Ok, I’m actually too nervous to keep heat in my crib because I’d have
been locked up with 25 and a L by now. (Don't go gettin' any ideas; I'm still loca.) However, growing up in Harlem, I did learn the importance of having a bat handy at all times possible. (Thanks, Daddy!) I keep two Louisville Sluggers; a
wooden one and a
metal one; Billie Bats and Mikey Metal. I say that to preface a brief encounter that I had, last night, with my imaginary, inevitable, yet improbable death. Just around 3 am, I freaked out because my bed kept shaking from underneath. (No, I wasn't chillin' with Mary Jane, either.) It wasn't a constant tremble, so I didn't trip at first. But it happened, over and over again, in intervals of a just a few seconds; 20 maybe. The weird thing is that a couple of nights before, I had a dream that my friend's dog had puppies and was secretly harboring them underneath my bed! (WTF?!) Though I knew it was impossible for anyone to fit under there, due to many, many crates full of old VHS tapes and board games, I still wound up buggin'out. I got up, went into my bathroom, gathered myself, and with my man on the line with me, and totally mocking me, I mustered up the nuts to go to my stash spot, grab my bats and look under the bed. (B*tches gotta be brave). Of course, nothing was under there. Imagine the levels of my discomfiture when I realized that it was my fan lightly touching the edge of my bed, and makeing it vibrate, while oscillating. Wow! Not quite the Zodiac Killer, but still a little eery. Needless to say, I still slept with Mikey Metal within arms reach. The floor is now open. Say what you will. Lol!
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