Finally, after countless albums, 50 Cent--the master of magnetic words and auspicious game has presented us with a treasure of philosophy: From Pieces to Weight.

For those of you unschooled in the history of 50 Cent, this book presents his story: from his upbringing in the mean streets of Queens to his rise from successful drug dealer to pin up rap star. It is even more amazing to note that this autobiography has no pictures, therefore relying on 50 Cent’s visionary words, “Bitch, I told you not to have nobody in my fuckin’ car” (150).

Indeed, this autobiography has the power to transform the ages! Or at least the age demographic of 14 to 28.

Fiddy Ain’t Mad Atcha

Many might be perturbed that 50 Cent has published a book. Some might say that there are writers out there who are more entitled, not some rapper who obviously has a speech impediment. But to all those wankstas I would like to state that From Pieces To Weight is an intellectual masterpiece, as peppered with deep thoughts as 50 Cent’s torso has been riddled with bullets. In fact, this autobiography is comparable to the very best in philosophy, religious theory and feminist idiocy—I mean, idiom.

This essay is a presentation of 50 Cent’s thoughts and words, compared and contrasted to such great minds as the Dali Lama, Confucius and That Really Smart Guy Who Had A Thing For His Mommy. This essay will prove that 50 Cent is not just a talented smack dealer, but also a giving soul (a soul so giving he’s willing to sell it for 2 grand—it’s dipped in platinum baby!).

Fiddy starts out his masterpiece by thanking those who helped him through his trials and tribulations:

Thank you to those who choose to play with the G-Unit…

MTV Books and Pocket Books

Interscope Records

Violator Management

Reebok

“Formula 50” Vitamin Water

Jacob & Co.

Paramount Pictures

Vivendi Games

and countless others who execute the vision

This epistle is touching to say the least. Fiddy is thanking those who fund him—like his mother who funded him with life and knowledge:

When I got home, my mom was pissed. She asked, “What the hell are you crying about?”…”There was this boy,” I told her… “he beat me up…”…She said, “Go back out there and fight him again. If you get your ass beat again, you’re gonna take it without a crying (8).

When young Fiddy returned triumphant from his preschool battle, he never forgot the debt he owed. To Reebok, that master of aero dynamic design and spiffy gel cushions—and the amazing invention of vitamin water, which infused him with the strength to soundly punch a kid’s lights out. It is these things that made Fiddy great. It is these things that deserve applause.

Also his mom. I guess.

Fiddy and Religious Theory

After Fiddy conquered this mild scuffle, he set his sights on a bigger turf war. One day, his grandmother enters his bedroom and asks young Fiddy to join her in religious participation. Fiddy denies this request.

“Boo-Boo said he’s not going to church anymore.”

“Hell,” my grandfather said. “The boy don’t wanna go to church, he don’t gotta go to no church” (40).

It is here that Fiddy’s grandfather bestows his own sapience, “Shit, I don’t gotta go to church to talk to God or to read the Bible (40).”

Clearly Fiddy’s grandfather had read the great works of Spinoza, who explained that God, an infinite being, contains infinite attributes in which no limits can be imposed. Therefore this infinite substance of God is indivisible and unitary. Fiddy’s granddad simply inferred that God is with all of us and that grandma should shut her slut hole if she knows what’s good for her.

Confucius and Shit

As one immerses themselves more and more in Fiddy’s book, the meat of Fiddy’s vision is soon discovered; rancid and slightly peeling off the bone, “Anyone who stands on the corner stands there in the entrepreneurial spirit because they really don’t want to be working for anyone” (35).

It’s all about getting rich—or trying to do so. This is nothing new. You can find pretty much the same sentiments in all sorts of philosophies—Samurai codes and shit like that. If Confucius says it, it’s wisdom. But when 50 Cent says it, he’s being negative (1).

Indeed, Confucius often wrote of the urge for man’s need to posses monetary goods, such as the hottest Hi-Tops on the block. “No pain, no gain in this rap game/For the fortune and fame in order to remain/Most real MC's learn to adapt to the change.”

Oh that was Canibus. Sorry.

Fiddy is also correct in his interpretation of Samurai Code. Some might say he’s watched too many Bruce Lee movies. But one must find his meaning by searching deeply. By penetrating as intensely as Fiddy would do to the ho down the block.

Forging on--Bushido, the warrior code of conduct for the Samurai has most certainly had an impact on Fiddy’s upbringing and knowledge of the world. Some necessary points in Bushido are:

1) Respect for Life and Death

2) To seek honor by looking inside the soul and confronting intimate fears

3) Know when to flush yo stash ‘fo the pigs come get ya

Before There Was Jesus, There Was Crack

As many already know, Fiddy spent a good portion of his life as a drug dealer, attempting to scratch out a life on the hot hardtop of the New York City streets. Fiddy built his drug empire from the ground up, he even cooked up crack in his own kitchen—which leads this author to award Fiddy with another title: Prestigious Baker.

But before Fiddy delves into the cold hard cash of his past—he must lend a little history lesson to his readers:

There was heroin, which came from morphine, which came from opium. Opium was around before Jesus. It was big in Asia, Europe, and the Middle East—they used it as medicine (5).

Here, Fiddy divulges with us a timeline of the world B.C. (Before Crack), and the fact that drugs have existed for a very long time—even before Jesus! And man, that guy was old. I bet Jesus never even touched a drug—which is surprising for a hippie.

Moving on:

Cocaine’s been around for a long time, too. But it hasn’t always been treated the way that it’s treated today. In 1863, Italians used cocaine to make a wine that even the pope loved so much that he raved about its ability to “spark the divinity of the soul”, or something like that. Twenty years later, Sigmund Freud, the father of modern psychology, called coke “magical” and couldn’t get enough of the stuff—he didn’t even stick to the wine. He went for the raw white—snorted it, injected it, painted it on his skin (6).

