The jokes write virtually themselves: "Trapped In The Foreclosure (Chapter 11)," "I Believe I Can't Pay," "Step In The Name Of Debt Relief." But when the laughing's done and the tears have been wiped away, R. Kelly still stands to lose his multi-million dollar Chicagoland mansion to J.P. Morgan Chase.
It's probably even worse for celebs like Kelly, who live their lives in public, which means that when you have an outstanding balance of $2.9 million on your crib that you can't pay, everybody knows. Everybody. Friends, neighbors, haters, the homeys from pick-up basketball games downtown, the nosy barbershop crowd, various baby mamas, even underage honeys you've invited to the V.I.P. section of the club and plied with complementary shots of the Henney.
Rough stuff, for sure.
Yes, R. Kelly is an allegedly pedophilic, sex-obsessed maniac. But he's also a musical genius, and we should help save his mansion.
Gimme Noise has a couple ideas.
Don't front; you loved "Trapped In The Closet" - the first installment, if not the whole series. So did a lot of people. The great majority of us didn't bother to buy it; it was all over radio and MTV (MTV!) and people were burning CDs left and right. If everyone who ever dug that song actually ponied up $1.29 for it on iTunes right now, Kells could at least reach some sort of reasonable settlement or payment plan with his creditors. (Maybe instead of monthly payments of $24,345.12, the bank would accept payments of like $18,000.)
Would panhandling be perceived as socially acceptable if one panhandled, earnestly, with a plate-glass window sized representation of the TP-2.com album cover immediately behind and above him or her? (He was Cam'ron chic before Cam'ron was Cam'ron!) This is as good a time as any to find out, I suppose. Mostly I just love the idea of panhandlers having a hand in bailing Kells out, and Kells having a big press conference to announce that his house had been saved thanks to the tireless efforts of homeless fans of raunchy R&B worldwide.
Not much having sex these days? Got a couple boxes of unexpired condoms? Ship them to R. Kelly. R. Kelly's annual prophylactic budget runs somewhere in the area of $10,000 annually; with the near-collapse of the record industry and the economy, it's hard out there for a perpetually-aroused R&B stud whose albums don't sell like they used to. (For real. 1998's R. sold 8 million copies; last year's Love Letter was lucky to go gold. It's hard out there.)
An elite baller's lifestyle is crazy expensive. That said, Kells needs your tax-return money more than you do. Who else are you gonna live vicariously through? T-Pain?