Oh, Atlanta #655

TL;DR: Atlanta rapper Young Thug is gifted 100 acres of land, decides to build a city on it

First off, I have to give credit where credit is due: the first time I ever heard of Young Thug, my first thoughts were one, relieved that he actually spelled it “Young” and not “Yung” and possibly be mistaken as someone with some Asian heritage in them.  And two, that there was no way Young Thug would be anything more than a flash in the pan Atlanta rapper who is white hot for two seconds, but is completely gone and forgotten in a month, and would soon be at the gas station at the corner of Boulevard and Memorial, trying to sell people his CD.

But here we are, five years past the first time I ever brogged about this guy, and he’s still making the news, even if it it’s for shit that sound stupider than billionaires trying to race to see who can get into outer space first.

I don’t particularly think ol’ Thug realizes how little land 100 acres is in the grand spectrum of things, when it comes to trying to start up a city, especially when from the looks of things, maybe 50 of it is a big ass lake.  He obviously has more money than I’ll ever sniff in my lifetime because if he’s been able to stay alive in the rap industry for 5+ years, he’s definitely got some coin by now, but probably not enough to landfill up an entire lake and then build a fucking city on top of it.

Sure, I know the story backtracks and resigns itself to being more like a subdivision, but even still, that shit doesn’t build itself for free.

And doing a little digging, I found out that the parcel of land is really way the fuck out west, practically in Douglasville, and as successful as Thug might be, it’s a hard sell to get anyone who isn’t a Trump-loving white supremacist to want to go the fuck all way out to Douglasville, from Atlanta.

Whatever though.  Good on Young Thug for being successful to the point where people literally want to give him land as gifts, and when the day is over, I’m probably just envious of his general success and wealth, and all I can really do is keyboard warrior it from my brog out in the suburbs, wishing I had a fraction of the money he probably has.  Not quite the Oh Atlanta edition I thought it would be, but stranger writing swerves have occurred over the last 20 years of brogging.

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