TumbleDweeeb

  Back in 2006, I received an unexpected message on Yahoo Messenger from someone I didn’t know. The username that popped up on my screen belonged to an account with no profile picture or personal information—just a blank account that appeared to have been created only days before contacting me. This immediately raised some red flags.
   Despite having no established credibility, this person launched into a detailed critique of my rap lyrics, telling me that my word flow rhymes were basic and my cadence was offbeat. He asked me to send him a verse and he would try fixing it for me.
   My feelings were kind of hurt, and I initially believed his criticism because I had only been writing and recording for about 6 years. This was my first rap attempt. But after a few minutes, my instincts told me to be cautious about this stranger’s feedback.
   Wary of this stranger’s intentions and being reluctant to share my original work online, I decided to set up a test. I searched for an obscure Snoop Dogg verse—one that wasn’t from his biggest hits and wouldn’t be immediately recognizable to most casual fans. It was a song that was probably not played much on the album. I picked a random song. I copied these lyrics and sent them to this person, presenting them as my own creation. My reasoning was simple: if they were genuinely interested in helping me improve as they claimed, they would respond with specific feedback about the verse. However, if they were actually looking to steal content, I wouldn’t be risking any of my own material.
   Interestingly, after I sent the Snoop lyrics, they immediately disconnected from the chat without offering any feedback whatsoever. This sudden disappearance confirmed my suspicions—they had probably quickly searched the lyrics, discovered they belonged to Snoop Dogg, and realized their scheme had been exposed. I figured that was the last I’d heard from this mysterious person.
   A couple of years passed after our Yahoo Messenger encounter. During this time, I had almost forgotten about that strange interaction. Life moved on—different cities, different crowds, different priorities. The local rap scene evolved, with some artists fading away while others gained more recognition.
   Three years later, in 2009, I found myself at a friend’s apartment listening to a mixtape showcasing some of the local rap artists. I was in my friend’s home studio and he was showing me some local artists. I was sitting on his studio couch drinking a beer.
   As different tracks played, I noticed varying levels of quality and originality in the production. Suddenly, a familiar voice caught my attention—it was the biggest rapper in this area. His style hadn’t evolved at all; he was still using the same predictable, stereotypical flow, recycling the same tired “hustler” cliché for what seemed like the tenth time.
   However, what truly made me freeze was hearing him drop a specific line: “You bit Snoop,” or something similarly accusatory about someone copying Snoop Dogg’s style. My jaw dropped; I stopped, rewound the song, and listened to the lyrics a few more times.
   At that very moment, everything connected. I had always suspected it was him behind that fake Yahoo Messenger profile, but lacked proof until now. That specific line about Snoop was the missing link that confirmed my suspicions.
   When I told my friend about it and we rewound the song multiple times, he laughed. He thought I was imagining the criticisms that the artist was putting out, but as time progressed, he realized that the artist was indeed dissing me in more verses and songs than just that specific track.
   Those three words instantly transported me back to that Yahoo Messenger conversation. A slow smile spread across my face as the realization hit—he had taken the bait completely. The verse I had casually copied and pasted years ago had apparently made enough of an impression that he’d built it into his identity—as the guy who was trying to “expose” me.
   I couldn’t help but laugh when I realized what had happened. I could perfectly picture him hunched over his computer, believing he’d uncovered some profound truth about my “stolen” lyrics, smugly incorporating this accusation into his song as if delivering some devastating revelation. What’s truly hilarious is that he probably only discovered his mistake after he had plagiarized the verse to one of his tracks. I like to think someone probably heard the song that made him search those lyrics, only to find they belonged to Snoop Dogg himself, thinking he was cleverly stealing my uncopywritten work.
   The irony was exquisite—his attempt had backfired spectacularly, revealing not my plagiarism but his own musical ignorance. There was a self-proclaimed authority on rap, unable to recognize verses from one of the genre’s most iconic artists, yet still claiming the expertise to critique others. While he continued churning out formulaic tracks with recycled sounds and predictable themes, I carried this perfect secret like a hidden treasure for 3 whole years.
   Years later, that moment remains a personal milestone—not because it launched my career or earned me recognition, but because it taught me to trust my instincts about people’s intentions in an industry where authenticity is claimed by many but possessed by few.