It’s a W-Rap.
(A Man and a Woman are sitting in a cafe.
It is an intimate moment, a moment in which something extraordinary will occur… Will it be a popping of the “Big Question”? will the “L” word work its way to the front? Is a baby announcement in order? We can’t be sure, but there is an electricity between the two people sitting in the cafe, a feeling of possibility that is only felt on very rare occasions like this.
The Woman sits up in her chair in anticipation as the Man opens his mouth to speak.)
Man: I brought us here today because there was something special I wanted to share with you, (Insert completely benign and run-of-the-mill name here, maybe something like: Jane).
Woman: Oh, (Man name, something boring and really lack-luster, maybe: Ben), I’ve been waiting for something like this. I’ve been feeling so antsy lately, so thrilled about anything that could lead me to a better, more interesting life!
Man: Yes. Now. I can’t think of anything really original so, I made you a poem to really tell you how I feel.
Woman: How romantic!
Men: Yes. It is romantic. Um. It’s been adapted a little from one of my favorite singers, Drake. But, here goes:
Sex, love pain, baby, I’ll be on that tank Shit.
Buzz is so big, I could probably sell a blank disk!
And when my album drops, bitches would buy it for the picture of me,
and homies will buy it too and claim they got it for their sister.
Magazines, papers, girls, but money is not the issue:
They’ll bring dinner to my room and ask me for initials
and you’ll call me a referee because I’ll be so official
and you know: my shirt has no stripes, but I can make your pussy whistle
Like the Andy Griffith theme song…
And who told you to put your jeans on?!?
Double cup love, you’re the one I lean on
And I’m feeling ready for a fix so you should get your fiend on!
Yeah, you know my condo is the crack spot,
and every single show I do you are out there representing me like a mascot,
get it from the back now, and I’ll make your fucking bra strap pop,
all up in your slot until I, your boyfriend will hit the jackpot.
‘Cause, baby, your my everything. You’ve all I ever wanted.
We could do it real big, bigger than you’ve ever done it.
You’re up on everything, other hoes are never on it.
I want this forever, I swear, I could spend whatever on it!
Woman: (Pause) Was that supposed to make me smile?
Man: I’m confused. Didn’t you like that?
Woman: No. I don’t get it.
Man: The message! The message is that you’re the friggin’ best and that other hoes want this, but you’re the one I want to have it!
Woman: Oh. My. God. And you needed a rap song to say that better than what you couldn’t find the words to say?
Man: It was a rap song! Now it’s an adapted poem from the heart!
Woman: You are so unbelievably lame that you needed to use uneducated and badly rhymed words to tell me you had feelings for me. And, since we’re being honest here, this cafe sucks.
Man: Wh-What? I had imagined this going so much better!
Woman: Well, now you can imagine this with some other girl. We’re over. You’re lame, your poetry is lame and this cafe is lame.
(She walks out. Man sits alone at the table re-reading his poem, as if maybe he could find some inspiration from it)
Man: (reading) You don’t even have to ask twice. You can have my heart and we can share it like the last slice…
(Man picks up a phone and calls a number)
Man: Hey… Friend (with a name that is just as lame, maybe: Bob) Yeah, I read the poem and she hated it. Ugh. I feel, so… so… um, hold on. I have an adapted poem that better describes how I feel, it’s by one of my favorite artists called Lil Wayne:
Man it feels like these walls are closing in, the roof is caving in,
Ugh, I guess it’s time to raise it then.
Your tasing them like pages in my book of rhymes,
Got them cooking, boy this crooked mind of mine got them all shook up,
and scared to look in my eyes.
I stole the fucking clock.
I took the time and I came up from behind and
pretty much snuck up
and butt-fucked this game up…
September 1, 2011 at 5:03 pm by Natalie Allen