Thursday, September 18, 2003
wave (Waikiki nightclub) last night for the first time, in like, forever. Click here and here for a nice old skool drunken debaucherous wave story. Anyway, last nite the place was wack. Well, actually, I mean the entertainment was high quality, but shit, nobody was there, literally like 15 people, and these rappers like bustin, eysoulated something or other, this 3 man troupe, (I don’t think rap groups are ever identified as a troupe, but oh well, first time for everything) and then the main event, this guy named MC Trace. Sick dawgs. This homey can flizow. Farreal. Never heard of him before but rhymes were busted to the extreme but not like a vandal, yadda yadda yadda.
So but anyway, me and mrs. P were like literally falling asleep in our chairs. The thing you gotta know about the wave is that it doesn’t get going until like 2 am. Usually, though, around 1:30 the peeps from elsewhere in clubland start filtering in for the inevitable jump off around 2:30 am, when it will be going nutso, like from 15 people to like 100 people, or more, shit I don’t know, I’m not rainman, throw a bunch of matches on the ground and it just looks like a shitload of matches to me. Oh yeah, I mean, toothpicks. Whatevs.
So yeah we were fukn tired as all hell. So tone dogger nudges me awake and was like “let’s go” and I was like “yeah” and MC trace was still going bonkers on stage but I had to bid him adieu and pass out in the back seat of the rental.
Earlier that evening we ate some BOMB ASS Cajun barbeque at Kevin’s Two-Boots in Kailua. I know I’ve mentioned this place before but I can’t be troubled to dig that deep in the ‘chives. Let it be known that this place has the best ribs I have ever tasted. The shit falls of the bone, literally. And the gumbo, mmmm doggie. Chitty chitty bang bang ain’t got nuthin on this honey.
So like there’s a big ol’ storm thrashin the east coast. Be safe out there eastsidaz. Watch yer dome. Bust out a nice bottle once yer safe in like a convenient location and have some sips of beam and like chillski. Fuk what the hell am I talking about, I don’t know jack shit about being in a crazy hurricane or whatever.
Bunsen had a fascinating and insightful conversation with Ms. Isabel today, which you can read here. He’s funny.
And yes, I mean Ms. Isabel as in the hurricane. And no, I would not like to learn more about Dianetics. And yes, maybe I am going to hell, or anti-nirvana, or whatever you call it. And possibly someday down the road I will find the Lord or L. Ron Hubbard, maybe they’re hiding inside this box of wheat thins. And yeah your hat is retarded looking. And no I am not the president and neither am I a client, so piss off. At a medium pace.