Post by fuggingolliwog on Sept 24, 2015 10:24:46 GMT -5
OPP applies the gas and shifts the engine into fifth gear, cruising southbound on Washington St. into Fells Point. The new Camaro is cherry, and OPP waists little time showing off his prowess, switching lanes with ease. The Pimps have bad intentions on the brain as the sun sets into a late-summer's night.
OPP - Baltimore, America's bastard city. Not quite north, not quite south, not quite rich, not quite poor. It's these attitudes that make up this place: a kind of "middle child" culture. Ambitious, but beaten down, and always down to wile out.
DMC - Sounds like my kind of place.
OPP slides the whip into a parking space near the red brick storefront of a hookah bar, the Pearl Lounge.
DMC - Why start here? Wouldn/t a hookah bar be better for, like a nightcap spot?
OPP - I don't suppose a nightcap is in the near future, my main man. Tonight we Bro Down til we blackout, and the last man standing gets a shot at the World Title. I hope you respect how serious this situation is.
DMC - No doubt.
As the Pimps step into the building, they are enveloped in the heady aroma of the co-mingling of different smokes issuing from the several hookahs scattered throughout the room, and the chatter of those who are smoking. OPP leads the way through the crowded room until he reaches a booth occupied by a group of young ladies and one dude, a gangly black man wearing shades and a striped polo.
OPP - This the homeboy Tron...
The two w/ a quick handshake and snap of the fingers.
OPP - and the ladies Phoebe, Marcella, and Jinx. Y/all, this my mate from UCLA, DMC.
The Pimps squeeze into the booth and are given spouts from the ornate Arabian hookah. They breathe the smoke in.
Marcella - So, you his partner? P said he was a wrestla, but I din't kno he was into tag-teamin.
DMC - Ha, it/s not like that. We the PIMPS of Wrestling, we/re here whoop some ass, and get that money.
Jinx - Whoa boy, don't go shootin a promo right now.
OPP - Anyway, the two of us are here on official UWR business as it is. We bout to Bro Down competitively and we gon need some tools for that, not to mention a couple judges, knowatmsayin?
Tron - What did you have in mind? I mean, aside from this fine Arabian hashish that I've provided?
Begin the montage: one pill, two pill, three pill, four. Climbing across the city on the stilts of inebriation, the Pimps and their willing hosts play fiddle to Baltimore nightlife. Playing pool in a Camden frat bar, and watering their lawn afterwards. Disco in a dive bar.
Back in the Camaro, OPP swerves through traffic.
OPP - OK, I/m on like, 3 different intoxicants right now and driving your ass around, that should be a point for me.
DMC - Yeah, but I/m squeezed in the backseat w/ a couple honeys, so that/s a point on me.
Phoebe - So, you two just arbitrarily decide when you get a point?
DMC - That/s half the fun.
Phoebe - Doesn't sound like much of a challenge...
Continue the montage: Breaking into a rooftop terrace to get a view of the Patapsco, then spraypainting POW on a billboard. Booking it from the cops. A streetrace against an Imprezza on the 40. Later, in someone's apartment, Phoebe and DMC share a tab of acid. The journey is potent and allows DMC to realize the amazing potential of his life.
In a moment of lucidity, DMC asks OPP to be the one to win the World Heavyweight Championship.
OPP - That/s just the drugs talking...
DMC - No, I mean it, you should be the one. You have the competitive edge, over me surely, and definitely over those other jabrones. I want you to be the first World Heavyweight Champion.
OPP - I/m ahead of you in points anyway. And so, our Bro Down is complete. I/m sober now.
DMC - I/m gonna go have a conversation w/ the moon...
Record scratch outro.