March 24, 2005

SICK CRATIN' TIL DAWN

The DJ booth was built for the Euro-trained and those who can manage 3 tables and a mixer like a 747 steering console. Miles is up in my favela hut helping me dig the crate, always looking ginsu with his Gay-Crip-T.Rex-roadie-rodeo look, fetching my requests for "water, lite on the ice" in exchange for the drink tixx I never use anyway. He is a concious co-pilot, watching the road, so I can check the map "The girl gang is dancing now, you should go with the Technotronic or with Jigga" or after I went with M.O.P " Oh.. oh! Yep, I think you lost them. M.O.P. is too black for these fucking white peoples... well, Fuck em!" - as he reaches over me and turns up the gain, throwing his hands up, hollering along 'bout "your life or your jewels?!".

I forgot, until Miles flyered me, Binoculars (#2 in the streets!) is slotted with our usual uphill holiday weekend slot at the Bottle this week. You missed us day after Halloween, day after Thxgvg, day after motherfunking Xmas and now, now! NOW! here is yr chance to enjoy the ass end of Holy Week with us. Thats right -- A Very Special Binoculars Easter, this Sunday at the Empty Bottle. Miles is threatening to dress as Jesus. I will be spinning direct from a basket filled with shredded plastic grass. Hot times. Hot times. Three hot girls we flyered swore they would show up get drunk and dance. There is your incentive!

Posted by Jessica at March 24, 2005 01:44 AM | TrackBack