DISGRACELAND - Eazy-E: A Hidden Coke Stash, Domestic Terrorists, and Death Threats

Episode Date: May 30, 2023

Long before he created a paradigm-shifting hip-hop supergroup, Eazy-E lucked into life as a Compton drug dealer when he discovered a dead man’s hidden stash of money and cocaine. He used the lessons of hustling on the streets when he went legit and became a media mogul. He also became a target. He was extorted. His life was threatened. And it was later discovered that he was on the kill list of a white supremacist group that planned to start a war in the aftermath of the Rodney King trial and the L.A. riots.For a full list of contributors, see the show notes at disgracelandpod.com To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoicesSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is exactly right. Double Elvis. Disgraceland is a production of Double Elvis. The stories about EZE are insane. He lucked into life as a Compton drug dealer when he discovered a dead man's hidden stash of money and cocaine. He was on the kill list of a white supremacist group that planned to start a racial holy war

in the aftermath of the Rodney King trial in the L.A. riots. According to the FBI, he was extorted by a right-weller. extremist group that offered their arm protection following alleged death threats. The trials and tribulations of EasyE's life both on and off the streets were reflected in his music, great music, paradigm-shifting music, made with his gangster rap supergroup NWA and as a solo artist. Unlike that music I played for you at the top of the show, that wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my melotron called Disco Priscilla MK2. I played you that loop because I

can't afford the rights to take a bow by Madonna. And why would I play you that specific slice of bedroom story cheese could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on March 17, 1995, and that was the day that EZE announced to the world that he was suffering from AIDS, an announcement that shocked the hip-hop community and sent conspiracy theories into overdrive. On this episode, Hidden Stashes, Killless, Extortion, Bedroom Story Cheese, and Easy Mother fucking E. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is Disgraceland. Eric found the money. right where Horace had said it would be.

He reached under the abandoned house. His hand grabbed the paper bag. He opened it up and looked inside. It was all there, tightly wrapped piles of cash. But there was more than just money inside, more than Eric was expecting. There were bindles, too. Eric didn't know what the street value would be once he cooked it up into rocks and separated it into smaller baggies. But he knew it was more money than he'd ever seen before.

10, 20, 30 grand. Even for a high school dropout, Eric knew stolen cars and B&E's, but when it came to slinging dope, he had a lot to learn. So far, his only experience had been delivering drugs to buyers after they gave Horace the money.

Horace Butler was Eric Wright's cousin, but Horace Butler no longer had use for the money or the dope in that paper bag, because Horace was dead. shot seven times in his GMC truck at a traffic light while waiting to merge onto the tent. Horace's foot came off the brake pedal and his truck rolled backwards and hit a utility pole, which is where they found him. And now Eric had not just a wad of a dead man's dough.

He had the guy's entire supply, which meant that Eric Wright's reality was about to change. No more fucking around with stolen shit. He always said he'd never work for someone else. $3.35 an hour. To mop a floor? Fuck that. Eric Wright was going to make that money, real money. And it was going to be eating. Because what the hell else were you going to do in the city of Compton, South Central L.A. in 1985? In Compton, Hope was fading fast. Families were being ripped apart by drugs or by local gangs like the Bloods, the Crips, and the LAPD. LAPD's corrupt crash unit, that's community resources against street hoodlums. Didn't think twice about planting guns or drugs, not just at the scene of a crime, but at a scene, period. If you were black or brown and Compton at that time, the chances that you would be pulled over and unfairly harassed or unfairly arrested by the police were high. As high as Compton's murder rate, which at the time was three times per capita of that of Los Angeles as a whole. Unemployment was up,

jobs were down. In the early 80s, President Ronald Reagan pulled the plug on a federal initial to train workers and provide them with jobs and public service. And this was the exact same time that Reagan also declared a war on drugs. But Eric wasn't going to be like Ronnie Reagan's wife, Nancy, and just say no to a career as a drug dealer, especially when he was handed that career on a silver platter, or rather in a paper bag hidden underneath an abandoned house. Plus, stealing drugs was lucrative. So, he measured out Horace's stash and started slinging rocks in a neighborhood controlled by different

factions of Crips, and he made that money. He bought nice clothes, he bought nice cars, but he was successful because he played it safe. He sold only wholesale, and he sold only the people that he knew. He was gangster, but didn't get involved in the gang shit. He didn't give a fuck about the violence and all the bullshit that went along with it. Some days, he didn't even wear blue, the traditional color of the Crips. He just wanted to get rich. But just because Eric steered clear the violence of the streets didn't mean that he was safe from suicide. street violence. Dealers had beef with other dealers, and the more successful you became, the more your competition wanted a piece of you. They wanted your money. They wanted your women.

