Thursday, January 3, 2013
GUEST POST: NEW YEAR'S RAP MUSINGS FROM A PROFESSIONAL GLASS POLISHER!
As many of y'all know, I run shit in Jax Hole. From da ski slopes to da flourishing drug trade, I'm well-known like the number man. I used to slang herb to this herb named Fezziwig. He wore a fedora and had a large collection of Japanese swords. All he did was smoke weed by himself and play World of Warcraft. I ran into him at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar the other day and he bugged me about writing for my extremely successful rap website until I said, "Aight." Here we go!
The clock passed midnight, a grinning crowd of rubes watched the ball drop in Times Square, and 2012 floundered into the annals of history. It was New Year's Eve and I was polishing $4 glassware for less than minimum wage.
I regarded the customers with scorn. Drunk idiots with too much expendable income blowing noisemakers like idiot children. "BMF" by Rick Ross floated from out of the kitchen. We shucked and jived to the anthemic throb, trying to forget that we were actually making money at the rate of a slow trickle.
"Bands A Maker Her Dance" came next. I wondered what a stripper feels on New Years. Maybe it's better to start the year in a G-string than polishing water spots off a water glass. Rick Ross bellowed, "Deez niggas won't hold me back!," and I increased my polishing speed. But deez niggas were holding us back: busted economy, the development of an American oligarchy, all the lies, the goddamn lies! Where is our recession rapper, one who would rap about being broke and working a job beneath your dignity? Of realizing exactly how little your college degree is worth in today's economy? All we have is a cartoonish, nearly self-parodic celebration of capitalism. We love rap music as an opiate that helps us believe in a failed system.
I decided it was time to take action. I would no longer debase myself by listening to escapist drivel. No more rap music for me! But then I remembered my duty as a busboy and how bad I would feel if someone died from a water spot I'd failed to remove, so I polished bravely into the future as the old world, foaming at the mouth, clipped rabidly at my heels.