I’m writing this from a café in Brooklyn. Someone has burned some eggs and the smoke is roasting my eyes in their sockets. But I feel good. This place is alive – and soon enough, I’ll be back in Detroit, up to my ears in snow, with my thumb planted firmly in my ass.

Interestingly enough, however, my trek to New York – originally intended as an opportunity to cover vaunted NYC garage punk fest Cavestomp -- has resulted in the discovery of something supremely “LA” -- disgustingly, offensively and really entertainingly LA.

Last night, during a van ride from the Upper East Side to Williamsburg, a friend of mine was blasting what she refers to as her “Urban Mix” from an iPod. It was a great combo, some Lil’ Kim, Missy, etc. – but the track that really got my attention was a jam called "My Dick" by a guy named Mickey Avalon. In it, three MCs get down on a “Yo momma” style insult rap comparing the fabulous qualities of their members with the paltry manhooditude of their rivals. It’s appalling, juvenile, hilarious and thoroughly infectious.

After further investigation (and more impressive, vintage Casio-inspired tracks), I’ve decided that Avalon – a white street-hustling, dope dealing, former male prostitute from Hollywood -- might be the most interesting artist I’ve heard all year.

When I say vulgar, I mean vul-gar. Avalon’s lifestyle choices have armed the Iggy/Sean Penn/ Mark Bolan-looking MC with an arsenal of vivid material, the nature of which makes Eminem look like Gandhi. Apathetic and anemic-looking, with a tattoo that reads “Thank You” across his lower abdomen (nice!), Avalon’s sordid back history appears to be as dynamic as his seductively mealy-mouthed delivery. And ironically, the rich, LA, Malibu Barbie set that he rips on so freely in jams like "Jane Fonda," "So Rich So Pretty" and "Waiting to Die" (sample lyric: “I like a girl who eats and brings it up, a sassy little frassy with bulimia”) has embraced the MC as the Hollywood underground’s hottest new sex symbol.

If you have the kind of constitution that will allow for creative, off-color observations that involve everything from breast implants to HIV, Mickey’s your man. Check out his self-titled debut on his own Shoot To Kill Music label. It’s crazy toxic.

Wendy Case is the MOLI View's contributing editor for Arts & Entertainment.