Gangsta, gangsta.

With the temperature rising, I'm feeling like it's junior high all over again.
....I'm back on a serious early/mid 90's West Coast kick, and it feels so good (way better than that time that I decided to try and get back into Jodeci....Yuck). Guess how many times I listened to The Chronic before I left to go out on Friday? Yep, three.
I used to get kinda disappointed in myself when, every few years, I'd dig in my CD collection and pull out all kinds of Dre/Snoop-offshoots, like Tha Dogg Pound and Warren G, because even as a kid, I knew that shit was corny as fuck. However, I'm doing my very best to embrace it this time around.

The best part? I can still remember most of the lyrics, even after 10+ years, without trying.
"Woke up one morning out some bomb-ass cock, my dick kinda limp so I cruise around the block".
...Try and tell me that shit doesn't roll off of your tongue.

Sometimes, when I used to get mad at my parents, I'd secretly wish that Dre and his friends would come and take me away on their tour bus. I did not stop to think about the fact that, if this we ever to happen in reality, I'd probably be used as a juvenile fuck-doll for the roadies. Really, though, I bet Dre's a good fella. Also, one time I saw Snoop on Cribs, and he was baby-talking to his pitbulls. I thought to myself: "Man, Snoop is probably really nice".

Point is, gangsta rap was pretty great, wasn't it? Now that's it's warm outside, pour some gin and OJ in your chalice, put on your all-blue Chucks, get lifted, take yourself back to 1993, and thank me later.

~sarah p.

p.s. I'm still not really feeling very good... I think I may be getting closer and closer to drinking my slurpees at that big 7-11 in the sky. If, by chance, I do happen to pass away suddenly, please do me a favor and make sure that my gravestone is at least as elaborate as the ones that they give to russian mobsters. Thanks.