With the other guys, it made sense.
Chamillionaire: The tech junkie? The basketball fan? The guy so confident in himself that he created a whole new unit of money measurement and then named himself after it? Of course he'd be on Twitter.
Bun B: He was a little late jumping in, but the elder statesman of Houston hip-hop absolutely needed to be on Twitter. He's Bun honking B, regarded as one of the wisest, most insightful people in the hustle. Everyone needs more Bun B.
Lil Flip: Duh. He's Flip. How else is anyone going to keep up with the snowstorm of mixtapes each day?
Slim Thug: He makes rape jokes, sex jokes, poop jokes, actively engages in feuds, actively engages in incendiary conversation just because, enjoys posting pictures of naked fat women; in short, he was built for Twitter.
Trae: It seemed wayward at first - how could one of the rawest guys in the city find any interest in anything that employed the use of the word "tweet"? - until you realized that he has built his entire career around making himself as available to his fans as possible. Trae is the people and the people are on Twitter.
But Z-Ro? On something as idyllic as Twitter? The guy who has painted a picture of himself as a real-life, living, breathing Boogeyman? The guy who has basked in his own ability to shoot at women or open up a chest plate simply because he couldn't think straight? The universe seemed more likely to cave in on itself before he would ever make a hashtag joke.
Alas, Rother Vandross is officially now on Twitter. There was speculation at first, same as when Scarface peeked in for a bit to see what the fuss was about, but Ro was drawn into confirmation by an irksome fake Z-Ro Twitter account yesterday.
Frankly, it's raised more questions than answers: Is the apocalypse upon us? They get the Internet in Hell? I'm considering following him: Is it possible to be murdered through Twitter? And so on.
But really, there's only one question that needs to be asked: Will this, in any way at all, affect Z-Ro's legacy?
It seems silly to assume that it will, but that doesn't make it a less interesting conversation, which makes it about as real as it needs to get.
This is from our write-up of Ro's Let The Truth Be Told, which appeared as No. 11 on the Greatest Houston Rap Albums of All Time list:
[Z-Ro is] the rare tough-guy rapper who wholly understands the futility of being a tough-guy rapper, and that realization tinges everything he does with an amount of desperation that endears him to seemingly everyone without allowing him to personally connect with anyone... It's madly ironic that he's talked about his heartbreak and loneliness so perfectly that it's provided a level of fame that has only magnified each.
That's always been a big part of his appeal; as fun as it is when he's in Tough Guy mode, Ro has always been at his most meaningful when he's dissecting his own mortality. He's always appeared to do so most capably when his fingernails have been scratching against the rawest part of his heartbreak.
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Through now, he has existed only in the worst slums of the city, in the ugliest parts of our imagination, toiling, suffering, withering. (Admittedly, that is a bit of a stylistic representation.) His destitution has been, for lack of a more appropriate way to describe it, so miserable that it's become poetic.
But there is no poetry in Twitter. There is no depth in a retweet. He's now never more than an @ sign away from a woman talking about the unfriendliness of the zipper of her jeans or whatever other blather anyone at anytime feels like tweeting. And that's weird to try to wrap your brain around.
Can Twitter really have any sort of impact on his legacy? Of course not. Another shitty Rap-a-Lot repackaging marketed as a new Z-Ro album? Yeah, definitely. But not Twitter.
Though that doesn't make it any less ironic that he's on there. Or cool. Or strange. Or awful. Or excellent.