They wanted your life. In 1986, someone set Eric's Volkswagen on fire. And when someone pulls something like that, it stings your pride, hurts like a motherfucker. But maybe your first instinct is to keep your head down, stay out of the violence and bullshit like you have all along, and just keep making that money. But what does it say about you if you do let it sloth? It doesn't say you're a neutral Switzerland motherfucker. It says you're a fucking pussy, a punk-ass bitch. So you only have one option. You hit back.

Eric had the guy's car burned in retaliation, and suddenly he was in it. Business wasn't just business anymore. Business was protecting yourself and protecting your shit. Eric sold the remainder of Horace's stash, and now he was buying his coke from other suppliers, which took him deeper into the network of Compton dealers, deeper into the fucked up game that was Compton Street Life. It was a life of allegiances and territories and backstabings, a life of survival.

And sometimes one man's survival meant that another man had to die. Eric knew all it took was one crazy motherfucker with a gun for his life to end. And then some young hustler would take Eric's place just like he had taken the place of his dead cousin. So, like any good businessman who examines risk, who monitors the volatility in the market, and who is wary of increased competition, Eric Wright, just 23 years old. knew it was time to pivot. He couldn't play this game forever. He needed a new game,

one that wasn't so dangerous. He knew exactly what that would be. It was already happening, all around him. It was booming out of the sound system at Eves after Dark, a nightclub right there in Compton. Rappers like Ice Cube and his crew, CIA, aka Criminals in Action, well, the record label made the change to crew in action.

DJ Ella and Dr. Dre, the world-class wrecking crew, fucking with your eardrums. But the music, needed something else. It needed authenticity, which Eric had. That authenticity mixed with the raw talents of the musicians Eric watched in the club every weekend could create something new, something that the market wasn't expecting, something that reflected a reality that no one outside of Compton knew anything about. It would bear witness to the strength of street knowledge.

It would take Eric Wright straight out of Compton and straight into the lives of millions of people all over the world. And just like dealing drugs used to be, this new business venture was going to be motherfucking easy. NWA, the hip-hop supergroup that shocked Americans and made Dr. Dre and Ice Cube household names, was supposed to be the thing that helped Eric Wright go legit and keep him safe. And at first, it did. It turned him from Eric Wright, the Compton drug dealer, into EasyE, the group's libidinous street-tuff pint-sized ringleader. It also turned him into a music mogul. Ruthless Records, the label he co-founded with industry veteran Jerry Heller,

released NWA's unprecedented debut album straight out of Compton, an easy solo debut, Easy Does It, in 1988. Both sold millions. Music made EasyE richer than the streets ever did. He bought more cars, he bought more houses, and women. If Easy thought he was swimming in pussy before, he was drowning in it now. His sexual appetite was never satisfied. They called him the community dick, because he fucked a lot.

He fucked when he was supposed to be doing other things, like working. And he fucked because he liked to fuck. He fucked to win bets. Seriously, he had an ongoing competition with a friend that they called baby races where the guy who got the most women pregnant was the victor. Shocker, easy one. He rarely used protection and slept with countless women, which led not only to his fathering at least ten children,

but to a steady stream of paternity suits. Unlike EZE's sexual stamina, however, NWA wasn't built to last. Ice Cube left the group first, convinced he wasn't getting properly compensated. He was even more convinced that Jerry Heller was a snake and was fucking him over. Then Dr. Dre bounced too, with the help of a blood street gang affiliate, a former defensive end for the Los Angeles Rams turned music mogul. Shug Knight brought that gangster shit to the world of gangster rap. If he wanted you to do something, you did it.

