in a U.S. drone strike in Yemen. Not that you'd know about any of those things, because last Monday morning I awoke to find that the front page of The Press was emblazoned with a giant picture of Dan Carter grasping his balls.
Now don't get me wrong; this is what I've always wanted to see. Ever since I walked into Riccarton Mall to be greeted by a giant poster of Dan Carter undoing his pants and declaring "Get ready", I've been...

When I am feeling marginally less splendid than usual (news of a land law lecture running over the Lawsoc barbeque - I'm looking at you), there are a few things that I like to do. First of all I put on the suede platforms that I can't walk in properly and bought on overdraft, take out my hair, close the curtains just in case the creepy old man next door is making use of his binoculars, and turn up some Nicki Minaj. I'm not even writing this for dramatic effect – this is truth.
As we all know, the world of hip-hop is a downright nasty place. As an artist – a rapper to be precise – you are going to have a lot to deal with as you rise through the ranks. Along with all the shootings, the in-verse "disses", the competition for best range of streetwear, and grammatically ridiculous Twitter arguments about who got the best baby mama, you have to have a crew, money to back...