I guess this dad will do anything to get some father/son time! It is being reported that on Friday, March 9, has-been rapper Coolio was allegedly arrested during a routine traffic stop. And if this isn’t the cutest thing ever I don’t know what is: He is currently been housed in the same jail as his son! Isn't this quite the turn of the screw – Coolio is following in his son's footsteps! Doesn’t that just give you the warm fuzzies all over? I know my whole body is tingling.

It’s reported that law enforcement pulled over a Nissan Versa, that Coolio was a passenger in, for a routine traffic violation early Friday morning. It is reported that the cops ran Coolio's name in the system and noticed he had two active bench warrants out for his arrest stemming from multiple traffic violations. (In 2009, Coolio was arrested at the Los Angeles International airport on suspicion of crack possession – so at least this is an improvement!)

Allegedly, the Gangsta’s Paradise singer was arrested and taken to Clark County Detention Center -- the same glorious place where his son Grtis Ivey (what the hell kind of name is that!? How do you even pronounce that? Grrrtease? Gurtus? I don’t know, my mind just melted) is also spending time for allegedly teaming up with a Vegas hooker named Shantrice in order to rob some unfortunate dude at gunpoint. Classy!

Sounds like Coolio should be out in no time but while in the same lock-up, maybe the father/son duo can use the opportunity to catch up and maybe even play a little ball? And if they are really lucky they may be able to squeeze in game of “Don’t Get Shanked” or everyone’s favorite jail pastime “Don’t Drop the Soap.” Father's Day clearly came early this year for these two -- let's hope they make the most of it!

Love and misdemeanors,
Meg!

P.S. I’ve had 32 jobs since graduating college, and for two strange, sexy months of my life I was at a promoter for an R&B and hip-hop club in Santa Monica, CA. A hip-hop club promoter entailed: walking around a dimly lit bar, having D bags say, “Hey, I like your glasses,” and getting wasted people to sign up for our “VIP guest list” (AKA our email and phone list), so I could call them and harass them into coming to the club the following Friday. So all-in-all, it was a pretty magical experience. It was pretty much the same chachi dudes and scantily clad chicks every week, until one night Coolio came in. I could tell it was him because I know what Coolio looks like, plus when I approached him, he signed up on our guest list as – “Coolio” – which only confirmed my suspicions. Upon very little prodding, Mr. Cool put down his name and number (no email) on the list. And I was elated! I had Coolio’s number – and I was totally gonna use it! My eighth-grade self was dying! However, much to my dismay, two weeks later, I accidentally threw out the piece of paper with his number on it. But just know that at one point: I, Meg Swertlow, had Coolio’s number.