tough guy

Loud guitar noises.
Loud drums.
A fast pace.
Normally I would love it.
Right now, I can't stand it.

AD Rock is on the mic.
He's screaming:
Butcher Me On The Court
Too Many Elbows To Report
Now You're Poking Me In The Eye
Bill Laimbeer Motherfucker, It's Time For You To Die...

My synapses are connecting, they are sending a loud message through my brain
"Shit, FUCK!, FUCK THIS!!, FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING MOBILE PHONE, FUUUCK"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU FUCKING FUCK !!"
I click on Snooze.

Silence.
I can rest.

But in the eternal cycle of life and death, in this neverending recurrence of the sun and the moon playing hide and seek, AD Rock decides that I shall not rest.
He's back on the mic.
With the guitars.
And the drums.
And that horrible distortion scratching my ear lobes.

Tough Guy, You Think You're Like The Shaq
Keep Running Around, You'll Catch A Heart Attack
Tough Guy, What Are You Giving Me
The Way You're Playing Ball, You'll Stop Me From Living B.

I click Snooze Again.

And I can rest.

But in this fight, there is no cat and mouse. there is only an agressor and a victim.
And I'm no tough guy.
Eventually, I get up.
As if to taunt me, to toy with my feeble self, AD Rock comes on his bloody mic once again as I'm trying to take my morning leak.
I think about throwing my phone into the toilet, but I can't afford to. AD Rock knows this, and tomorrow morning, he'll fuck with me again.

Goddam Tough Guy