I feel obliged to tell of this (self-inflicted) nightmare: About 1993 or so, myself, Joc Max and the SuperWolf were playing a 400 strong funk party at the Art Institute in Kansas City. In all honesty, I was REALLY tore up, all kinds of illicit materials running through my body. At the zenith of the party, I (somehow) cued up Lyn Collins "Think," which most everyone knew, and we were prepped for the place to hit the ceiling. So Lyn goes through her long vocal intro, you could feel the pressure mounting, and just as the music was about to drop, I cold passed out into the decks. It went something like, "You'd better...craaashhiiiiciciiciciicici." Joc quickly peeled me from the tables and requed the tune, but the damage was done. The worst part about it was the fact that I was dressed head to toe in straight cowboy gear: denim jacket, cowboy hat, sunglasses, bolo, the whole nine. The school security guard promptly escorted (carried?) me out of the hall and onto the waiting grass outside. People still remember that party...and not for the music unfortunately.
