mix this

In 1992 the seattle based rapper Sir Mix-a-lot won his first and only grammy award with "Baby got Back". It was philisophical ballad that ran its soft black fingers over that fine devide between the metaphysical and the ass, a melody that touched the heart of every self-proclaimed romantic who drives a Honda from hear to Bangladesh. So, you can imagine how I felt as I borded my American West flight 55 at 5:30 in the morning in what was to be as triumphant a homecoming as Mix's much anticipated 2005 release of "Baby Got Crack". I was returning to my birthplace, the place where as a child I learned how to walk and read and give karate lessons. The first leg of my flight was vericose and unshaved, but luckily I had the window seat. Unluckily I spilled water on my neighbor as the flight attendant passed me my glass (plastic). Las Vegas. Dreams are made and banks are broken. The heart of the underworld. Nicolas Cage. The slot machines at the airport are just as illuminous and drawing as the cover of a Cosmo to a 14 year-old boyscout whose only phyiscal contact with a woman was when his babysitter changed his diapers, and she wore gloves. I refrained from touching the dirty things and waited for my flight, now 1/2 an hour late. A plastic young woman seated herself and her light pink valure jump suit in one of the chairs locked in front of the slots. My middle aged neighbor commented "she's got one of those thousand dollar gucci bags". It's Luis Vuitton. LUIS VUITTON. By the second leg of my flight I was just trying to survive, rembering the last of Mix's concerts I had been to, where as an afront to the censoring son's of bitches who ran the venue he brought out 6 or seven of the hottest hootchies you've ever seen and convinced them to "put the titties on the glass". I asked my flight attendent (i actually ordered her) to do the same, but she couldn't reach across the isle to actually come in contact with the glass (plastic). And I was home, 12 hours later, crickety legs and all. Seattle is nice, I remembered how it was when My ancestors ran this land. They built totem poles and fished without boeing or starbucks, and so I close with this last thought:
"My anaconda don't want none unless you got bunz hun"