I thought I was going to have a lot of trouble with this record. I think of Kanye West as the king of douchebags, and have for quite a while now. Yeah, I’ve heard some of his stuff before, and it is pretty good, but usually his larger-than-life obnoxious presence counters any joy that I may get out of Gold Digger.
This album is perfect, though. And I don’t mean perfect in the 10.0 on Pitchfork sense—it definitely has its flaws, and can drag every now and then. No, this album fits Kanye West perfectly. It’s massive, ambitious, pretty good, and ultimately, believes it’s better than it actually is.
So it turns out that having lots of preconceived notions of Kanye West and his massive ego only make for a better listening experience. Instead of trying to combat or even counter the numerous hurtful accusations and generalizations made about him, he just wears them—almost proudly. Kanye is who he is, and I think he realizes that trying to fight that is futile. Truth is, his music would suck if his ego were in check.
What makes MBDTF so great is that it gives you unrestricted access to the darker regions of Kanye West’s brain, a scary place to be (the official language is CAPS LOCK). Take Hell of a Life, for instance, an entire track about the pains that come with falling in love with a porn star. Runaway serves as an even better window into this man’s mind. It’s 9 minutes long, and Kanye goes all over the place, rapping mainly about women troubles—that’s right—Kanye West has girl problems.
Kanye West won me over right away with 30 Rock and South Park references, and kept me interested throughout because he’s such an insane person. All I got to say: damn.
“I ordered the jerk, she said you are what you eat.”
Swole Ear 
Day 69. (Insert Butthead laugh here).