And if you didn't, something bad happened. Which is why EZE, one of the most fearless dudes in the game, signed on the dotted line to release Dr. Dre from his contract when Shug told him to. Hold up. If you're thinking, Jake, you're glossing over all this NWA shit. Well, okay, true, I am glossing over it. But only because we already released a two-part episode on NWA. If you're interested in learning more about the group that put West Coast rap on the musical map,

you can hear all about that in season four of Disgraceland. Okay, now back to our story about EasyE. Easy took Drey's departure personally, but not just as friends, as business partners. Per their original contract, Dre still owed ruthless more records, even if Shug's strong-armed Easy into signing some bitch-ass paper that said otherwise. Enter Jimmy Iyevin, co-founder of Interscope Records. Jimmy had a solution. Interscope would pay ruthless in Death Row for the right to release Dre's solo debut album, The Chronic,

and Easy would further benefit by receiving. to the royalties. Dre used the chronic to lob disses at Easy, but Easy laughed all the way to the bank. He pocketed somewhere between 25 and 50 cents per unit sold, and the chronic went on to sell over 3 million copies, so you do the math. Shug did the math, and he didn't like the solution to that particular equation. Furthermore, Easy knew that a guy like Shug Knight was going to do what he had to do in order to make things better for Dre and for anyone in the death row family by any means necessary.

It was the same bullshit as he thought he left behind when he stopped selling goat. He and Shug may as well have been letting each other's cars on fire. Once again, Easy found himself playing that game of survival. Once again, his haters were knocking on his door. And once again, he didn't feel safe. And I'm not just talking about Shug Night. There were plenty of people who wanted to see Easy E, dead.

The 20-year-old leader of the Fourth Reich Skinheads, a white supremacist group out of Long Beach, thought he was talking to a friend of the cops. cause. He thought the guy was a fellow believer in a large-scale racial holy war, a war that would, as the 20-year-old himself put it, really stir up the masses. But the guy he was talking to was nothing of the sort. The guy was an undercover federal Asian, and he listened as the leader of the Fourth Reich told him everything. Like how they tossed them all-toff cocktail at a synagogue in Orange County, even though the fucking thing wouldn't explode, how pipe bombs were better. Like the one they

used to blow up the car of an Asian family in Lakewood. That shit went off hard. Hard. Even harder, though, was what they planned next. They were going to bomb the first African Methodist Episcopal Church, and then they were going to shoot any members of the congregation who didn't perish in the blast. The 20-year-old leader of the Fourth Reich showed the agent they were capable. He showed off semi-automatic rifles, an arm Yeager and an SRS, smokeless black powder, ski mass, fucking bayonets. If the Fourth Reich had its way, the summer of 1993 was going to be all kinds of fucked up. Three months earlier, in April, one year after four LAPD cops were acquitted of all but one of the charges brought against them in the savage beating of Rodney King, one year after Los Angeles took to the streets in protest in frustration and disgust and literally set the city on fire,

one year after a white trucker was pulled from his trailer and beaten relentlessly, a beating that, like the Rodney King beating, NWA and Straight Outta Compton had predicted in their music. One year after all that, almost to the day. Two of those, acquitted LAPD cops were convicted in federal court of violating Rodney King's civil rights. Their sentencing was set for that summer. Tensions were once again high throughout Los Angeles, and radical extremists like the Fourth Reich skinheads used that tension to continue to pummel Southern California with fear. They planned their church bombing to coincide with the announcement of the cop sentencing. But they never got the chance.

In July of 1993, the Bureau wrapped up its 18-month investigation and arrested three of the alleged 50 members of the hate group, including its 20-year-old leader. The Fourth Reich was flying so far under the radar that many of the Southern California's preeminent hate crime investigators had never even heard of them. And their plots of violence and destruction were so fucked up that another hate group, the White Aryan resistance, actually issued a statement to distance themselves. Imagine that, a hate group, so despised that even other hate groups hate you. As it turns out, the Fourth Reich had other plans besides bombing a church.

