• » Name: Meka Soul
• » Location: Los Angeles, CA
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	April 2008
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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

The World Is Filled...

For the most part I don’t party a lot. Credit that due to the fact I work a pretty ridiculous amount of hours at the main job, the side job here and the side hustle over there, but since I already barely spend time in the place I drop an inordinate amount of money per month for, I’m usually with my friends or family doing the same thing we’ve been doing since college. Not that I mind that at all, though: it’s provided a sense of normalcy in my otherwise batshit life. However when I do partake in the finest of debauched activities, it’s almost a certain that some wild random shit will happen.

This past entire weekend turned out to be one of those wildly random-ass events. And the simple fact I’m still struggling to recuperate from it two days later speaks in droves. Oddly enough, leave it to me to have an epiphany about the mysterious ways of life while I’m chasing hash brownies with Coronas until damn near daybreak Saturday night/Sunday morning.

But I’m getting too far ahead of myself. When my fellow Dope Boy popped into town for the weekend, I knew I was going to end up waking up the next day with that back pain you only get from boozing it up too much (my back still hurts!). In any matter, we ended up at a house party near the beach, where a thick-bodied chick that instantly reminded me the titular whore from Nas’ “Black Girl Lost” (because I have a conscience like that) was parading around in some next-to-nothings with a nearly-empty bottle of tequila in her hand.

Drunk and hot girl wearing some coochie-cutters and Fuck Me Pumps = always a triple-X experiment waiting to happen.

Lo and behold some Southern trash music pumped through the speakers, and maybe the power of Christ (or José Cuervo, I don’t know) got wrapped up in the reverberating bass lines and elementary school lyrics [1], but the party, errr, progressed into an essentially dry-humping gangbang on the pool table. I honestly didn’t know whether to stand there and watch in shock and awe (mind you, I was slightly buzzed so my logical thought processing was out of sync) or smack fire out of her ass as well.

All right, I smacked her ass a couple times too. Whatever.

The looks of disgust from the other women who’d basically gotten ignored (which was fucking priceless) while this shit was going down essentially brings forth the moral of this twisted ass tale: I’m not going to look at women any less differently than I already do (and believe me, my view is pretty harsh as is) when some scallywhop willingly lets her conch be groped by a shitload of guys; hell, even I think that’s wrong on so many levels. At the same time, isn’t that the type of shit that has guys looking at women as nothing more than nut rags in the first place? Think about that when you decide to rock an outfit that has your tits damn near falling into my lap next time you go out.

[1] At least Southern music is good for one thing.

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