It’s been years since I’ve gotten here. Back in 2007 I first entered the halls of Lil Bling’s palatial house as a cameraman for MTV’s popular documentary program Cribs. At first the episode was going okay. Lil Bling was showing us around his kitchen replete with refrigerator-sized walk-in blender, an appliance both impractical and hugely in defiance of OSHA regulations.
All was well and good in this “crib” until after showing us the seven upper floor bedrooms, all designed with the pelts of extinct animals from each continent, Lil Bling was nowhere to be found.
I, along with my small crew of one sound tech, an assistant producer and a gaffer, were lost alone in the wilds of Lil Bling’s McMansion. While Lil Bling described the maze-like layout of his mansion as “dope”, it was significantly less dope on day four when our food supply was running low and we’d only made it through six of the ten known rumpus rooms lining the east wing.
All hope was lost until we stumbled across a door outside. Sadly for us the expedition was not yet over as we entered a courtyard. We soon realized this was Lil Bling’s exotic pet enclosure and a particularly angry Leopard was hungry for something other than Lil Bling’s own licenced cereal Blingberries which was apparently the only food he was feeding his large collection of zoo animals.
I’d like to tell you, like Buck in Jack London’s wilderness opus Call of the Wild or those guys from Gilligan’s Island that I either made it out of there, or died with my sanity, but alas I have forged a society of my own deep in the thickets of rotten wires and electrical detritus lining Lil Bling’s supply closet. My small crew has been reduced through cannibalism (both unnecessary and necessary) to just myself and my trusty camera. Several years back I’ve felt the tenor of the house change. I believe that Lil Bling has since gone broke, because apparently making two hit ringtones in 2005 doesn’t exactly bring in “own-a-pet-leopard-money” and the house has become vacant.
I will continue to try to survive as long as I can, dining from the bounty of Lil Bling branded novelty vodkas strewn across the floor and the bones of my hapless crew.
Sadly I quickly exhausted the limited food supply of caviar and “edible gold foil” that lined Lil Bling’s many, many kitchens. I have heard myths from the tiger gods deep in the electrical forest of a kitchen separated from the main house, forming part of a servant’s quarters. Apparently this place is filled floor to ceiling with nutritionally fulfilling food.
So far I’ve only come across one site of myth deep in the impenetrable climes of Lil Bling’s mansion, a fountain of youth that Lil Bling had long emptied of its magical water and filled with a mysterious liquid called “Bling Juice” which seems to be made of two parts Ciroc to eighty parts lighter fluid.
