Some song about a misogynistic man with a questionable sense of morality plays on the radio. The ladies that he keeps referring to as female dogs seem to be calling him “Daddy,” which would indicate that he is either their real father, which I would hope is not the case when he is expressing the requirement for them to perform fellatio, or he is their pimp. It would be interesting to hear a song that is as spirited and melodious that discusses male sexuality without focusing on a particular female body part or reducing a woman to a street walker, and it can’t be a love song. Perhaps a rhyming scheme of some sort would help the lyrics.
My Attempt at a Rap Song
I like women who are hot and smart.
It makes me laugh when they fart.
I wear a cowboy hat, so they call me Tex.
They ride me like a horse when we have sex.
All right, so song writing isn’t going to be my next career. I’ll stick with the whole superhero deal for now. What if I followed the formula that the misogynist used for his song, but I didn’t use any of the obvious female body parts, sexual moves, or pimp/prostitute relationships?
My Second Attempt at a Rap Song
Dirt bag, I want you to rub your diseased labia all over my fingers.
I lift them up to my nose, loving how the stink lingers.
I love how you give me a footjob.
You might be mentally handicapped, but you make my junk throb.
Yep, that’s the one. I’ll work on that. I could see it going top 40. I come out of my semi conscious state to realize that I’m lying in bed listening to my alarm clock radio. It’s five minutes past midnight. There’s no time to waste. My bag is packed, I’ve called a taxi, and now it’s time to head out.
“Hello sir, where can I take you tonight?”
“Can you take me to the corner of Baylor and Stewart please?”
“Yes of course. Going downtown. Going to party?”
“Oh, yes! It’s time to let loose, you know?”
“It’s important every now and then.”
The cab driver has a mild accent. A tree symbol and a cross of some sort hang from his rear view mirror. I want to boast about what I’ve done, what I’ll pull off, the genius that is me. I keep my mouth shut and enjoy the ride downtown. People get caught when they talk. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello handsome, this is Emily.”
“Hello Emily,” I say in a ‘Hello Clarice,’ Hannibal Lecter sort of way.
“Whoa, that’s super creepy. So, what are you doing tonight?”
“I’m just heading downtown.”
“Really, where are you going?”
“I’m sorry, Emily, you said. Where do I know you from?”
“I was your server.”
“Oh, the attractive little person.”
“I’m not short. I’m average.”
“Right. So, Smurfette, I’m glad you called me, on account of you being so attractive and intelligent and all, but how did you get my number?”
“Call me Emily. When you left the restaurant, I followed you. I found out where you live, what you do, who your friends are, and your phone number.”
There’s a long pause before she lets out a cute little giggle.
“So, Stain gave you my number in the restaurant?”
“Yeah, he said you were like totally enamored with me.”
“So, you asked Stain for my number at the restaurant, and he gave it to you?”
“Yes, of course. He didn’t tell you?”
“No. He’s cool like that.”
“So about tonight?”
“Tonight I’m busy. What are you doing tomorrow?”
“I have school.”
“Well, when you’re done at the University, come over. I’ll text you my address.”
“University? No, no. I’m in High School.”
“Don’t worry. I’m in my senior year. I’m almost 18. My birthday is next month, so what time tomorrow?”
“I’m quite a bit older than you. You’re really 17?”
The cab driver chimes in. “Not with a 17 year old my friend. Never with a 17 year old. If the law doesn’t get you, her father will.”
“Who was that?” Emily asks.
“That was the cab driver. He says that we shouldn’t get together until after your next birthday.”
“You really think I look 17? I’m so insulted. I’m in University.”
“I sort of don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“I’m in my third year at University. I turn 21 next month.”
“All right. All right. Come over tomorrow after school. I’ll text you my address. You might need to bring ID though and a school girl outfit. Hey, will you have your books with you too?”
“Well, yes. I’ll be coming from school.”
“Should I wear a tweed jacket with elbow patches?”
“Do you have a tweed jacket with elbow patches?”
“No, but I’ll wear one, nothing else though. You’ll just see my tweed and my tweedle.”
“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“It’s Emily. Goodbye Sappho.”
The cab driver pulls over. I pull some cash out of my pocket and hand it to him.
“Sir, your change?”
“Sir, that’s a lot of money.”
“It’s fine. Have a goodnight.”
“Thank you sir.”
The cab drives off, and I walk a block over to the police station.
I find what I thought might be a blind spot near the bushes. It is indeed. Cameras surround the rest of the building, but the roof top cameras all point down, and rotate around covering the grounds.
