Tuesday, April 29, 2003

I’m like Kenny Rogers up in this bitch.

Not the baseball player, dumbass, the singer, the gambler, the chicken-meister. (did I ever tell you the story of how I met Jay Leno at the Kenny’s Chicken place in Burbank? No? ah well, shitty story anyway).

Why am I like Kenny Rogers? Well yes, I do know when to hold them AND when to fold em. I know when to walk away, and I sure as hell know when to run. But the KEY, key reason for today that I AM the Hawaiian (location, not racial) incarnation for the day of the master pop-country joe, is that I NEVER count my money while I’m sitting at the table. There’ll be time enough for counting when the dealing’s done.

What the HELL you may ask am I talking about? Well without getting into too much detail, now is a veddy veddy good time for da moneys coming in via my sales of skunk merchandise. Back in the day we were strictly a skunk processing center. You know the drill, find vagabond skunks (who are illegal in Hawaii), brand they asses, put them in the reeducation center, remove their stinker genes and ship them to the Phillipines or Thailand, whichever one at the time is offering the best bulk shipping rates.

Anyway, about a year ago I came up with the idea of selling skunk merchandising, you know, fly gear. We gots t-shirts, socks, headbands, yo-yo’s, sunglasses, slippahs, tank-tops, and we’re even getting into surf gear, not necessarily boards (although we are experimenting on a body-board with a skunk-tail) but more like you know, surfboard wax, surf slippas, board shorts, that kine stuff.

Anyway, the shit is flying off the shelves. I just can’t take orders fast enough. And there’s lots of special orders, shit that requires my own brand of expertise, not just some fukn clerk saying “20 skunk goggles, thanks for your order” – hell no, this shit is custom, kimo. I give em that Pennyworth touch, and they’re like frothing at the mouth coming back for more, cuz their customers are eating it up. Hell yeah, we’re wholesale bitch, I ain’t got time to be popping out onesies, twosies, shit laddat. Na loc. Not this boy. So as mentioned, shit flying off shelves equals mad commission numbers for your boy keith equals scrilla frikken like a billa. Problem is, business is coming so fast I don’t even have time to count my future duckets for report to my boss for payment of my bread. But that is not a problem, playboy, as I’ll find myself a minute when the phones stop ringing off the hook, which I hope they never do, cuz the bell is about to crack I’ve been ringing that bitch so hard, and glendale is representing to the fullest, and Kenny rogers would be proud, cuz shit dog, I ain’t counting my money, I could give half a dolphins ass-cud. (ass-cud? Hmm I think I’ve coined a phrase, Johnny) – anyhoo, you know what I mean, and if you have a problem with anyhoo, you’ve got a problem with Johnny, and if you’ve got a problem with Johnny you’ve got a problem with scrilla, and if you’ve got a problem with scrilla then Kenny Rogers would be ashamed to know you and so would I.

So I’m outtie cuz the phones are blazing again. See how dope I am? I coulda counted my chips and instead I blabbed at you. can you feel the love Houston? Can you sense the showmanship, Charleston? This is a worldwide callout to ghetto birds everywhere. Believe it and it can happen. Just ask corky. Word.

Update written at the same time as the rest of this crap: this is how cool I am – someone just handed me a fax, and then the person that sent the fax called. I really, really needed this fax for some major paypa that will be coming my way probably on a Tuesday or a Thursday. This is what they said “hello Alfred, I just wanted to make sure you got my fax,” and I said “yes Elinor, I got your fax, and you really helped me out today, and if I had a picture of you I would put it up on my wall and bow down to you all day long,” and she said “wow you really needed that information,” and I said “oh yeah I did, so thanks again” and she said, “well I just wanted to make sure you got it before I leave for the day” – see that whole east coast – Hawaii time difference issues I have to put up with? DAMN I’m a pro. In any event, now you can see that I’m the man. And now I’m gonna go count my money.

PSYCHE! Of course I would not do that. SHIT! I’m still at the table. There’s mad more scrilla to bring in, shit I got plenty of time to count my duckets later, playboy. And so do you. remember that, Juan Valdez, next time you think you’ve got my caffeine-addled soul in a choke-hold. Fukn remember, you Columbian donkey escorting son of a goat. Recuerdo a todos! And don’t you ever forget it, or the hounds of baskerville will come calling for your ass. Yeah guy? Yeah guy.