dont rec with texas…

Posted by hajipaji

Sometimes I write raps. Sometimes I write blogs. Sometimes I write blogs about writing raps. Once, I even tried writing raps about writing blogs.  But, to date, I have never sometimes written a blog about writing raps that I went away to rap and couldnt wait to return and write a blog about. Until now.


With that said…let me tell you ’bout this one time I (along with my fellow Rec League compadres) went to Texas.

Oh…and lets be real, when traveling to do shows, the actual performance is always bested by the antics pre and post performance. So, for the sake of things, lets just assume that all shows were packed beyond capacity …and there was hotwings and panty-drawz aplenty thrown all over the stage. Great show. Quack.


Aside from having to get to the airport in SF at Jesusdontevenmakethebirdschirpdatearly O’clock am…everything jumped off to a good start. Upon entering the terminal, we were greeted by a man and his table. The table didnt actually greet us. Just the man. The table was cool, tho. We approached in standard, affable, Rec Leaguean manner…“Yo, Airport Tableman, whassup witcha!?” Airport table man responded (also affably) with,  “Howdy doo guys, have some champagne  and cupcakes!”

WORD!? Champagne and cupcakes at Jesusdontevenmakethebirdschirpdatearly O’clock am? You know we did that! Airport Tableman then began to inform us that it was the grand opening of the Virgin Airlines terminal in SFO and that was the reason for celebration…I insisted otherwise. We politely quibbled until we both agreed it was in our honor. By the way, Virgin Airlines is some baller anus traveling. Neon purple lights, ambient music…its like flying in an aquarium. Ive never felt like a prettier mermaid.

*plane flies, plane lands*

We meet up with our hosts and co-rap consortium, Fab Deuce, head to Denton, TX and thoroughly prepared for our show in Dallas. And by thoroughly prepare, I mean…margaritas, fried ice cream and some rounds at the batting cages…followed by hours of lip syncing to Salt N Pepa and Dorrough songs. Its a proven fact that the combination of those particular things vastly improves one’s aptitude for mic rocking. Which is actually not a proven fact at all.

Mexicans really dont get enough credit for this dessert.

Before the show, the homie Matt P arranged a party bus for the team. Great idea for us. Not so dope for the driver…who was, presumably, a 54 year old white man with gigantism…who had the overwhelmingly amusing misfortune to be named “Scott.” Why so misfortunate? Because, on the hour ride back from Dallas to Denton, all he heard was “SCOTT, SCOTT, SCOTT, SCOTT, SCOTT…SCOTT, SCOTT, SCOTT, SCOTT, SCOTT, SCOTT….EVERYBODAAAAAAY! (repeat 128738294 times)” He loved it tho. I think he wanted to hump Matt.


The next day, after  the unparalleled success of the first performance, we went to  Denton TX’s “Roosters” to get fat celebrate. Roosters was definitely some next level dining. Mainly, because their menu made a mockery of absurdities like “veganism” and “health foods.” Im always down with that.  Even more impressive was the burger copped by DJ Somekinda Bad Spanish DJ. It was called “The Hell Burger, ”  cause the sauce was made from devils tears and volcano lava. Too intense for my blood. Son had to sign a waiver to eat it. Personally, Im not down with any food that wasnt made in Jesus house. Rock on, Steb. Rock on.

Per usual, I lost my voice the night before. Which, wouldnt be so bad if my voice would stay that low and gravely permanently…because, its inconceivably sexy. Wait? Is it bad if Im turned on by my own voice? No…I think that just validates its overt sexiness.  Anyway, point is…its not constant…so, it fluctuates between a cool-a** Batman to a delicate babys laugh…if the baby had apnea. Anti-sexy. I spent the entire day funneling lemon extract and stolen honey packs from Starbucks. Anti-sexy.

We cooled out and did things rapper guys do before a show. Then we did the show. It was both fascinating and incredible. Trust me. Quack.

After leaving the stage, sh*t got crazy. Things happened. Things I wont mention because Im certain my mom reads this blog. Yes, Im a grown man.

We figured after the bartender asked “Could you guys puhleeeease just leave already!” it was time to take our shenanigans elsewhere. Besides, all the chairs were stacked, lights were out, and nobody could figure out why we were still chanting “SCOTT!, SCOTT!, SCOTT!, SCOTT…SCOTT!, SCOTT!, SCOTT!, SCOTT!, SCOTT!, SCOTT….EVERYBODAAAAAAY!”

