Friday, February 13, 2009

Cool dudes lists, volume 1

Okay, so it's the "thing" to do in hip-hop. Making remixes, that is. What I want to do is write one fantastic hip-hop record. Record it, mix that shit hardcore and release it. Babes are going to eat it up. Asses are going to clap at my concerts, people will be drinking seven dollar mixed drinks. Ice and foam will spill on clevage. Seven or eight guys will get laid because of my concert, guaranteed.
Is clevage spelled with one or two e's? Somebody post an answer to this.

After the world tour hits, it's remix time. Like one two, buckle my shoe shit.

The remix. Some are going to sound like Daft Punk, just because that's the trend right now in hip-hop. It's alright, though. Somebody's bound to drop something epic this year.

**

So, I'm thinking about Dan Bailey right now. I want to be inside of his face when he writes. I want to be Dan Bailey when he starts a poem and when he ends a poem. What do you think his body feels like when he gets to the last stanza and just says, "That's it," when a killer line falls out of the tips of his fingers and goes onto his computer screen. He probably freaks the fuck out because he knows he just killed it.

"Killed it." That just sounds tough, like it's my attempt to chest bump you and knock you off a bar stool. My attempt to posture with drunk talk and flex my forearm so that one vein pops out. Instant gratification.

I want to be there when Dan decides to wear his pair of shoes that look like my one pair of shoes. That's a vague statement, mainly because I collect shoes like women collect shoes. By the cache. I swim in them like Scrooge McDuck.

Earlier at work I hurt my back again. I was lifting something, then my spine felt like crack the whip in third grade. I sat down and turned on the Germs radio station on Pandora. Brianne came in with ice packs. I feel a little better.

It's still Germs radio-time here at work. Darby Crash just knew how to get it done, it's probably why he killed himself.

**

I just hooked another dude up. He was like, "I need to get these Cheese-Its and this CD and other stuff to my girlfriend, pronto." She better love those Cheese-Its, they were the white cheddar kind, and I really wanted to open the box and take a handful.

**

This is my jam right here. Hurry up and come home, Bob. I need music.


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