RIPPED & READY (PART 46)

RIPPED & READY (PART XLVI) 

Okay, I might be a bit of an asshole; however, I needed a fucking break.  I mean, between the Muppets and "Jack" in the fucking Sofa-Stalk -- along with Collin in a damned coma and then D'Andre treating me like a Cola Slushee, I was burnt the fuck out.  We ain't gonna even talk about my parents divorce and my tacky ass pops -- still fucking like a damned rabbit.  I needed some Marco time and, I was about to get it with my girl, Anita. 

She was telling me about this club called, The White Horse, in Berkeley.  Hell, I was ready for anything -- especially after last night's junior welter weight battle.  Then, Joe-Joe Jr. had nerve to ask for breakfast from me, ya'll.  The highlight of the morning for me was when I saw one of my favorite cartoons.... you know the one with the baby eagle "...I'm hunting for a baby bumble bee". 

Don't act like I'm the only motherfucka that know that damn cartoon. 

It took me back to my childhood.  Me and my sister, Danita, were always glued to the television on Saturday mornings. 

Then the one with the three owls, you know the one, "...I wanna singa...about the moona and suna and the ...." Hell, ya’ll know that damned cartoon. 

Don't act like I'm the only one who watched cartoons. 

A week without a damn piece of ass (no pun intended) was worse than going to the dentist with a damned abscess on a tooth -- When Oscar Mayer started aching, you know damn well it had more than a first name and a second name, it had all the makings of a full-fledged A through Z alphabetical symphony.

When Anita said "Let's". 

I didn't even let her finish the "Go," part.

It was like, bitch, when, where, what time, and where in the fuck are you at?  I was ready to blow the damned lemonade booth up with some fucking fruit loops.  Okay, I know you think I have lost my mind but, damned, what has a nigga got to do for some type of normalcy. 

We ain't going to even get into the Face-Book shit -- what the fuck is fucking Farkle?

Anita, bitch....

Horn blows. 

Yes, lets paint Oakland red tonight baby doll. 

One thing I am starting to realize is that, you don't have to work hard for a crew to be with and hang out with.  Anita was a woman, but you know something, she was one of the most reliable folks in my life right now. 

"Good night, Mar-cos," he said. 

I cringed, "Good night, baby," I said.

I turned to look at Joseph before i left. 

No kiss.

No hug.

No smile.

No grin.

No fucking nothing. 

Oh, and by the way, D'Andre, sorry if you got your feelings hurt about Collin and I, but you know something....

FUCK YOUR MOTHERFUCKING FEELINGS.

Once inside my girls, cream colored Lexus coupe, I was in another time warp.  Incognito's "Tales From The Beach" was blaring from the speakers.  "Love, Joy, & Understanding" -- hell yes. 

For the first fifteen minutes all I could do was rock side to side, then back and forth, as I grooved to the tunes.  "...Brothers' and sistah's...we need love..." they were hitting that damned harmony and, it had been a while, it got my fucking dick stirring. 

I was so caught up in the rapture of groove that, Anita punched me in the arm and said, "Marco, you need to chill before you have a fucking nervous breakdown," she said.

I looked over at her and said, "Bitch, what the fuck do you know, baby?” 

She hit highway 880 towards Oakland.  "Marco, baby, I am worried about you..." she said. 

I turned towards her in my seat, "Anita, I'm worried about you, you are the one who got suspended," I told her.

Tapping her long red nails to the music, she concurred, "I know, huh? I cannot believe I let Molly's ass get me suspended," she said.

I didn't say anything, I just rolled my eyes, and looked out the window, tapping my feet and snapping my fingers.  "Girl, just get this damn car to the club," I told her. 

By the time we arrived, there wasn't a parking spot anywhere close, so she parked on a side street in the neighborhood.  Hell, things looked safe. 

Having walked for what seemed like a damned mile, we reached the club, paid our cover charge, and then entered.  Once my eyes darted about the establishment, I wasn't too impressed -- I mean, there were a couple of good looking men there, but, they were all huddled up with "snowflake".  Uh, don't even get me started okay. 

Once we found a table, we ordered a couple of Long Islands and started scoping out the joint, trying to blend in with the rest of the crowd. 

The crowd seemed pretty laid back -- you had the pool crowd (niggas around the pool table).  Then you had the dyke bank (hoe's on hoe's in a variety of get-and-ups).  Next you had the bar-flies (where is the pile of shit?).  Then you had us regular folks, out for the night. 

Anita and I were sitting there, swaying back and fourth, talking about any and everything from work to my fucked up ass situation and then, all of sudden, homegirl walks up.  Tracy Pierce was her name.  Her ass was so big you could have plastered a license plate across it that read: State Of...

My girl was sprung.  She loved women with big asses and, the Jeannie of asses, granted her wish.  Tracy's ass would put Levi out of business -- oh, and P-Diddy, you didn't have enough material to cover this big ass. 

Huh!

How you doin?

I watched my girl dissappear onto the dance floor and, so that I wouldn't look desperate, I concentrated on my drink and my thoughts.  That's when big, bank, Hank Thomas strolled up to my table.

"Do you mind if I cop a squat," he asked. 

Well, in the state of mind I was in and in the frame of body he was in (including that big old basket he was carrying) I smiled, and allowed old boy to sit down.

Now, if I were a meek as nigga still, you could probably predict where this was headed; however, I was horny ass hell, and I had Romper Room back at my apartment.....

Huh....

How you doin???????????????????