I hopped out of bed this morning and my swag was on. I’d just watched Obama’s speech for the 7th time and wrote a story about my dad. I was feeling all warm and Black and shit.
I saw the post up on the site with some positive comments. That made me feel even more jolly. I decided to give pops a call and tell him that his favorite child just wrote about him.
I called him on my way to my car to grab my iPod on the way to the gym.
Me: “Dad, did you get my email?”
Dad: “Naw, I missed it. What was it?”
Me: “Well, I decided to- what the sumbitch somebody broke into my car I’ll call you back!”
Yep. Just as I was preparing to share a heart-warming moment with my father, I realized somebody had broken into the Papa Smurf.
Let’s rewind to last night:
I came back from a nice game of tennis at around 9pm and parked my car under the safe, secure, locked garage under my building. I came up to shower with the intent of heading right back to my car to head to the city to meet Curren$y for some studio time. Thus, I left my iPod, GPS and camcorder in the ride since I’d be right back in the car. They were tucked away, but still in the car. Well, David D. fell asleep and never made it back to his car last night.
Lo and behold some inbred swine shattered the back window and took The New Knight Ryder (the iPod), Betty (the GPS) and my camcorder. Seeing as how the garage is locked, it must have been an inside job. So I’m taking the law into my own hands.
I’m going door to door screaming “Boom Boom Boom open the door, ATF!”
Ah, nothing like some good old DMX to fuel the flames of anger and rage.