Filed under: BK All Day,Booze!,Classic Ignorance,Great Moments In Rap,In The Trenches,Not Your Average,Stan Status,The Unkut Guide,Weekend Warriors
Written by: Robbie Ettelson
I remember seeing the posters a couple of months ago and bugging out. Mash Out Posse coming through my town? Nah, right? But it they were. As a huge supporter/fan/Stan of the Brownsville crew, I knew this was gonna be a night to remember. Turns out it was, only not exactly the way I’d imagined…
As I described last week, I fux with whiskey with a beer chaser when it’s time for some man-style drinking, and this particular night was a prime candidate for such festivities. Sporting a crispy Hard White shirt and some shitty fake Timbo steel-toe boots (no way I was letting a fresh pair of Air Max 90‘s get themselves exposed the inevitable mosh-pit at the front of the stage), I headed to the venue with a hip flask of James T. McNulty‘s favorite drop and a tall can of Heineken, anticipating that I would steal the rest of my booze from backstage as per usual. Since I got there pretty early, I hooked-up with some of my boys and shot the shit for a couple of hours back-stage, all the while tearing into my Jameson‘s supply at a heroic rate. Once that was dealt with, it was time to beer-up, and I soon had my jacket and jeans supplied with an eight can minimum for the rest of the night by fair means or foul. Everything was proceeding as planned. Or so I thought.
The problem was, the combination of the straight whiskey, access to virtually unlimited beers and the prospect of a rowdy M.O.P live set soon resulted in some seriously accelerated alcohol intake, as I began shot-gunning brews in a fairly reckless manner. Around this time, Lil’ Fame, Billy Danze and Laze-E-Laze arrived from the hotel with a couple of dames and wandered back stage, past where I was knocking down the suds. Immediately I screamed the catch-cry of ‘Fiiiyyyaaahhhh!’ at Fizzy Womack as he wandered past, which he found somewhat amusing. ‘Cool, I’ll leave ’em be. They don’t need another annoying douchebag trying to talk to ’em before they go on’, I thought to myself as I powered through another cold can. After that, things got kinda hazy…
Next thing I can recall, I’ve run into Fame at the side of the stage while I was on another beer run in a what was proving to be the fruitless task of quenching my seemingly never-ending thirst. He’s sitting on a crate, enjoying a quiet drink before it was time to tear the roof off this motherfucker. By this stage, any sense of reason has long escaped my now spazzed-out brain, and I decide it’s the perfect time to explain to Lil’ Fame my belief that M.O.P. are better than EPMD. Turns out he wasn’t overly impressed with this concept, and he responded that it was kinda disrespectful to Erick and Parrish to be talking such nonsense. Instead of being discouraged by his reply, I continued to argue my point in a more animated manner, waving my arms about as my frustration increased and yelling, ‘How can you do me like this, man? I went to war with the world for you dudes!’ At this point I accidentally kicked over Fame’s drink. Although he was quickly losing patience with my increasingly insane rantings, I guess he appreciated that I was die-hard fan of the group, so he poured me a glass of Henny and sent me on my way.
Ironically, that Henrock may just have been my tipping point, as I basically blacked-out soon afterward. According to eye-witness reports, I later went on yet another beer hunt, deciding that M.O.P’s back-stage supply was the only target left. Apparently, I was in such a rush to get my hands on more suds that I literally barged through the Mash Out crew who were standing in the doorway, delivering a hip-and-shoulder bump to Billy Danze on my way through. As I returned, loaded up with the majority of the beers from their ice-box, I once again body-slammed my way past, dropping most of the cans I’d just boosted at their feet, as they stared at me in disbelief. How I managed to escape receiving a beat-down from rap’s greatest duo is a mystery, but luckily for me they must have decided to let my increasingly bizarre antics slide.
Word has it that I caught some of their show, as I stumbled through the crowd to get up front to catch ‘Cold As Ice’, but as the set continued I began to take a turn for the worse, and was last seen leaning against the wall, drifting in and out of consciousness before security decided it was time for me hit the pavement. Being I was outta of my rabbit-ass mind by this stage, it seems that I didn’t respond to their requests to vacate the premises in a particularly positive manner, which nearly resulted in my dome piece being used as punching bag by some of the ‘roid raging bouncers. Once again I was lucky enough to have some friends looking out for me who were able to diffuse the situation somewhat and get me out of there in one piece.
Without the benefit of anyone seeing what happened to me next, I somehow found myself in the emergency room of a local hospital after having been brought there by ambulance. Since I didn’t seem to have any injuries other than the inevitable self-inflicted brain damage and over-taxed liver, I can only assume that I had decided to catch some shut-eye in the middle of the street. Amazingly, I still had my watch, phone, wallet and hip-flask intact after this epic adventure. But with the strong possibility of a $900 ambulance bill on it’s way and little recollection of M.O.P’s incredible performance, it might be a good idea to stick to soda water for the next couple of weeks….or maybe just lay off the Jameson.
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