Thursday, December 1, 2011

How has the village raised you?

When I lived in Vegas Mike was my best friend.

Mike was the spoiled child of two immigrants, an Irish father and a German moms. I don't remember their names, but I'ma call them Colin and Bridget.

Mike was also a genius. Nigga could've been Doogie Howser if he gave a fuck about saving lives.

I was not a genius. I was a toy leech and Mike had everything. Nigga ain't just have a Super Nintendo, nigga had the Super Scope. Nigga ain't just have the Krang action figure, nigga had the big body exosuit. Nigga ain't just have all the Spawn books, nigga had that Spider-Man issue with the gold foil webs on the cover.

Nigga also had to do homework.

I came over one Saturday and Mike was still studying. I was like, "Bet, I'll come back when you're ready to play Golden Axe."

Bridget was like, "Nah lil nigga, come on in." In so many words. She sat us both in the kitchen with pencils and paper and gave us a spelling quiz. Then she made us sit quietly as she checked our answers. After a few minutes Bridget looks up at Mike and says, "Good job, son," then she turned to me and said, "Isaac. What the fuck is a P-O-S-I-O-N?"

I'm all, "It's what you slip in niggas food to make them sick."

She like, "Nah lil nigga. Let's do it again."

And we did it again. And she would do that from time to time. Not often, but on some pop shit.

Nigga, when I tell you I went on to win spelling bees?

I'm lying. I finished second at school that year. And the following year I finished 3rd. And the following year I was like, "Fuck spelling bees," but my grades shot the hell up.

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