They had a list, a kill list. On that list were prominent male members of the black community. Rodney King, Louis Farrakhan, Reverend Al Sharpton, and EasyMuher fucking E. Easy E never got a heads up that he was on any list. The feds didn't pick up the phone to alert him that his life was in danger. He heard about it the way the rest of the world did, in the newspaper, after the arrests. And why? Was it because, as the feds later explained, that the Fourth Reich so-called,

kill list was just that, a list of names with no proof of an actual plot and therefore was not considered a serious threat? Or, as EZE himself suspected, did the U.S. government simply not give a fuck if he lived or died? Remember, this is the United States Federal Bureau of Investigation we're talking about. The same organization that's subjected NWA to a humiliating drug surge at a show in Cincinnati. The same organization that accused Easy and his band of using their music and their tour merely as a front to sling crack. The same organization that sent NWA a letter. I mean, hold up.

That wasn't a letter. EZE wasn't fucking pen pals with the FBI. That was a thinly veiled threat. The feds had wanted Easy to disappear for years. If some racist piece of shit armed to the gills wanted to hunt EZE down and blow them away, while they'd just be doing the U.S. government a favor, right? I'm speaking from the point of view of the FBI, of course, or so when EZE's thinking. It didn't matter that EZE had gone legit.

or that he was building ruthless records into a major player in the music industry that empowered not just black artists, but women in Latinos, too. The FBI, the police, the media, they didn't see the other side of EasyE. They didn't see that he was a devoted father to all of his children, that he took busloads of underprivileged kids to Magic Mountain, that he gave to make a wish and City of Hope on the regular. Of course, there were two sides to Easy. There was the provider side, the side that took care of his family and the others who were

less fortunate. And then there was the flip side. The side that proved that his violent and misogynistic lyrics weren't just quote-unquote street talk as he once rode them off as. And that EZE lit gophers on fire for entertainment and fired a BB gun into the head of one of his many girlfriends. Complicated, nuanced duality. Going legit did not tame EZE. He remained authentic to a fault for better and for worse. Not or for worse and for worse. A real Compton City G, unlike Dr. Dre, who in Easy's mind was a phony, nothing but a studio gangster. But that didn't stop Dre from talking shit about E and Ruthless Records like they had done him wrong. Easy hit the studio.

He cooked up a new track. It had the laid-back vibe of Dre's new shit. That same high-pitched ghetto whistle. He knew that would get under Dre's skin when he heard it. And if that didn't, Easy's verse was would. The trap was one big diss, the whole fucking song. Not just Dre, but all the other phony bitches he was hanging with now. Motherfuck Dre, Motherfuck Snoop, and Motherfuck Death Row.

The track titled Real Motherfucking G's or Real Compton City Jee's for the radio edit was a hit in the fall of 1993. The EP it was featured on sold over 2 million copies. The song held Easy Save Face from the humiliation of getting eaten alive and a beef with his former bandmate. But it didn't clear all that worry from Easy's mind. And it didn't help him sleep at night. They'll be right back after this. Word, word, word.

Although ruthless records continue to grow in the mid-90s, continue to develop a deep roster of diverse talent, like the Jewish rap group Blood of Abraham, the female duo Manasatua, Latin MC, Kid Frost, and then unknown, boom thugs in harmony. EasyEase record label was also in need of developing its non-musical payroll. I'll give you three reasons why. White supremacists, the FBI, and Death Row Records.

It was only a matter of time before someone or something made a real threat on Easy's life. First came Mike Klein. Jerry Heller hired him as Ruthless's security director. Klein was ex-Israeli's security forces, or so they said. No one really knew exactly where the guy came from, but it was clear he didn't fuck around. According to a story in Vibe magazine, before he relocated to L.A., Klein led a group of commandos in Lebanon to capture terrorists who had blown up a bus full of children. You breathed a little easier with Big Mike standing next to you in the room. Ditto for the 300-pound Samoan dudes, Jacob and John, aka the twins,

that had one job, protect easy. Allegedly that was the same reason Klein and Heller hired the Jewish Defense League. The J.D.L's stated mission was to protect Jews from anti-Semitism by any means necessary. But those violent means got them labeled an extremist group by the Southern Poverty Law Center and domestic terrorists by the FBI. Witnesses who visited the ruthless office during this time recall seeing, quote, Israeli soldiers wielding Uzi machine guns,

which is probably not the first thing you expect to see when you step foot inside a record label's headquarters. Just a few years later, however, in 1997, the FBI launched an investigation into the group that found that they had actually been extorting EZE. And not just easy, but also the recently murdered Southern California hip-hop star Tupac Shakur. The elaborate scheme involved phony death threats via a phone call,

followed by an author of armed protection, for a hefty fee, of course, and ended with the assurance that the so-called threat had been eliminated in one form or another. The FBI never filed charges. After the investigation was closed, a spokesman for the JDL reiterated that the organization had great working relationship with ECE. But if the FBI's findings were actually true, if the JDL was running a scam that had easy-thinking these days were numbered, It wouldn't have been all that hard to pull off. Just look at easy state of mind at that time.

