SPIDERS AND MAD COBRAS

I was about to enjoy my morning coffee when blurred movement caught my half crusted shut eyes. Bumba clot! It was like a huge antfarm was smashed all over my kitchen tiles this morning. They were skittering everywhere. They had purpose. So I suppose they were leaving their chemical trail for others to follow. But to where? Drippings down the side of a canesugar syrup bottle stashed behind a two hundred year old box of pancake mix was the where. Enough breakfast to feed the main colony. A quick trash bin fix. I have been over run with critters of all sizes and fear inducing shapes. Do not go down in the basement. Right? Every horror flic teaches ya that- but I have too, half my home is there. This 12 year old Frankensteined together computer that I am blogging from is plugged in down there stuffed into a corner. Spiders will drop from the ceiling. I will feel a a tickle on my arm and a fuzzy eight legged little monster will be looking up at me. The wife usually lets out a small scream and then pulverizes the suckers. Me I vacuum them up by the dozens then dump the basket out the back door. I have raccoons nesting in the rafters. I have feral cats screeching all night. I found a coyote skull in a clump of grass. My home and garage is a wild life rufuge but no snakes. I always caught snakes in my backyard as a youth. No reptiles in 2010? All right- there was a Mad Cobra in the CD player.



I remember this youth when he tried to stand shoulder to shoulder with the big boys. That was around the time that the Dancehall Rub-A-Dub was turning gangsta thug for life American style. I remember this youth standing next to the huge Ninjaman all ghetto blasting hollow point gun talk. The youth was even standing tall next to the world playa top ten chart conquering gaint Shabba Ranks. To be honest, I thought that slackest of tune Flex was a Shabba smash. Yep, Mad Cobra could- talk circles around his lyrical prey, rhyme crime and shoot his mouth off like he was emptying a full clip. But for all that punnany bragging, it was just a puffed up chest display. Mad Cobra seemed like the politest rude bwoy. Sure Monday thru Friday was raging hormones around the ladies but Sunday was bible day. Mad Cobra always seemed like the kid brother trying to show off in front of the big brother's friends. Gun talk not from the streets but from big screen westerns. Gundelero. Exactly! To be fair Mad Cobra made a few bad career choices. Those records for what they are, I still enjoy them. If I am not mistaking, he was positioned to make a come back. Sadly gun talk turned into violent reality.