Mutation or Installation? Getting to the Bottom of the Eternal Nicki Question

There’s so much on this Earth that we simply do not know. We have a myriad of enigmatic questions floating around our world, and despite the numerous theories and hypotheses that attempt to offer answers, the mysteries still remain. What happens when we die? Is there extra-terrestrial life out there? What is the meaning of life? Is Nicki Minaj’s butt real?

Of course, all of these are timeless, bewildering questions, which have puzzled and will, I am certain, continue to puzzle us for decades and centuries to come. But I am sure that most people would concur that the last question in the list is by far the most baffling. The world’s most popular female rapper (rapstress? Like seamstress?) is a hugely talented lyricist, is enormously gifted in her persona portrayals, and last but certainly not least, is gigantically endowed in the gluteus maximus region. We’re not talking “pretty big” or “bigger than most”; we’re talking “check out our custom-fitted pants department” big.

Now I’m not saying the size bothers me – I’m not really sure how I feel about it either way – but I can’t help but let my mind wander and explore the possibilities. Perhaps it is real. It might be a medical marvel or a horrible mutation, depending on your point of view. Maybe it’s a condition which we need to be taking more seriously and researching more effectively. Imagine the stress on Minaj’s mother when she gave birth to little Nicki: the head popped out and that was only the easy part completed. Then the embarrassment: of discovering that diapers didn’t fit; of trying to potty train without getting it outright stuck in the potty. The bullying and taunts at school every time she turned around and it knocked someone’s glasses off their face. It’s possible that we should all be wary before splurging on that new pair of shoes we’ve been eyeing or before ordering a round of desserts at dinner with the family. Instead, we should be thinking about sending that extra cash to aid research for this often ridiculed condition. Please see below for more details on how you can help:

Oversized Badonkadonk Syndrome (OBS), also vulgarly known as “Fat-ass Disorder”, is a frequently overlooked and sadly mocked condition which affects hundreds of helpless men, women and even children every year. It is a hereditary illness but may skip generations. Nevertheless, if your mother or father has the condition, you should visit your family doctor immediately for a check-up before the signs expose themselves. Common symptoms include: a huge ass. Don’t wait until it’s too late. A simple vaccination in the early stages of adult development can prevent the illness. We are very close to finding an outright cure to conquer OBS once and for all. This is where your donations come into play. Please give generously.

I am personally not a stranger to freakish mutations. I am dark-skinned yet I have bright blue eyes. Like Minaj’s booty, this is a double-edged sword. It is an asset (or an ASSet, in her case), and attracts much attention. But on the flipside, it triggers countless aggravating questions: “Are those real? Or do you wear blue contacts?” One year, on a visit with some family in Toronto, I was introduced, by my cousin at a pick-up soccer game, to a fellow by the name of Dave English. Dave seemed like an inoffensive guy at first, as we trudged through the formalities – the handshakes and the name exchanges. Then, out of nowhere, he stares at my face and enquires: “What’s wrong with your eyes?” I was unaware that my eyes were in any kind of trouble but suddenly became self-conscious: is there something in one of my eyes? Are they bloodshot? “What do you mean?” I replied courteously, if a little vexed. Which immediately elicited the response: “Are those your real motherfucking eyes??”

I was a little taken aback. I’d encountered the question before, just never expressed in such poetical language. I felt as though my eyes had offended him. Perhaps the bright blue produced a burning glare in his face which was slowly melting his skin. He demanded to know the rightful proprietor of these glowing eyeballs of death before it was too late. “Who the fuck’s eyes do you think they are, shithead?” I didn’t actually say this. But I wanted to. What I did say was: “I actually borrowed these for the night. Haven’t you heard of Rent-an-Eye? It’s the new big thing. Yeah, you just go down to the store, choose a color and size, then they take a deposit, extract your existing eyes, and the new ones are yours for the night. I think it’s a single eyeball for $59.99 or a pair for $99.99. No insurance, no hassle. You should try it out sometime. The fit is just divine.”