He was constantly looking behind his back. He was convinced that people were out to get him, as if he was hustling on the streets of Compton all over again. But he wasn't a 20-something hustler. He was 30 years old. And still, motherfuckers wanted his money, his women, his life. Despite all the increased protection around him, the paranoia settled in.

So did the sleep deprivation. Easy to know who to trust anymore. He started to smoke weed, like a lot of weed, which honestly probably wasn't the greatest idea seeing that he battled belts of bronchitis since he was a kid. The paranoia, the exhaustion, the chronic, it all started to take its toll. And it got him thinking,

what the fuck was really going on with Jerry Heller? He never knew which route Jerry was going to take when he went home from the office each day. There was a time when being in business with Jerry was good, back when he leveraged his extensive career to open doors. for Easy and NWA. But now, Jerry was closing his door, tucked safely inside a house

with a growing gun collection and a brand new security system. Meanwhile, Easy kept hearing the same shit about Jerry Heller that he'd heard for years. Dude as a snake. Dude is fucking you just like you fuck Cube and Dre and everyone else. You think you're equals with Jerry Heller? Motherfucker makes you work twice as hard

and pays you half as much for the pleasure. So in February of 1995, Jerry Heller received a letter ending his partnership with EZE and Ruthless Records. Easy may have written it himself, but it would soon become apparent to Jerry that it may have been written by a man who wasn't all there. Damn, Eazy, you're going to freeze to death out there. This ain't California. You've got to cover your shit up. EasyE ignored the warnings of the guys in Bone Thugs in Harmony and ventured out into the winter night with no jacket and his Jerry curls still wet. He was in New York City to promote Bone Thugs with an appearance on YoMTV rap.

The air was cold, and the wind was biting, but Easy was tough. Besides, his crew soon found their way off the street and into a warm club called The Tunnel and Chelsea, where DJs spun an eclectic mix of tunes across five rooms. It was there that Easy ran into his former NWA group member, Ice Cube. There was no animosity, no beef. Cube never had any beef with Easy in the first place. His beef was with Jerry. And now that Jerry was out of the picture, they could talk about the future.

And so the conversation between Ice Cube and EasyE that night at the tunnel turned to an unexpected but natural topic, reuniting NWA. Cube said he was down. That part was easy. The hard part would be convincing Dre, or maybe the hard part would be easy working up the nerve to ask Dre given their years of standoffs and disc tracks. Give me a call, Cube said, if you can work out your feud.

And that was a huge fucking if. It was an if that Easy didn't even get a chance to explore. He returned to L.A. with a bad cough. Fucking New York. Probably should have listened to his crew after all when they told him the bundle up. For weeks, it lingered, and then it got worse, so bad that Easy could hardly breathe when he was in the middle of a coughing fit. Then the pains in his chest started, like someone had his lungs in a vice. Mike Klein did what he was hired to do.

He drove Easy to the Norfolk Community Hospital emergency room. Everyone, doctors included, figured it was easy's history with bronchitis. Maybe chronic asthma, or maybe it was just all that chronic, period. He was released to go back home, but the cough never went away. On February 24, 1995, Easey went back to the hospital, this time to Cedar Sinai Medical Center in Beverly Grove. Doctors gave him antibiotics to treat an infection in his lungs, but they were still perplexed by what was causing the problems.

