The Girls:
Wow. Lemme take a moment of silence for this first and foremost as I let the visions of all those sweet sweet ladies run into my mind again…
Wow. Alright man, for the record, I’ve never been peeped and duced so many time in one day. For those that don’t know, when a girl “throws a deuce” she pretty much turns around so you can see her ass (sometimes something for the titties like a lean-forward or a jiggle or something) in all it’s round, tender, warm and wonderful glory just as god intended it. It’s like the modern day equivilant of a mating call, but you know how niggas today be, so chicks get smart and run the point game which means a friend stands facing you and monitors/reports your reaction to the deuce makin it the lethal “Deuce and a point”. Yeah man. Chicks ain’t playin no more son. The shit is serious!
We sat down on stage after the other sets were done and yo on the real shit, the other dudes were pretty fuckin hot man. Everyone brought their own thing to the table and had different styles with some siiiicckk ass production all around. We unanimously agreed that if all us acts were pulled together on one CD it’d be an underground mixtape classic like the old DMX and Ja and Jay Z tracks were in the original Murder Inc when not a damn one of em had gone plat yet. A dude “Dolomic” (who flew in from Miami I think) finished the set as the 6th act and well..shut it down. The man is a straight up machine on the mic. His rhymescheme is ever-changing, flow is flawless and keeps you guessing and his tracks say new things and had content. Of all the acts we saw that day, we felt Dolo was by far the strongest solo and would definitely be the perfect 16 to sooooo many tracks with similar feel to his styles that we had recorded how ever long ago. Bong, that was a connect in the making. In any case, we posted up on the stage and ate there. Shit, it felt like we were home. Like, you ever see ball players that always surround themselves with something of their sport? That was us with rap. And a stage. You’d think we owned it. We got asked to take a lot of group pictures and I’d say we took about 4-6 in all. All from girls at that. Some how some way, some of them were looking for an in, and ironically, we weren’t exactly turning down these urban medallions holding the cameras and making the small talk. Khi got the number of arguably one of the dopest shicks there that day. Chick was honestly about an 11 man. Dead real. She had an amazing ass that had a shape like 2 of gods tears that was stacked on a pair of legs that made her look like a prize race horse. Her lips looked like they shoulda came with a Hoover attachment, and she had a short cut on her lid a lot like Eve’s, but with a face like the last chick that won Americas Next Top Model.
Actually, now that I think about it, she looked quite a bit like that chick, except with about 10-15 cocaine-free grams. Err uhh…I mean pounds. In fact, she was so beautiful, for a second man, it didn’t even seem like she was real. Like we all had a mass hallucination. Luckily for Khi, she was definitely real and definitely feelin him. They exchanged the numbers and skipped off in opposite directions drunk off each other like some 5th graders in their parent’s Jack Daniels stash. And here we were bustin his balls for makin goo-goo eyes at the big girl from the first session!! She’s also the one who took this picture:
The Future or Rap.
From left to right: J. Bridge, Apexx (top center) Ox (bottom center) and Killer Khi.
This picture embodies much more than I could ever explain. It shows how well we get along not as a group. But a team. A group is nothing more than an assembly of bodies, but a team – thats a group of dudes with one common goal and one common passion. The Rush.
In any case, Ox ended up getting the number of the best friend of the girlfriend of the promoter of the show’s cousin. Just saying it sounds like some Jerry Springer type back woods shit. This chick is another one that ranked at least an 8.5-9 easy. I hollered at the best friend of said chain of command chick who actually sang in the second artist’s set and reluctantly informed me that her man’s the one from the session. Normally this doesn’t change anything for me, but in this case it had. I had to weigh the pro’s and the cons of getting the number, verses getting me and/or us all kicked out of the show for that kind of unprofessionalism and disrespect. Deaded that in peace and kept it plutonic as J was recommending that we still get in the game and get out expensive-ass ticket’s worth. Good idea J. But as I take the virgin hit of the freshly rolled L, I can see that we’re not clear on the girls yet!
IT’S GOOOODD!!!
We got followed by a quartet of girls for about 50 feet. We caught peepers looking every where! In between cars, over people, under vehicles, behind barbecue pits, out of cars, friggin everywhere!! You should know that J and I are 6’4” and 6’6” respectively and always stand out in a crowd, so we’re used to higher than usual attention, but this shit was uncanny. We got on line and took our molesting from security before we got into the stadium it self and ascended up the escalator toward our assigned seats in the highest floor and witnessed one of the most bizarre and border-line surreal sights either of us had ever Witnessed. The sheer volume of Deuces and Deuce and a point’s, staring, whispering to a friend, planning, observing and moistening that came raining down on us is of near avalanche proportions. IN FUCKIN JERSEY?!! NJ is the home of the ice-grills mayne. Chicks out here ain’t no where near social like that. They’ve heard it all and to make any progress, you either gotta be A: the smoothest nigga I ever knew, B: about something or C: loaded. The scene out here is tough man, and most of NJ’s residents are neither dating nor married. NY is the only other state that shares that jaded sense of appeal needed to earn this stat so to see a display like this was momentus, not just for “Bridge” and ‘the Ape”, Not just for the Rush Ent, But, for man kind. For civilization. For the fate of humanity…Man, I dunno what these girls ate that morning, but they were obviously pros at what they were doing. In more ways than one I’m sure. We eventually made it to where our seats were to see this:
Section 310’s seats. FUCK THAT!!
Section 310. I liked it, but J wasn’t nuts about the players looking like crabs on his ex’s vagina so we moved down a level to these seats:
Section one hundred something. First level and pretty good realestate.