No one's a yuppie because everyone's a yuppie, a consummate consumer, for U.S. purposes, today. Even—you will not leave this sampler unconvinced—that unlikeliest of markets, black recording artists on the leading edge of the pop explosion called rap: yuppiness right out their dactylic assonance, shouting at the tops of their trochee'd rhymes across an impenetrable emptiness that they are there, here, here-and-now: like Us in their self-conscious difference, their congregation at the altar of electronic Self; with Us in their alien hate; at the deepest level one with the yuppie U.S.