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There goes the neighborhood

A few days ago Mallory went out to get the mail and came back with a spiral notebook. “Look what I found in the street!” she said, handing it to Chris. Chris examined it, and found it to be the property of one “Pac-Man,” the (apparent) leader of a trio of aspiring rappers, according to the doodles on the front cover. And inside the notebook were pages and pages of Pac-Man’s “lyrics.”

Now, I know very little about rap or hiphop or any kind of “tunes” that came out after, say, 1997, but I’m here to tell you – these lyrics were bad. Oh so bad. Some were actually obscene, which only added to the hilarity. Most of the “songs” were on topics that you would guess would interest a teenage boy – sex, money, smoking marijuana. One sample strove toward social commentary, as it lamented how hard it was to get a job in this “reasciene” (recession, we determined, after a few minutes of puzzlement). But it was this verse that brought us to our knees:

Girls are a dime a dozen
So why am I hanging with a penny?
I’m just like Forrest Gump
Been told to run by Jenny.

Chris and I were helpless with laughter. Forrest Gump? Forrest Gump? Amidst the “blunts” and the guns and the groping of his “bitches,” a reference to Forrest Gump? Who is this person, anyway? Some tough gangsta, that’s for sure.

Thanks for the laugh, Pac-Man. Your notebook is on our bedside table, should you care to retrieve it.

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