Rico’s eyes went open wide. “What if I wanna fuck a bitch?”
Thumper shrugged. “If she down, we’ll double-tap her. Thwack-thwack. That’s our balls slappin’ togethuh, nigga. Mine’s the louder sound. Thwack-thwack-“
“Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah-” Rico was doing his best impression of a broken record. But Thumper got no time for naysaying.
Bet nobody even knows what a “broken record” is no more. Thumper asked Rico how a nigga listen to music nowadays, and Rico stopped his complaining about the bed long enough to give a very complicated answer. It was basically “on the phone”, nigga gotta call into some cloud or something. He kept saying “I Heart Radio”, but then when Thumper said there was music on the radio, Rico reacted like Thumper just lit a baby on fire.
He was mad on the frown train. Rico was a conductor on that train. He frowned at every single thing Thumper took outta his duffel bag. Thumper’s clothes was old and faded and mouse-nibbled, which made Rico double his frown. Thumper’s soap was in bar form, which Rico said was old-fashioned and awful — apparently a enlightened modern-day nigga do use “body wash” — that led to another doubling of Rico’s frown. Thumper had a box of tea, which Rico said only elderly honkies drank. Rico’s frown was exponential by then.
That turned out to be a theme with young people. Frowning spread like a bat virus while Thumper was locked up. Young folks be frowning at everything. Dissatisfaction rained like a queen’s pee-pee.
From Deep on the Downlow
