Air Force Dumps: The Gay Question

Air force Dumps: The Gay Question



So I get a text message from Spoek Mathambo that he’ll be in town for three days or so because he has to perform at the launch of the Nike concept store in Melville. I don’t think, I react, free clothes, maybe a little Iraq (I-Rack) is all that plagues my mind.

There’s a man that is always at every party I go to with Spoek, I think he might be a subtle stalker, but he’s cool, he was also working at the launch, the day before the show he told that an open bar will be in effect. That night I hardly slept, I was thinking about the next day, going to Iraq, war paint, got the shrapnel out of my ass cheeks.

Woo! Its Tuesday yesterday, I have to do like three stories for the newspaper I work at but knock off at 13:45pm to go to Spoek’s House because his sound check is at 16:00pm. I almost killed an old lady bitch on the highway as I rushed to Sandown a.k.a Lil Brazil whilst smoking some skunk and listening to Billy Ocean. Its safe to say that I was in a fucking good mood, I had my new skinny jeans on, my new Adidas adicolour fitted hat, had my trusty gold Figaro chain on, my old cardigan was popping off like herpes and I had pocket full of stinkies and shrapnel.

At Spoek’s crib I was introduced to his other Grand Mom Dukes and his brother who I hadn’t met yet let alone knew existed, he said Spoek was a “Comedic Rapper” I laughed, Spoek got mad and stormed out the lounge and heated up some chicken pieces and rice for us, i could see he was hurt and wanted to cry but i was just too hungry to care. Bill Bellamy Mathambo. We took Spoek’s brothers Brand Nubian CD to listen on the way to the launch whilst I laughed at the fact that I hadn’t heard anyone say the term “real hip-hop” in a while, it’s such a dumb fucking term. I sang along like a fool to “Hold On” simply red just can’t do it like Lord Jamar.

Shot him and he dropped like a bean bag
Mean muthafucker with a rag and some jeans that sag
They signify your life by crossing out your tag….

Venue was looking nice, there was a little pretty coloured girl who was working the door that looked 15 years old or and she wasn’t Asian, I wondered if she knew that girls her age are sewing the kicks she’s rocking…that I’m rocking too. But I think mine were made by some Bangladesh bitches. She had a plump ass, I imagined myself biting it and licking her gash as I sang Yellowman to her, I forgot about her and went to some restaurant called ANT to get some Windhoek’s with Spoek and Marcus Wormstorm where I listened to them talk about music I’d never heard of by a Scandanavian New Yorker man in a wedding dress. I didn’t feel left out. Not a bit homie!


The place was full of “important” looking people and photographers who wanted to take pictures of me, I’m not famous and I know when I’m being scammed, I think they were gay or something, like the time in junior school when I went on a class hike to the Drakensburg and our sick priest camping master wanted to take pictures of us swimming. Weird. But I still posed, I was asked to wear a Nike tracksuit top for their blog and take a picture, the top was sweet and I didn’t take it off and put on my jacket on top of it, Iraq. This didn’t last long, the white woman caught and politely asked me to take it off as I tried to slip away to the bar section. I agreed, I sighed, blamed the bitch for 500 years of oppression. She even said “is that an Adidas cap?” You done know!


CHECK OUT HOW THEY PHOTO SHOPED THE ADIDAS LOGO OUT OF MY HAT..NIKE ARE SOME SNEAKY BASTARDS


NIKE organisers are fucking cheap; you should have seen the gear they wanted Sweat X to wear, straight off the store rack, no exclusive joints, and no gift bags for junket journalists like myself. The crowd looked like a cocaine crowd but no one was cutting up lines on their dunks, I was a little disappointed but the Johnnie Walker tab kept me shut. They had no tequila and I forced a shot of vodka down my manly pallete, no I’m not talking about my anus god damnit ! come to think of it the lack of girls may explain the homosexual overtones of the launch…the campaign phrase for the store is “Be true” next paragraph.

I think I vomited on someone’s air max’s, I don’t know, I stole a blue top which I cant find now…its all a haze now, I remember lying about my profession to some foreign white women, told them I was in agriculture and that I’m trying to invest in kicks for cows or some dumb shit like that, they laughed, I didn’t get laid, I dint even wank when I got home cause I didn’t go home.

Syntax came through, dude still looks like a pineapple in denim, and I remember talking about being tired of hanging around musicians because I’m a struggling musician. The models at the show were fucking disgusting and the art designer is an evil son of a bitch who had the black models painted in black face. The Nike Minstrel show….I missed the Sweat X performance, seen it a million times and I’m quite tired of seeing Spoek fucking the air.


This is probably the last event Spoek will ever invite me to, I’m so embarrassing. I’m a grime guy but I can get funky.

Good life Good life, Good life, Good life Good life…Good life!