This is a day late, but as it concerns a gentleman who used to perform under the name ???Buck Short,??? I???m calling it even.
A belated Happy Birthday to Clubbup, uno blanco pachuco rolling his balls through the Humboldt Park pachinko???someone old, looking for something new, on borrowed time, rocking powder blue, dodging harpoons and trying to avoid the street hassle on his way to his own private Florida room, where it???s Always Saturday. I???d like to fabricate some fantastical point of origin, but as is so often the case, Ruth is stranger than Richard: Dude actually (like, actually) lives at the corner of Crystal and Rockwell, which would only be the second-flyest address I???d ever heard, were it not for the bonus beat, which puts it over the top like your boy Sylvester Stallone: Yeah, just make a right on the street between the liquor store and the women???s clinic. Real talk.
More real talk, but this time from two ladies (overheard at a Mr. Terry Clubbup show. Actually.): ???Is he wearing lipstick???? ???No, I think his lips just look like that.??? ???Really? Hmmmm?????? (You kinda have to imagine that last part being said as approvingly as humanly possible. Like, approaching should-have-had-her-???Always-A-Lady???-t-shit-revoked levels). I think her name was "Maureena."
TCB is the fly in the ointment, staying the former, hopefully without needing the latter. Crunko-American advocate, transition-lens wearer, deer feeder, liquor drinker, showboater, and comforter of the lost and turned-out, the peach tree that grows a quarter-inch behind Young Cleezy???s fivehead perpetually drops like hot a bumper crop of strange fruit, but all you really need to know is right there in the Clubbuppington family crest: one side depicts a dog running free, and the other, a cat on a leash. Trilly yours.
In a world where they don???t use lemons to make lemonade, Clubbup???s got that actual Guatemala. Happy Birthday, bon bon vie, champagne for your real friends, real pain for your sham friends, and all that.
???This dude???s a gangster?! His real name???s ???Terrence???!???
Like wings, traveling shoes, opinions, and assholes, all God???s children have a Terry Clubbup story. What???s yours? (And before you reply, ask yourself: What has the truth ever done for you?)
Failing that, just post up some Friday Afternoon Party Patrol shit. Terry would have wanted it that way.
A belated Happy Birthday to Clubbup, uno blanco pachuco rolling his balls through the Humboldt Park pachinko???someone old, looking for something new, on borrowed time, rocking powder blue, dodging harpoons and trying to avoid the street hassle on his way to his own private Florida room, where it???s Always Saturday. I???d like to fabricate some fantastical point of origin, but as is so often the case, Ruth is stranger than Richard: Dude actually (like, actually) lives at the corner of Crystal and Rockwell, which would only be the second-flyest address I???d ever heard, were it not for the bonus beat, which puts it over the top like your boy Sylvester Stallone: Yeah, just make a right on the street between the liquor store and the women???s clinic. Real talk.
More real talk, but this time from two ladies (overheard at a Mr. Terry Clubbup show. Actually.): ???Is he wearing lipstick???? ???No, I think his lips just look like that.??? ???Really? Hmmmm?????? (You kinda have to imagine that last part being said as approvingly as humanly possible. Like, approaching should-have-had-her-???Always-A-Lady???-t-shit-revoked levels). I think her name was "Maureena."
TCB is the fly in the ointment, staying the former, hopefully without needing the latter. Crunko-American advocate, transition-lens wearer, deer feeder, liquor drinker, showboater, and comforter of the lost and turned-out, the peach tree that grows a quarter-inch behind Young Cleezy???s fivehead perpetually drops like hot a bumper crop of strange fruit, but all you really need to know is right there in the Clubbuppington family crest: one side depicts a dog running free, and the other, a cat on a leash. Trilly yours.
In a world where they don???t use lemons to make lemonade, Clubbup???s got that actual Guatemala. Happy Birthday, bon bon vie, champagne for your real friends, real pain for your sham friends, and all that.
???This dude???s a gangster?! His real name???s ???Terrence???!???
Like wings, traveling shoes, opinions, and assholes, all God???s children have a Terry Clubbup story. What???s yours? (And before you reply, ask yourself: What has the truth ever done for you?)
Failing that, just post up some Friday Afternoon Party Patrol shit. Terry would have wanted it that way.
