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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

To' up from tha Flo' up

My phone was going off again, but I didn't mind letting it ring. I was jamming the newest track from my best friend Lil' John, who begged me to use it as my ringtone. On the second chorus ("Yeah! All right! Yeah!") I picked up. Keisha moved her head out of my lap.

"Ain't nobody told you to stop, ho!" I barked. She resumed.

"Uh, Zshane?" the startled voice on the other end said. It was Joey Honey. Again.

"What it do, big baby?" I took a sip from my jewel-encrusted chalice. Mmm. Lean.

"I--I had some ideas for some tracksh, and I was hoping you could shech it out. I was able to get the rightsh from Mega Man 7, and I got a little shomething already put down. Here--" He put the phone up to the computer speaker.

It was, unmistakably, the sound of the boss stages from Mega Man 7, sampled, looped, and put over a funky drum beat. A rooster crowed every other measure. A baby crying, the sound of traffic. Then, in the background, someone yelling in Chinese. Damn.

"That's pretty ill, bro," I said truthfully. It was bizarre, his talent. The guy is socially autistic, hasn't gotten laid since the Carter administration, and dances like a dead parakeet. But for some reason he could transform the Pong soundtrack into a jam that made you want to dance and screw at the same time, which is what I was doing when he called.

"Well, do you think it'sh good enough for you to flow over? I mean, I sent you thoshe other 27 tracksh, and you shaid they'd be good enough for you to wipe your ash with, but I thought I'd give it another shot."

The truth was that I'd rapped over those other beats, but changed the tempo to avoid having to pay him any royalties. I paid for my fleet of Bentleys with it. Something about the way he talked just made me want to take advantage of him. But I felt kind of bad.

"Switch on your computer, Honey, I'm bout ta give you a gift."

I freestyled over the phone for him, and I heard him clamoring around his cluttered computer desk, trying to capture each gem that came from my mouth.

"There ya go, playa. Call that one "We Gettin' To' up Tonight♪," ya heard?"

"You got it, Zane! Thanksh a lot!"

I hung up. I looked down at Keisha. A spider web had grown between her chin and my crotch.

"Aight, girl. Get up. Let's go get somethin' ta eat."


Blogger Cibbuano said...

I just don't know what to think about you cats in Texas. You habaneros are messing up my carefully constructed stereotypes of southern Americans.

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Blogger Ben said...

What? Macho,passionate, soccer-fanatics?

Oh.. Southern Americans.

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