We like

There's this cat named Eli Porter who appears to be possessed with the talent to take a dried-out genre down the path of greatness. Either that, or homie was strapped to a chair Clockwork Orange–style and forced to watch a nonstop barrage of rap videos featuring the same insidious images of bling, bitches, hos, cash, and strippers, causing an inevitable mental breakdown. Whatever happened, we're enjoying the results.