I pull out a grappling hook, and after several attempts get it hooked on the roof. The guy who sold this to me told me to remember to use my legs to climb and my arms only as a guide. I move my feet up the wall first, applying the pressure to them, while I guide my hands up after each step. I pull the grappling hook and rope up and put them once again into my backpack. The roof is a complete dead zone for cameras. Not even one of them is pointing at me. I walk lightly over to where the prisoner loading door must be. There’s restricted access around that area, but it looks big enough for a bus to be able to load and unload. There are two cameras pointed down at that area. I don’t want anyone leaving out that door. It’ll be too easy for the police to isolate Stain there. I take off my jacket and shirt. I drop my jacket on one of the cameras and my shirt on the other, hoping that it looks like the cameras just went black. I fasten my grappling hook to the roof, scale down and fill the area around the prisoner loading door with polyfill. I use a whole large tube of the stuff, taking my putty knife and really pushing it into the cracks of the door. I throw that stuff in the backpack and climb the wall again. I pull up the grappling hook and rope and quickly pull the jacket and shirt off the cameras, dressing myself again.
Now I just need to wait. I find a part of the roof where I’m less likely to be spotted, put my backpack on the ground, use it as a pillow, snuggling up and taking a little nap.
Whoa, traffic noise all around, and the sun is shining. How did I sleep so long? I look at my phone. It’s almost 9am, and people are already showing up. Time to setup.
- Sandal Wood Essential Oil – this will go in item number 11
- Grappling hook – I used this to climb the building
- A good sturdy backpack – I used this to carry everything
- Polyfill and Putty knife – I used this to seal the prisoner loading door
- Anonymous proxy server software – I used this to create anonymity when I created a fake event web site that invited the entire city (through fake Twitter, fake email, and fake Facebook accounts), including media, to this morning’s catered version of “Police Celebration Day.”
- Clown mask and Clown wig – I’ll put these on now to fit in with the other clowns.
- $200 gift card credit card x 2 – I used these to secure the fake web site and anonymously put a deposit down on hiring a catering service, a dozen balloon animal creating clowns, and a few juggling harlequins.
- Vacuum hose and Duct tape – I’ll attach these to item number 11, and now I’m all setup.
- Taser – let’s hope I don’t have to use this.
- Some cash – cab, items, and escape money.
Item number 11 is a fog machine that came with a substance called fog juice. I mixed the sandal wood with it in hopes of tricking people into believing that it’s real smoke. I duct taped the vacuum hose to the fog machine and stuck the hose in the police station’s roof top air exchange. Now, fun will ensue. The station is full of clowns, caterers, media, adults, and children. Cops are probably trying to usher everyone out for this confusing unplanned event, and the place is about to fill up with a substance that looks and smells a bit like smoke. They’ll be forced to evacuate the building, but the prisoner’s will be taken out of the same mass panic, hysterical coughing doors that everyone else is leaving through.
My cell begins vibrating. Not a good time, but call display shows that it’s Big Money.
“B.M., what’s up?”
“Did you just call me B.M.?”
“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?”
“Davis, man, what’s up with you?”
“Sorry B.M., I’m just in the middle of something.”
Big Money lets out one of his patented baby panda eating laughs. “I bet you are. Take yourself out of that poor woman and listen up.”
I say nothing and give a breath of impatience.
“All right all right. I understand, you want to get back to diddling your lady. You filthy dog, you. Listen now, the forensic team found that both bullets came from outside the bank. As a result, the cops are dismissing the charges against Reggie, bad PR and all. They have to process the paperwork, but as long as nothing urgent happens down at the station, Reggie should be out by lunch time. I’ll get the car to pick him up, and you can both meet me down at the TV station.”
“Uh, oh boy! Stick a toothpick in my peehole and call me Sally.”
“I know. It’s great news right. Listen, if you’re still up for it, I’m hoping our deal is still on. We’d like to follow you guys for the next year, if you’re still doing the whole superhero lesbo shit.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll come by around lunch. I really have to go.”
People are screaming in the background.
“Davis, you dirty fucker man. How many girls you got over there?”
“I’ll see you later man.”
“All right you dirty bastard. Try to video tape that shit.”
“Oh, there will be a video.”
I hang up the phone while I get one last baby panda eating laugh from the other end.
I grab the fog machine, oil, fog juice, duct tape, and vacuum hose and throw them in the back pac. I fasten the grappling hook to the camera blind spot and climb down the wall.
I run around the front of the building to see cops desperately trying to hold on to the prisoners while the crowd is evacuating in a confused and sloppy manner. Fire trucks have shown up and the clowns, for some reason are still performing. Stain looks at me, while I’m dressed in my wig and mask. There’s something he recognizes about me. Perhaps it’s my jacket, my height, my size, but most likely it’s the determination in my gait. I always have the “business walk” when I’m up to something. He waves to me and begins to shake loose from the cops. I shake my head no at him and give him the stop sign with my hand. He nods and stays put, while I walk off in the opposite direction.