September 13, 2011
WSM has an autobiography coming out in late 2012 “A Mile HIGH Story” and we will be releasing excerpts of the book in the preceding months. Here is the second excerpt form Chapter 23. Enjoy!
There is an old saying that says something about stress or some shit, it was in the Bible. God damn could I relate to that saying back one Friday in the summer of 2000. Damn that nigga Jesus could write. I think I read somewhere that he wrote the whole thing in one sitting. Son of God or not that is impressive. R.I.P. Jesus.
Anyway, it was hot that day, hot like a frying pan baking in the hot summer sun on one of the hottest days in recorded hotstory. The heat was intensifying the friction between the crews in N. and S. Boulder. No one wanted a war but just like the women I slept with that summer it was coming.
I spent the morning on the phone with Jay-Z, he was begging me to ghost write on his upcoming album and it was starting to get pathetic. He just refused to accept that I put down the pen when Biggie and Pac died. Maybe I am being superstitious but I can’t help but feel guilt that the rhymes I wrote for Biggie and Tupac in many of their most beloved songs may have in some way led to their demise.
Just after I hung up the phone started to ring. Just another Friday in the city of Angels which is what I called Boulder.
“Who dis?” I said with my voice.
“Don’t matter who dis is son. Just know this- We coming for you suckaaaa. We coming for youuuuuuuu.”
“Yeah but who is this? Just so I know who is coming for me.”
“I ain’t gonna say who dis is dummy. That will ruin the surprise.Click!”
“Did you hang up? Cause it kinda sounded like you just shouted ‘Click’ into the phone really loudly.”
“I ain’t sayinnnnnnn'”
“Well clearly you did not hang up because I can still hear you.”
She hung up the phone.
Someone was out to get me. And I ain’t planning on getting got. If anything I get others got, on the spot, whether they like it or not.
The phone rang again.
“Hey you hung up before telling me who you were..”
“What?” Said a soft and sultry voice.
“This is heather,…um the lifeguard from the pool where you teach break dance swimming.”
I don’t know what it is but I find it very attractive when you can hear the nervousness in a girl’s voice over the phone, desperately hoping you won’t spurn their advances. How pathetic.
“Um I know you don’t know me but I watch you swim at the pool and got your number from the ladies locker room wall and I don’t know if—”
“Lifeguard stop- your starting to turn me off.”
“Oh I just wanted to–”
I interrupted again.
“Listen lifeguard are you a fan of early 90’s Rap?”
“Well yes I am, why?”
“Cause it’s Hammer Time”
“I’ll be right over”
“Bring a turkey sandwich.”
April 16, 2011
WSM has an autobiography coming out in late 2012 “A Mile HIGH Story” and we will be releasing excerpts of the book in the preceding months. Here is the second excerpt form Chapter 3. Enjoy!
The night I got the phone call that would change my life forever was a cold and bitter evening in late December of 2000. I had been up all night attempting to reach the White House as I had been for months.Through some independent research I had determined that Osama Bin Laden was planning an attack on the U.S., most likely by mid September of 2001.
As usual those fat cats in D.C. weren’t taking my calls. I naively thought at the time that someone would eventual heed my warnings. God damn Jesus Christ to hell, why didn’t they listen to me? Why?
The call came from my boy Matty Beers. “Beersy” as we called him was a low level enforcer on my crew who I didn’t care much for. He was short, pudgy, and quick to piss his pants- we called him “Sir Smudgy Pudgy Piss Pants”. But he had his uses; he could fart the alphabet backwards and had a car.
They called my crew the Devil’s Thumb Locos. No one knew when we first got stamped with the name, or where it came from but everyone knew it stuck to us like a used heavy flow tampon sticks to the bottom of a bag-less waste basket.
We didn’t hit the streets as often as the average crew but, then again, we didn’t have to. When we hit the streets we hit them harder than an abusive father hits his least favorite child after finding out he’s crashed his most favorite Camaro.
“Hello?” I said into my SideKick™.
“Yo man, we got problems son.”
” What’s the dizzy wizzy cousin.”
Beersy knew only to call in case of emergencies so I knew something was seriously wizzle or, at the very least shizzle.
“It’s the East-Boulder Ballers…”
He was close to crying as usual.
“What is it you piece of human garbage! Spit it out of your chubby worthless face you fucking coward.” I said compassionately.
“They were just spotted at the Mesa B-ball courts.”
“So the fuck what? You know I don’t hoop there no more girl.”
“That’s not it- they weren’t staying there man. They’re heading south- Don’t you fucking get it man! They’re heading south!!!”
I hung up the phone. Of course I fucking get it . This was bad. The East Boulder Ballers were breaking the truce we brokered after the TP wars of 99′ when they promised to stay in North Boulder where they belonged. This meant war.
I went to my fridge to get the paintballs out of the freezer. Time to round up the troops. And this time, just like the time before last time, this time it is personal.
And by personal I mean it is personally affecting me. And when someone personally affects me in a negative way, I take that very personally.
February 22, 2011
WSM has an autobiography coming out in late 2012 “A Mile HIGH Story” and we will be releasing excerpts of the book in the preceding months. Here is the first excerpt form Chapter 1. Enjoy!
If you were to ask my balls if the summer of 2000 was the hottest summer in the history of Colorado they would say it was. And they would be right. That is at least according to 9News one of the most highly acclaimed news teams in the country. It was a Saturday morning of that summer when I awoke to the two muggy nuggets clinging to my thighs like they thought they were a fresh pair of bulbous titties. Ring! Ring! Rang my beeper.
303-494-0330 420 911 420!!
The fiends needed their fix. Too bad. I have shit to do. And by shit I mean birds, clam, the big V. I threw on my tang top and flip flops and jumped in my Civic. Time to get my Vroom on.
I pull up to King Soopers just in time to see Danielle leaving. Damn she looked good. All dressed up in work out clothes. Who likes short shorts? I like short shorts.
I hit the horn hard to get her attention.
“Hey! Want to hit the gym!” I said as I slyly pointed at my crotch.
She was happy to see me.
“Hey! Where have you been? You haven’t been answering my calls!”
“Been busy. Enough small talk. Lets go behind that gazebo I need my morning cup of muff.”
“Sorry sweetie not today” Danielle said as she pulled out a prescription bottle from her purse. “Unless you don’t mind the clap.”
“Sorry toots that ain’t my bag. I have never had the clap. But I have gotten many rounds of applause not to mention more than a few standing ovations.”
I sped off before she had the chance to try and change my mind. God damn she wanted me. For the third time that morning my beeper blew up. It was Abs and Tacman again. What the fuck could they be so urgent about this early in the morning?
“Hello?” It was Tacman and he sounded upset. Not a surprise considering the guy sucks down massive amounts of herb on a daily basis in a failing attempt to forget that he never gets to stick his P in a V.
“Dude. Bro you are never gonna believe it man! Oh man you can’t get mad at me man. Promise me bro, dude it wasn’t my fault man. I don’t know what happened. You need to get here quick bro!”
This was not the first time I started a beautiful Saturday morning with a phone call like this and it would not be the last. Once again I would have to put the clam diving on hold. Just another day in my Mile HIGH Story. I put the keys into my Beamer.