An after party followed. Why wouldnt it, though? If there was no after party, where else would I have gone to tell people that when I wasnt rapping, I was “Surgeoning”, or been held captive and forced to listen to some guy recite his numerous adventures in abortions shmashmortions, or…accidentally show up to the wrong house and be threatened with hate crimes. After the party, its the after party. Got dang right!

I’d love to say the night ended there…but then, I’d also love to say that I went home and had a threesome with both Tootie and Rudy. Nope, After the party its the after party, and…after the party its the IHOP.  Which, is just as good as Tootie, but not nearly as good as Rudy.

Who’s that ? The angelic young white woman in the collard shirt and business apron? Thats Brandi. Our IHOP servitor. Brandi’s a boss. Unlike her actual boss (who I’m convinced was Karl Winslow), Brandi was more than excited about Pudge doing the worm, Matt P  chugging maple syrups, and Burgla shouting rapid-fire rap one liners. Lines like ” Yo, where the pancakes, money on stove, we makin’ pan cake!” As good as that was, there was no line better than what Burgla said after the girls at the table next to us asked me for a hug….”Yo, its like 8 white guys at this table…and you wanna ask the black guy for a hug!? Thats bullsh*t!

Burgla is super tight. EYYHHHHH!


As this was the most eventful of nights, I’ll try to be as concise in covering all activity. *Deep breath* Okay, so…

We (Rec League x Fab Deuce) made a new posse cut, called  Victory Laps Victor Relapse Vic DeRelapps currently untitled. Actually, I think we may have wrote/ recorded this on Day 2. Pfft, who can remember?

Q’M died. Well, at least the neighbors, cops and EMT’s thought he did.

Rob Rush became “Rob Africa.”

There was a story about somebody stealing a shotgun from somebodys house and shooting somebodys baby mama in the face.

Me, Richie, Maclane and Burgla went back to Roosters.  Maclane got busy on the Bloody Marys.

Some bald guy who looked like an aging David Cross in khakis and hiking shoes asked us about our vacation plans…but really, it was just his way of telling us we were going to Hell.

Me, Richie, and Burgla spoke in only Sean Price quotes for about two hours.

Pudge and Blaines mom hooked up a big anus pot of Chicken Sketti and (specially made for me)  green beans. Moms was a super boss. We all sat and had a family style dinner.

Party bus back to Dallas for show.

which brings us to the show…..

As expected, the show was nothing short of the miracle of watching unicorn birth. Except for the part where there was a fight. Fights, by nature, are exhaustingly brutish, and sure-shot funcrushers. To even expound on the details of the actual fisticuffs is enough to make me flaccid for the rest of the post.

*fast forwards to the good part*

…and then after the bouncers break it up, Steb (DJ BAD DJ) drops “Dont Worry, Be Happy!” Sh*t was hilarious, son! But nothing more hilarious then the mass group of people in our respective crews quacking the fight instigators out of the bar.


Yes. I said “Quacking.” If you can, imagine at least 28 people, in one huddled, forward traveling mass, barbarically chanting “QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!….” Then, imagine, if you can, being the antagonist who has to go back to his homeboys and tell them “Yo, I was trying to fight these wack rappin’ a** muhfuggahs and then…them muhfuggahs started quacking at me!” It’s moments like that, that you just cant buy on Everybody Loves Raymond.

The party bus back was 31 flavors of unnecessarily bonkers, you shouldve seen what…wait…mom? Nevermind.

We went BACK to IHOP. Brandi was thrilled. Again. Karl Winslow was not. Again.

Sleep happened. Sorta.



The last day of the trip. Nothing much really happened. Except we did go to Babes Chicken. If you dont know ’bout it…get widdit. All you can eat mashed potatoes and biscuits, gawd! You’ont wanna miss out on that type of good eats. However, it may have been a bit much for Maclane…I think he may have had a heart attack. Son wasnt doing good after eating a 35lb country fried steak.

Texas knows exactly how to make people fat. Its like they went to Devry and studied “People Fat Gettin” …and then did independent studies at the University of Pheonix. Texans be eatin’.

Pudge got lost going to the airport….but, to be fair…Pudge got lost going to the airport.

*reminiscent sigh*

Texas never ceases to amaze me…I mean, last time I went (’07), this happened.


See you next go ’round.







5 Responses to “dont rec with texas…”

  1. Grip Says:

    I agree with the comment posted above. I mean, that pretty much says it all. Jasmine cams. Intimately, son! Moreover, I really wish I coulda been on this tour, although I most likely would have died on the first day. I’m just not as tough as you guys. Except on the mic, of course. Of course.

  2. Rob Rush Says:

    Looks like we need to step up Ye Olde Spam-protector

  3. pudge Says:

    well u pretty much covered it all.

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