Why does anyone believe they have the right to call me a dog and not get their ass kicked. Oh well. I turned to find Vanilla Ice standing there in all his heavy metal tattooed glory. Although he was now a proud metal performer and he had shed the “white boy who could dance” he reeked of poser.
He had had his fight with drugs, divorce, and scandal that had not really put a real edge on him. He was still looking every bit the poser, the fake, the wanna be.
I do not remember him moving in anywhere.
“I just moved in last night, into that house over there.” He points to Marilyn’s house. The one across from Johnny, and I best not speak any more about that matter.
“That house there?” I asked.
“Yeap, signed the papers yesterday and everything. He smiled the smile of a car salesman. Yeap that’s the ticket. Signed the paper yesterday.”
“You know who used to live there before you.”
“No no-one its mine who’s been talking and what have they been saying? Cause I signed the papers yesterday.”
“Yeah you said that.”
“You want to see them?”
“No, no dude that will be quite all right.” Hoping to end this stupid banter.
“Cause you know I was totally crucified over a double beat that every could not get except my manager and producer.”
“I want to make sure that everyone knows that this is my house.”
“I built it and everything with my own two hands, hammered the nails myself. plumbed the copper tubes myself.”
“Copper pipes” I corrected
“What?” he was clearly lost in an alternate universe and did not have a map to get back.
“Copper ….yeah uh O Kay what ever”
“No dude really I did.”
“Sure you did what ever.” I said less convincing than I wanted to be.
“You know what you better show some respect.”
“Or what? “ I challenged.
I'm trying to get away before the jackers jack
Police on the scene you know what I mean
They passed me up confronted all the dope fiends
If there was a problem yo I'll solve it
Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it
“No dude relax just relax.” And I am thinking please do not sing any more of that fucked up lame ass song or it may get embedded into my brain for a week.
“I do not care in fact it is probably better you moved in.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Here's the deal what ever you do, DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT landscape that front flowerbed. Leave the flower bed alone and you should have no trouble at all.”
“The flower bed?” he twisted his forehead all up and you could almost hear the one functioning gear grind on all the stripped ones.
“Yeah, you see Johnny is very particular about his view.” I said kind of leaning in and whispered, trying to make it seem official.
“HEH, Johnny Cash? Really? No problem. I do not want any trouble with him I heard he killed a man just to write a song.”
Gunshots rang out like a bell
I grabbed my nine all I heard were shells
Falling on the concrete real fast
"Yeah, ok." I said getting bored with the conversation already.
"Welcome to the neighborhood." I said not really to him but just out there so I did not seem like an asshole.
And I turned away. Thinking to myself, "Can I live with Vanilla Ice in my neighborhood? Can I pull a Johnny and make the house vacant?"
Milli Vanilli tried that squatting thing with the model, but everyone knew they were squatting and the house builder knew the model was not sold. They were not the sharpest tools in the music industry either.
Here at least Vanilla is trying to squat a sold house.
I wonder how long he will be able to stay there before anybody realizes he is squatting and the house is like his music, not his own.
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Like A Monkey With A Handgun
By Rev. J. Sleestaxx
Release date: By 3 December, 2007