Thursday, October 25, 2007
Gangsta Blue
There’s the Crips. The Bloods. The T-Birds. The Lost Boys.
And then there’s Gangsta Blue. Straight up douchin’, yo. With his mind on his Wonder Bread Yankee Cap, and his Wonder Bread Yankee Cap on his mind. Slippin’ on gin and Goose.
I would pull those drawstrings until your aqua blue parka closed on your face like an iris in bright sunlight. Like a puckering butthole on a ferret in the presence of an alligator.
And then there’s Sally, you Chicken McHottget with five different dipping sauces. You fast food french fry of dee-light. Your groove is in my heart.
You are paid to pose with Gangsta Blue, and yet the pain of a thousand sunsets lost to the ether courses through my psyche like an arthritic synapse.
