Doggystyle, Beeahtch!

It's G's up, ho's down at the season's illest event, Snoop Dogg at Cricket Pavilion

By comparison to the Top Dogg's performance, The Game's opening set was weak, with Game constantly interrupting his own tracks, in various attempts to get the crowd amped. He seemed handicapped by the fact that some of his best songs, like "Hate It or Love It" and "How We Do," feature 50 Cent, an unwelcome reminder of Game's recent, nasty divorce from G-Unit.

Still, I was feelin' the fact that The Game was wearing a Suns jersey when he came out, which he later ripped off and threw into the crowd. Also, Game's tribute to a string of Afro-American and hip-hop heroes in "Dreams" was truly moving. Big ups to Game for some thoughtful, socially conscious lyrics.

In the pause between the Game and Snoop sets, the AC/DC Kelly Carlson and I step to the concessions for some frozen likker drinks and a bag full of kettle corn.

"My throat's sore," Jett whines. "I need something cold to drink."

"Give her a penis colada," I tell the old lady at the bar booth, slappin' down a Jackson. "Margarita with salt for me."

That's when two of the sweetest honeys in the house step up beside us to order some beverages: Christa and Nicole, who drove out from Scottsdale for the show. Christa is a tall, light-skinned piece of eye candy with an onion that has a pack of studs following her around. Nicole is smaller, and darker, the color of milk-chocolate Hershey's kisses. So you know the J-girl and I have to strike up a confab.

"Who're y'all here to see -- The Game or Snoop Dogg?" I ask.

"The Game," announces Nicole. "Snoop? That's from when I was like 14. The Game was lookin' good up there. Kinda ignorant, but sexy."

"You find ignorance sexy?" questions Jett of the curvaceous Christa.

"She does, not me," insists Christa. "I like 'em with a little more sophistication."

"A little more Scottsdale?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," says Christa. "But at least some education."

"Now there's something you wouldn't understand, Jett: standards," I blurt at J-Doggy-Dawg.

"Yeah, but if I had them, I wouldn't be hangin' with you, dorkus," she spits back, then switches gears. "Damn, check out that blonde over at the other bar booth with the fake boobs!"

"Good eye, kemosabe. Like they said on 9/11, 'Let's roll!'"

The midriff-baring blonde is with a brunette pal, and though she doesn't look quite as good as she did 40 feet away, she's still not bad, and neither is her pal. The brunette's name is Corey Two-Eagle. The blonde's, Angie Marton.

"I'm in this month's Playboy for this spread they're calling 'Real Desperate Housewives,'" explains Marton.

"Are you nude in it?" gulps the Jettster.

"Yes, I am," Marton explains. "I found out about the photo shoot, and since I'm a mom in Chandler, I figured I'd ride on the popularity of the whole Desperate Housewives phenomenon. I sent my photos via e-mail, and they called me the next day."

"Did you get to party with Hef at the mansion?" I query as the J-unit slobbers all over herself.

"I didn't," she replies. "I had a bikini contest to go to instead, but I'm glad I went to the contest because I won $5,000."

"You here for The Game or Snoop?"

"The Game. Snoop's a little too old for me. The Game's my age, and he's hot!" declares Marton, the MILF.

"He certainly does his push-ups," sighs the Jettster. "Too bad we can't inspire Belly Boy here to do the same."

"I can do 50 push-ups a day, Jett," I crack. "As long as you're beneath me."

Snoop's about to start up his ass-kicking set when we run into this handsome couple, Lyracist, an MC out of Maryvale, and his beautiful lady friend, Farah. Farah's got her Abercrombie and Fitch colla popped, and confides that she's a biochem major at ASU. Lyracist, 25, relates that he's been chasin' fame in the rap game since he was 15, and he's just now been working with a new manager in L.A.

"Things are finally starting to pay off for me and my crew," he explains. "In fact, my boy Atllas has got his album Hunger or Starvation droppin' Tuesday the 31st, so everyone cop that who's readin' this. Everybody out here needs to support everybody else. Then hopefully, one day, there'll be an Arizona cat out there on stage we're all coming to see."

"Hey, Kreme, come on," cries Jett, nudging me. "Snoop's about to start."

We say goodbye to Lyracist and Farah and head over to watch the aforementioned Snoop set. You never know. Even if I don't get to join the Doggfather's crew, maybe Lyracist will need someone to watch over his harem when he blows up. Stranger things have happened, my nizzles.

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