No, I didn’t say that, either. I claimed that they were, in fact, my property and then the game started. I should say that my soccer skills were a little rusty at the time, and my only other encounter with him that night – and just as pleasant an encounter – was when he called me over halfway through the match. “Hey, number ten! Come here!” (I was wearing a number ten jersey), “Look, I know you’re just trying to have fun out there but everyone’s getting pissed. You should sit down.” I’ll always remember Dave English for his felicitous words, so aptly chosen and so gently spoken. What a charming man. (Having said this, if I do decide to change my mind, I always have the option of dissolving him entirely with my two blue ocular lasers).

Before I am labeled a hypocrite, I realize that in writing a piece questioning whether or not Nicki Minaj’s butt is real, I am, in theory, behaving like Dave English. “Hey, Nicki, is that your real motherfucking ass??” Allow me to offer my disclaimer: I am only curious and am not being judgmental. Nicki and I are both mutational victims and so we are on the same side. Team Mutation. (I wear the number ten shirt for the team).

So maybe it’s fake, then? Again – not judging! But if so, this explanation in turn sparks a plethora of new questions. It can’t be comfortable to sit on two plastic buttocks, can it? Or, at least, it must take some getting used to. Does it feel like there’s something inside your butt when you sit? Are the implants engineered so that the individual’s weight is balanced safely on the two buttocks? If so, what if you lean too heavily on one buttock and the pressure overwhelms the implant and it bursts? Obviously, I’m no cosmetic surgeon (although after I successfully implanted fake blue eyes into my sockets I briefly deliberated a career change). But I do know that a pain in the posterior is no laughing matter. In high school, I once accidentally sat on a toothpick. Another student had mischievously wedged a toothpick into a nylon-cushioned seat and forgotten about it. Well, without too much further explanation, this sharp, pointed object was lodged in my right butt cheek. Just a couple more inches to the left, and the pick could have done some incredible damage. Thankfully, I was treated swiftly (by way of our teacher tugging it out of there), but until the skin grew back, I was left with a second hole in my backside. (During high school, I was excessively injury-prone. Within the same few years as the toothpick incident, my appendix burst and my leg was run over by a quad bike).

So it’s really more out of sympathy that I ask about Nicki’s rear. Accidents happen, and what is stopping a roguish toothpick from embedding itself in her butt cheek, too? (If it’s the same toothpick that attacked me, this should be considered a serial piercing case). In this situation, the consequences could be dire. The toothpick could puncture the implant and saline would start gushing out, her rump beginning to resemble Old Faithful. Again, I’m no cosmetic surgeon, so maybe I am making too much of a comparison between an implant and a water balloon. But how would she recuperate from the embarrassment of spending the rest of her life with a cork shoved in her butt cheek to stop the leakage?

This, of course, is just the tip of the iceberg. Forgive the morbidity, but let’s ponder a post-existence consequence. Whenever Minaj’s time comes and she leaves this Earth, and her body is buried, even then, the remnants of the fake hind will not be forgotten. After years of bone decomposition and flesh disintegration – after everything is gone – surely there’ll still be two giant balls of plastic lying there in the soil. Clearly, no one will know of all this six feet underground (I assume everyone down there is pretty unconscious). But it’s just the thought of the whole scenario. I guess they could exhume the two implants and the family could keep them in a jar on display in the house, like an urn. And then just like scattering the ashes over the Grand Canyon or some other memorable landmark, they would throw the implants down the canyon and watch the water balloons burst in the valley below in a cloud of dust, like Wile E. Coyote falling from a cliff.

Again, pardon the rather macabre thought, but it’s just a consideration. However, it is likely that I am looking too deeply into the negatives rather than embracing the potentially playful nature of the situation. After some reflection, whether it is real or fake, it appears that her tush has alternative uses. For example, Nicki has her very own in-built trampoline inside her derrière. It could also be used as a punching bag for any company she may have in need of some stress relief. And from an aesthetic point of view, it has the potential of looking horrendously abnormal, but hell, she knows what to do with it and that has certainly earned her bootylicious status. On second thoughts, don’t donate a penny to OBS research. Some things are best left the way they are.

You can also view this post at ThatsGlitchy.com!

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One thought on “Mutation or Installation? Getting to the Bottom of the Eternal Nicki Question

  1. […] Eminem touches on (and hopes to do more to) the most talked about issue relating to Nicki: her butt. Oh, and one more thing: “dame” is the word for lady in – yes, you guessed it – […]

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