Rubio’s Plan “E” – CRAP MUSIC
Sappy themes + Country lyrics + Loud thumping + Repetitive bass + Shallow disco string arrangements + Droning “New World” music + Excessive blues riff melodies passing for pop + Excessive production. Rubio would introduce “Crap Music” to the world at Johnny Passion’s comeback concert in Vegas.
Note: Crap (Country-Rap) Music: (Wikipediatrics) Crap music (Country-Rap) was first introduced by an obscure Hollywood duo known as “Short and Curly (later The Pubes)” in the 1980s.
* * * *
Rubio had spent the last ten days breaking into homes and cars, while replacing random victim’s music collections with his own cassettes and leisure wear.
Today, he was behind the wheel of his stolen car-of-the-day. The pounding bass blasting from his car windows had made the synapses in his brain misfired in perfect arrhythmia. Just snapping away like electrical Rice Krispies, whenever he commandeered worn out, stolen cars around the worst sections of LA.
The twitches, flashes, and random sparks bouncing about in Rubio’s fried brain had always been his most deadly adversaries. If only he could piece his thoughts together. Just another hit on the pipe possibly, might help him to accomplish his mission. “Woo Hoo!” Rubio blasted from his big ugly ass face.
* * * *
Later, in a run-down motel in south Los Angeles…
The God of Sleaze, was preparing to go to Johnny’s big opening in Vegas.
“It’s my turn to reject you, Cheri!” he screamed into the smoggy air that he loved. “I’m taking my new girl to Vegas to show you a real woman! Felayshia! She’s makin’ a baby Rubio right now! Felayshia will give me an army of Rubios! It’s about time that you got a fucking education, you Ho!”
He loaded and locked the CD full of “ammo,” the same music mix that he had employed during his “Dance Mucus Show” and then carefully picked up his new CD loaded with his newest Crap Music and tossed it into his new black duffle bag. The bag was already stuffed with loaded pistols and drug paraphernalia. Anthony Rubio, the “new-man-in-town” could lift the bag with ease. The pistols in the bag came in all shapes and sizes. No pain [inflicted on others], he thought, no gain.
Yes, he wanted to inflict a whole shit-load of pain, so he added a couple of his favorite road-rage weapons the Stanley “Fu Bar” and The Tool-man “Equalizer.” Both were nasty medieval looking crowbars.
Rubio’s day of reckoning was upon us all. (Shiver, shiver.)
“C’mon everybody put on your dancin‘ shoes!” Rubio yelled to the low riding cruisers slinking along Whittier Boulevard, as he departed his swingin’ apartment for the last time.
* * * *
The Goddess was unaware of Rubio’s new Crap until it was too late.
* * * *
Don’t Forget Your Momma
The “God of Sleaze,” Rubio, was making great progress on his drive from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. He’d only been on the road for six hours, traveling at an average speed of twelve-miles-per-hour, then eighty-five-miles-per-hour, then fifteen-miles-per-hour, then napping, then seventy-miles-per-hour.
He had just pulled over on the side of the road off of I-15 next to a town called Roach to refuel. As he loaded up his crack pipe, a Nevada State Highway Patrol car pulled up behind him, with a very cool light show.
Rubio, who was coughing, dropped his pipe as smoke barreled out of his driver side window.
The trooper walked toward the stolen car’s driver-side door, and asked the ugliest man (Is he mooning me,?) he’d ever seen for his license and registration.
“Let me see your… Holy Lord Jesus!” ‘It’ smelled like ass and pot. “What the cough! cough! … Thank you verrry much.” Highway Patrol Officer Lavelle looked familiar to Rubio, with the aviator glasses and turned up collar.
“What you been smokin’ there, son? Does your momma back home know that you use drugs? I bet the woman who raised you from a little pup is cryin’ right now.” The trooper then closed his eyes behind his gold-framed aviators, and sung softly to himself, “… and his momma cries.” The officer wiped a tear from his cheek and bent down toward Rubio, “Your poor old momma, son. Do you ever call her?”
“Call who? You know that you look like that guy, man. I like your shades, Chief.”
“Thank you verrrry much. I want to know if you call your momma and tell her that you love her, son. Before it’s too late. Before your momma has left the building. Don’t be cruel to your momma boy. She’s the only one you’ve got.”
“I don’t even know who she is, Chief.”
“Well, it looks like you’re in double trouble, son. The names on the license and registration don’t match, and I believe that you’re under the influence, not to mention the pipe on the floor. I believe that you’re goin’ to be a-rockin’ in the jailhouse and a-cryin’ in the chapel before this is over. I sincerely hope that your momma isn’t alive to see this. Step out of the car, son, and put your hands up on the roof. Don’t you realize that drugs are the Devil in disguise? Yes, they are.”
* * * *
Dwayne the Lizard
Twenty minutes later, Rubio was sitting in a Las Vegas jail cell. His new ‘roach coach’ was locked up in police impound with a sleeping, pregnant Felayshia in the backseat.
The impound attendant left the car unlocked. At midnight, Falayshia was dragged out of the impound yard, and into the desert by a giant glowing horned toad.
Falayshia screamed, and startled the ten-foot high toad who then inflated its sedan-sized spiny body and shot blood out of its green eyes.
She was transfixed.
They each took a long deep breath.
Felayshia then leapt on top of Dwayne the Lizard’s back, patted him on the head, and together, they galloped off into the black Nevada night, toward “Happily Ever After.”
It’s nice to see a reptile have fun without having to stomp all over Tokyo.