any given streetrat

rog’s birthday was stoopid in all the best ways. the first bar we started at was hella.corny and the fact that three black prep school grads was hanging out with their snoflakes like if it was “Any Given Sunday 2” was enough “oh, oscar, you are for sure going to hell for this jokes”

better music and more dancing downtown with a DJ that was getting on mah nerves at first (that Funkmaster Flex, let’s scratch up the opening with just the first two lines thrown in, sheet is annoying. punto) but then got better as he went back into time and played Crystal Waters, Tribe Called Quest, Run-DMC and then Ruben Blades… thats what im talkin about!

mara should really comment more on the rat in the subway incident cuz that shit was classic…

low.twenties b.boy comin’ back from a house jam probably somewhere in crooklyn looking to make it back home to the heights sporting baggy jean shorts and a XXXXL t-shirt chugging on some fruit punch in the 1/2 gallon container wit some new throwback nike bo.jacksons (red & blue on white)

as he’s makin the transfer from the F to the 2, he goes through the L station as your typical subway rat is sauntering (yes! sauntering!) through the platform. as he pauses to admire the rodents tenacity, said rodent steps right up to him!

“he aint even afraid of me… hell, he aint afraid of sheet!”

just then, the rat smells his kicks and then takes a bite!

“he aint afraid of nutin!”

not used to smell of new leather (and seeing it aint dat digestable), he scurries off to hide behind a pole next to the staircase to see who may be the next victim of his touch

money is still laughin to himself

i am stupefied

the ladies, mara & lovella, are freakin cuz they both have open toe footwear and are not ready to be the next harbingers of the plague

“c’mon, he’s gone!” i assure em though i have no idea where the lil bastard is and for some readon i get the feeling he still there, on 14th street, looking for some real cheese

kinda like “beat street” meets “the green mile” with a lil “even cowgirls get the blues” mixed in

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  1. Wow. That was truly enertaining.
    Here’s my Blair Witch mouse story.
    I’m chillin in the apt (back in the brooklyn days) living solo, enjoying some tv in the bedroom. It’s summer time, and I’m wearing my birthday suit. I hear a knock at the door. Strange, no one lives with me and it’s a knock at the bedroom door. maybe a painting fell or something. Well I open the door to find said mouse scurrying past. I scream, slam the door and realize I am trapped in my room. I call up my boy at the time.
    “H-hh ell-o?”
    “Honey, what’s wrong?”
    I think I hear him again and scream. This would probably be the part where the video camera would collapse. A good director would make sure it landed at my trembling feet. Point of interest. I am standing atop my matress, on a futon, 2 inches off the ground and thinking I’m SAFE? Point of interest part two, I’ve seen mice do the no bones slide under doorways. I know that dude can get in here. So my boy is on the phone and he gives me specific instructions.
    “Are you in your room?”
    “Are you wearing anything?”
    “Put some clothes on”
    “Are you wearing shoes?”
    (hmmm, when did I put those on?)
    So I keep the phone to my ear and get dressed (women have a talent for this)
    “Do you know where your keys & wallet are?”
    “Are you on the cordless?”
    “OK. Now I want you to turn on your CD player as loud as possible, and I want you to sing as loud as you can with it. Then , I want you, singing as loudly as you can to grab your keys and wallet and run out the door. Let me know when you’re in the hallway.”

    So there I am screaming at the top of my lungs (guess who was in the CD player? Stevie) So I’m singscreaming ‘Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing” and running top speed into the hallway. Once outside my door, still on the cordless…
    “I’m outside the door.”
    “OK Hang up the phone and call me when you get to your Uncle’s house.”
    Blah, blah, blah, later caught the mouse, you know, there’s no drama in a sticky trap so I guess this story’s over.
    Automat Kalashnikova

  2. Yo, what the hell parties did I miss???

    Dammit, Florida sucks! :-(

    See you Tuesday.

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