Rollin’ With SNOOP

I It’s a chilly Monday night in L.A., and as our red Cadillac cruises down Sunset Boulevard, what started as a fun night out with the artist once and forever known as Snoop takes a decidedly scary turn. “I’ma switchblade your f—kin’ arse!” yells the driver. “Shut the f—k up!” His name is Joe Cool, and unfortunately the guy he’s talking to is me. The guy sitting next to me is Snoop. That Snoop. The Snoop who was born Calvin Broadus Jr and has gone variously by “Doggy Dogg” (’90s), “Dogg” (naughts) and “Lion” (present day). Snoop seems to be enjoying the situation. Me? Not so much.

The night begins significantly less shabbily, as team MAXIM heads out into the SoCal night with Snoop, Snoop’s entourage, and $848 of MAXIM’s money for him to spend as he pleases. First on the agenda is a shopping spree. Where does a superstar rapper head to clothe himself? Rodeo Drive? A private showroom on Melrose? Think again.

“This shit is off limits