Lately I have been craving a real authentic party, you know, one where someone pulls out a gun but no one gets shot. I am so sick and tired of going out to “drinks” at these bourgeois places trying to close that business deal or for “fun” meeting my girls out at some club in the Meat packing where the same rotation of top 40 songs spin and people are two cute to break a sweat beyond a two step. What ever happened to the basement parties? Do you remember those kinds of house parties? Where you would walk inside some dilapidated house and catch immediate contact from the cloud of smoke that would automatically brings your vibe to a state of euphoria. You can barely make out anyone’s face as it’s so dark. The only source of light is one illuminating red bulb being propped up by a wire hanger. As you try to make your way to the kitchen to get your drink on, to your left is some guys playing cards and to your right another group playing Dominoes around a couch with the plastic cover still on and somebody must have just hit ‘cause all you hear is, “GIMME MY MONEY!” After pouring yourself a plastic cup of Hennesy and Alize a choice you may or may not have opted for over the selection of 40ties (you know what I’m talking about) you are finally ready to enter the real action of the party- ‘cause what you just passed was just the “foyer.” Now as you go through the sixties beads that hang in the doorway you can now hear Shabba Ranks clearly and the temperature in the room just increased to a hot day in hell. There lies a full room full of sweaty folks grinding up against one another with some girls upside down winding dey hips as the DJ keeps droppin' those hits all night and morning long until someone yells, “He’s gotta gun!” Where is that party?
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