Wu-Tang and Clatchet
A few months ago I spent a wonderful weekend with some of my girls on St. Simon’s Island, GA. We seem to have a thing for obscure places without the hustle and bustle of city life. Our weekend was spent eating, laughing, eating, laughing, eating, and laughing. Between the meals and guffaws, we indulged and watched pure hilarity on TV (insert "Insecure" on HBO…and my suggestion is that you binge watch before July 23 when the new season begins). Awesome weekend away from the responsibilities of wife-, mother-, and granddaughterhood. So let’s get to the crux of this tale...

Now anyone who is acquainted with me understands the fine line between my classy and ratchet. I describe myself as "clatchet" while they just call me crazy. Different strokes, I guess. On the morning of our departure back to reality, I reached one of the many plateaus of my clatchet as I sat in Waffle House salivating over my pecan waffle. I was pleasantly interrupted by a young white man who appeared to listen to nothing but Dave Matthews Band, Creed, and a sprinkle of Jimmy Buffett (being on an island and all, why not?). As he and his (I’m assuming...just like I assumed his taste in music by looking at him; hey, people make assumptions about me all the time. I’m entitled to one or two!) girlfriend approached the register beside our group to pay for their breakfast, he noticed the metallic gold WU-TANG inside the signature Batman-looking W emblazoned across my shirt. He looked at me and smiled. With his “countrier” drawl than mine, he excitedly asked, "Wut chu know bout Wu-Tang Clan?" At that moment something in me felt challenged. The urge to be in every cypher I’ve ever watched on the BET Hip Hop Awards overcame me. With a mouthful of half chewed waffle and the eye of the tiger, I looked at him, lifted my eyebrow, nodded quickly, and said, "What chu got?"

My cousins looked at me like "bish, you betta git 'im...do it for our ancestors," my best friend gave me the silent nod to go for broke (she STAYS hyping me up just so she can laugh at the shenanigans). He looks at me and says, "Up from the 36 Chamberrrrrrs..."
I came back with, "It’s the Ghost! Wu-Tang Killer Bees, we on da swarm."
He’s stunned.
I nod before exclaiming, "I bomb atomically/Socrates philosophies and hypotheses/can’t define how I be dropping these mockeries/lyrically performed armed robberies..."
He retorts with, "Hey you, get off my cloud."
I respond, "you don’t know me and you don’t know my style."
He then says, "Liquid Swords was my SHIT!!! When the MCs caaaame..."
I looked at him and said, "Put the Rza on the track...*insert sound effect that’s a cross between clearing your throat and making a beat*"
Meanwhile, his girlfriend is looking totally perplexed like, "When did Jesseh learn awl dis? Are they speaking in code? This Black woman dun some ol' hoodoo and turned my Jesseh into a rappa! Shame on it awl!" My girls on the other hand are like, "Oooooooh, shit. Yassssss, finish 'iiiiiimmmmm..."
After "Jesseh" (I highly doubt his momma named that; but since I didn’t ask, that’s his name for now) got over his initial shock, he exclaimed, "I want to spend the day with y’all!!! I bet I’d have a ball!" After the laughs and nods between two imaginary honorary Wu members, he went his way and I finished my breakfast.

Maybe serendipity will put us in the same place when my girls and I visit again so we can continue our Wu battle. In the meantime, "Waffle House Killer Bee," I hope you zoned out to "Wu Gambinos" and "Glaciers of Ice" as soon as you got into your car. 👐

We’ll touch more on the clatchet in due time. Let’s just say my friends are trying to put me in "twerkhabilitation." My butt has a mind of it’s own and Juvenile’s “Back Dat Ass Up” will be played at my funeral. Protect your necks until next time, y’all!


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