I've got gold, I've got funky...
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So I walk into a place this morning and dude is all sitting there with a notepad on his lap and a pen between his teeth. "Getting down to business?" I asked. "Yeah," he said, "I'm starting a committee." "A committee," I exclaimed, "What for?... Wait, is it to get me off the block because I say my rhymes loud and I say them non-stop?" "Well," he should have replied, "It is more for the fact that being bad news is what you're all about, and, of course, that time when you went to White Castle and you got thrown out..." Instead, he said, "No, it has to do with neither the volume nor the frequency of your rhymes," or, at least, he offered a similarly humorless response, although one more indicative of the fact that he hadn't heard a word I said. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that things went downhill from there until the point when we could no longer stand to be in each others company, probably having something to do with the juice that I have. The moral here is that one would be wise to keep in mind that referencing Beastie Boys lyrics does not always ensure positive interpersonal interactions, even on the most hip-hoppingest of weekdays. Nobody does that anymore, right? The hip-hop Thursday thing, I mean.
Comments (5)
For those in the know .... White Castle burgers are called "sliders" .... figure that one out.
I've heard of the slider, thanks to Wm. "Billy" Mays...
In the Bronx, they call 'em Belly Bombers.
I would have laughed my ass off, you ran into the wrong guy that's all.
ivy: In a certain part of Portland, a part localized very closely around the chair I am sitting in right now, we call them Intestinal IEDs. KaPOW!
dachmo: I think you're right: it was just the wrong dude.