Bash Poon

 

A few years later but in the ballpark.

Overheard on the MTA Blue Line, March 13, 2007: "bash poon" or words to that effect.

A brief field report, by Bungles, the valet

Northbound, from the 105. Two lo-rent playas, a ghetto "Jay and Silent Bob" if you will. Both were in their early 20's at best.

"Jay" was dressed in a flat-billed black & white MLB baseball cap, white oversized t-shirt, black pants of the de rigeur urban baggy. "Silent Bob" was likewise in black baggy trousers, but sporting a multi-colored hoody in a rich, variegated pattern of fiscal abundance—stylistically modifed icons of US currency in the $100 mode, casino chips and so on.

The object of "Jay's" fascination was his new iPod Nano. So many thumpin' grooves, such a tiny little beatch.

The loquacious "Jay", was describing to his reticent associate "Silent Bob" in detail an intimate encounter; by which a young adolescent girl was lured by true pretenses to his domicile [crib] wherein she performed copious oral sex ["brought that bitches mouf down on it and I busted a nut. She was served!"].

This was evidently satisfactory to "Silent Bob", who by his assented silence, enabled the Narrative Impulse to continue. Thereupon "Jay" proceeded to regale "Silent Bob" with the further details of a full-penetration sexual encounter, consummated on an improvised bed of 2 rows of 3 chairs facing each other, covered by a sheet. There was a mention of a television in the "crib", a garage in fact, next to a church of an unspecified denomination.

Observations had been surreptitiously made, and the conversants were sharing a fortified alcoholic beverage, disguised as an innocuous lemonade. "Silent Bob" became aware of The Observer's shirt, a vigourously patterned short-sleeve shirt with distinct Euro-centric 'jungle themes' rendered in a vulgate comic-book style.

It must be noted that this shirt is neo-vintage, 100% polyester, and is of Bengali manufacture. When this shirt was new, it had the suppleness and drape of 3/4" plywood.

"Silent Bob" turned to "Jay", and then turned back to The Observer, and declaimed "dang, bro, you one of us!", completed with an abbreviated dap.

I turned back to my demotic Anabasis, and thought of England.



by my hand, I am and remain "Bungles, the valet"


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