They ordered a full panel of tests, and those tests gave them an answer. But it wasn't bronchitis, and it wasn't a heart. asthma, and it didn't have anything to do with the amount of weed Easy was smoking. The test showed that EasyE was HIV positive, and within a matter of days, his condition escalated from HIV to full-blown AIDS. It wasn't just shocking. It was hard to believe that a person who exhibited no symptoms of HIV for so long suddenly found himself with full-blown AIDS, that Tamika Woods, Easy's girlfriend of four years,

tested negative for the virus, and the children tested death. negative two. It was also hard to believe because in the mid-90s, even though AIDS was the leading cause of death for Americans age 25 to 44, and even though around 30 million adults and children worldwide had HIV, routine screening for HIV was yet to be commonplace. And the stigma surrounding the virus remained rooted in fear and homophobia. AIDS was still labeled as a gay man's disease, even though anyone who had unprotected sex was at risk. Now, after years of increasing his protection in the form of bodyguards after living in fear of a clear and present danger in the form of one of his rivals. It was his failure to use protection during his prolific sexual

conquests that actually got him. He never saw it coming. EZ was 31 years old. He couldn't even sit up in his hospital bed. On March 16, 1995, he shocked the hip-hop community in the world when he announced through a written statement that he had contracted AIDS. Ten days after that, he was dead. Easy E was dead, but the FBI were still following him. Or rather, they were following a lead to chase down tapes. Tapes of Easy's unreleased music that Ruthless Records plan to issue, and, as posthumous records by beloved artists often do,

make the label a shitload of money. But the tapes were gone. Two titanium suitcases of recordings stolen right out of the trunk of Easy's Mercedes. The feds tracked down the thief all the way to Ontario, Canada, and when he was confronted, he swore. he wasn't actually a thief. He claimed that Easy gave him those tapes before he died, and that furthermore, someone at Ruthless gave him $12,500 to set up a satellite office in Canada. Whether or not that was the truth, it quickly became obvious that someone was attempting to undermine

the post-Easy era of Ruthless Records, which was currently worth around $30 million and was being overseen by an unlikely person. Easy's widow. Temeca Woods, now known as Tamika Woods-Rite, Easy's longtime girlfriend, though certainly not Easy's only lady friend, married Easy in a small ceremony in his hospital room, after which a will was drafted that made Tomika and Easy's attorney co-executors of his estate. The next morning, he was transferred to the ICU. Less than two weeks later, he was gone. The rumors kicked up immediately.

Tomica was making a brazen cash grab for Easy's fortune. Easy wasn't of sound mine when he signed those papers and said, I do. Easy Mutherfucking E, a husband? No fucking way. And then there were the allegations. Easy owes me money. Easy knocked me up. Easy gave me AIDS. Jerry Heller accused Tamika of not operating in Easy's best interests.

Mike Klein said Easy was forced to sign his trust in his marriage certificate. Opinions are like assholes, Tamika said in a 1998 interview, her tone echoing her late husbands. As far as anybody else who might be saying stuff, I could give a damn. Still, Jerry Heller sued. So did Mike Klein. Tamika settled with Klein out of court. She countersued Jerry Heller, claiming fraud and misuse of company funds. She later settled for an undisclosed sum and a clause that prohibited either party from talking shit.

As for those missing tapes of unreleased EZE music, the FBI never found them. No charges. Case closed. When it comes to the case of EZE, many of his friends and family are not satisfied with the narrative that he simply contracted AIDS from unprotected sex. Those in doubt often point to the fact that he didn't pass the virus onto his many partners, though there have been claims by some over the years. And there's also the culture of conspiracy that surrounds 1990s gangster rap and hip-hop. Look no further than Tupac Shakur, gone down the year after Easy died,

or the notorious BIG who met a similar fate six months after Tupac. And just like the conspiracy theories about the suspicious deaths of Tupac and Biggie, the wild stories about what people think really happened to each. EasyE, continue to make the rounds. Jerry Heller did it. The U.S. government did it. White supremacists did it. Acupuncture needles contaminated with HIV did it.

That last theory actually gained some traction when, in 2003, after his release from his latest stint in California prison, Shug Knight made an appearance on Jimmy Kim alive. If you shoot somebody, you go to jail forever, Shug said, reflecting on his lifestyle and his recent incarceration, before offering up his own crazy take on the sign of the time. They got this new thing out. People sell them all the time. They get blood from somebody with AIDS and then they shoot you with it. He made a gesture like he was pushing a syringe in the Kimmel's arm.

It's a slow death, an easy ye thing. And then he laughed. I'm Jake Brennan. And this is Disgraceland. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis. Credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page. at disgracelandpod.com. If you're listening as a disgrace land all-access member, thank you for supporting the show, we really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now

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