Fiddy’s knowledge of Freud’s life is as well developed as a shank crafted from a toothbrush. Freud constantly acknowledged that he took cocaine in small doses as a way to combat indigestion and depression. However painting cocaine on his skin was merely a way for Freud to “feel pretty”. And really, what is more attractive then a flabby Austrian covered in nose candy? Seriously. I’d like to know.

Fiddy and the War on the War on Drugs

As Fiddy blossomed into a beautiful young thug, he realized he needed to come to grips with life and death. He lived on the mean streets of Queens, where a man can get shot because he’s the head of a large cocaine cartel and people want to bring him down with chainsaws and guns and pointy knives—but he keeps striving for money because he’s an illegal Cuban immigrant played by an Italian actor with a lazy eye and he likes to sniff huge piles of coke that look like cake flour because he’s that badass and then he goes out in a blaze of glory with his “little friend”!

Oh, that was Scarface. Sorry.

Soon Fiddy makes the heartbreaking decision to push drugs on his street corner. This action is met with regret, pain, and sadness:

The tournament was a big event and I thought it would be a nice marketing move to show up at the game in my new car. I hadn’t been driving it long and figured that an eighteen-year-old cruising behind the wheel of a twenty-thousand-dollar SUV would leave an impact…I had the car looking nasty. It was hot. I had gotten it washed and waxed until it shone like black gold. I went to Canal Street and copped a bunch of new CDs to play from my Am/FM CD player with nine speakers (138).

Fiddy’s guilt at having to push crack onto fresh yutes (Man I love My Cousin Vinny!) is apparent in this paragraph, his pain only lessened as he blasts Biggie and drowns his sorrows in the odor of leather cleaner. But the reader can sense Fiddy’s resilience, his knowledge of the Randian philosophy quiet clear: Man, like all other living things, must act in order to survive and to do so he or she must determine the principles of prime action: selling lots and lots of coke to as many crack heads as you can.

Feminism and Fiddy—Bitch!

Many readers may find Fiddy’s view on the female gender to be rife with negativity. Some have labeled him a misogynist, misanthrope or—in extreme cases, a “fucktard”. But these weak definitions of Fiddy’s character must be met with suspicion. One need only to listen to Fiddy’s famous love ballad “Candy Shop” to put such ill rumors to rest:

I’ll take you to the candy shop/I’ll let you lick the lollypop/Go ‘head girl, don’t you stop/After you broke up a sweat you can play with the stick/I’m tryin to explain baby the best way I can (Candy Shop 50 Cent).

Fiddy’s sensitivity to the weaker gender speaks volumes. First, he offers his lady love a delicious confection, perhaps a jawbreaker or some sweetmeat. After she has swallowed his hard sugary candy, he invites her to explore “the stick”. A gracious and patient lover, he slyly infers that he can’t explain himself—he is overcome with wrought emotion for his new lady love. He will do anything for her, “If you be a nympho, I’ll be a nympho”. Really, this song is reminiscent of Carl Sandburg’s “Under the Harvest Moon”, Shakespeare’s “Shall I Compare Thee” and 2 Live Crew’s “Some Hot Head”.

In fact, this author daringly suggests that Fiddy is a purveyor of women’s rights and ideals. For instance, during a heated battle with his girlfriend Tanisha, Fiddy commits to restrain and thoughtfulness, “If she hadn’t been pregnant, I would have hit her so hard she wouldn’t have known what day it was (161).” It is nearly parallel to feminist Clare Boothe Luce’s wise words, “Male supremacy has kept woman down. It has not knocked her out. Especially when she’s carrying a drug dealer’s baby.”

Fiddy Rides the Bullet Ridden Rail of Enlightenment

While this essay has drawn strong parallels between Fiddy and many great philosophers, I have yet to divulge Fiddy’s true intellectual soul mate, the Dali Lama. Some of you probably question this choice. “Really, what has the Dali Lama done that is so important?”

Well my readers, the answer is The Dali’s nearly identical upbringing to Fiddy’s. Raised in the mean streets of Lhamo Dhondrub, The Dali (while strengthening his spiritual powers and telepathic abilities—much like Jean Grey), constantly battled (probably not) against the chupacubras, evil night dwelling creatures who sucked the blood from The Dali’s beloved herd of rare ivory goats. Under the cover of darkness The Dali fought valiantly with Vishnu by his side, unfurling his Cape Of Useful Proverbs cutting down the swarm of sticking despair that rose up with sharpened claws and bloodthirsty eyes which--

What was I talking about? Oh, sorry.

The Dali Lama, like Fiddy—bestows insight wherever he goes. But while The Dali is somewhat of a nag with his “peace” and “sandals” and “cool ass robe”—Fiddy demurs, hiding his real message under a shell of tough love:

I was excited because I knew I was going to get some pussy…if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with getting some pussy…all that really mattered to me was that she was there when I needed some pussy (74-77).

One might find these words garish—but one must not seek what is there but what isn’t there. By simply replacing one word with another, it becomes clear what Fiddy’s true intentions are:

I was excited because I knew I was going to get some enlightenment …if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with getting some enlightenment…all that really mattered to me was that she was there when I needed some enlightenment (74-77)

See? The Dali and Fiddy go hand and hand. But not literally. Fiddy don’t play that.

So to all you Ja Rules--take your beef and jerk elsewhere. Fiddy is here to stay. Now please go buy some “Formula 50” Vitamin Water. Fiddy has mouths to feed!