Wayne and Amy: Why Not

Lil Wayne and Amy Winehouse need to get together. Not necessarily a romance, although that would be superb. A-dub likes black Jews. If the prospect of making her own is what it takes to get her away from that Fielder-Civil vampire, I'm all for it. But in a less benevolent universe, I'll settle for a meeting of the minds, a crazy-to-crazy pow-wow.

Generous image of Amy; cracked-out skinny bitch image (and sadly, more realistic) of Amy.

You're no doubt familiar with the five-alarm lunacy and staggering talent of the bouffant the Brits call Wino: cancels shows, smokes crack, bloodies herself variously, and sings the hell out of "Rehab."

As I wrote in a previous post (yes, I'm quoting myself, humor me):

I could never have dreamed that someone would make girl group songs with rappers and Fiona Apple-level lyrics. It's like my inner child is waving hello to my outer adult.

The man; the face tats.

Lil Wayne--bearer of the spirit of Tupac--and his equally stratospheric brand of crazy may be less familiar. Tom Breihan of the Village Voice explains far better than I ever could, describing Wayne's recent performance at Hot 97's Summer Jam:

Rasping his come-ons, Wayne rolled on the floor, humped the stage, stuck his hand down his pants... That willingness to be a complete and utter freak is a huge part of what makes Wayne's superstardom end-run such a crazy story: this tatted-up little gargoyle mess gets Chris Brown screams because he's willing to believe that he'll get those screams, and he doesn't even switch up his syrup-addled libertine persona to get them... The crowd was equal parts euphoric and baffled; I'm not sure I've ever witnessed such a pure and grand-scale WTF reaction to anything.

Wayne doesn't just have face tats. He has eyelid tats. He also writes lyrics for the hip hop history books, like, I am the beast/Feed me rappers or feed me beats/I'm untame I need a leash/I'm insane I need a shrink.

These two have much in common, besides the tattoos: the freakish talent and the just plain freakishness. They both look poised to fall off the deep end at any moment, but they continue to eek out an existence nonetheless.

Amy, famously, is not fond of rehab. Well of course not! If you were a crackbrained genius, would you want to be in there with a bunch of regular people? She and Wayne need their own little rehab, away from all the functionality and the workaday stiffs.

Their disordered musical minds need each other; the rest of us can't possibly understand. If they could just be locked up together and crazy around for a while, I really think it could work. No drugs, no distractions. Just bounce ideas off each other until a new musical genre emerges. Camp for talented headcases! Lauryn Hill could be counselor.

It's a selfish plan, I admit. I want both of them to stay alive and keep my iPod fat and happy.

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