And so it came to pass that every prayer was granted and every dream fulfilled. It was a year like no other. There was a sighting of Robert Johnson at the crossroads (the Mason-ry Dixon Line) in a candy apple Chevy, ridin’ dirty, with Pimp C in the passenger seat hootin’ and hollerin’ about the sanctity of marriage and the need for fewer pimps. Countless hoes gathered at the foot of Stone Mountain as Bessie Smith sang a triumphant re-vamp of Purple Mountains Majesty all the while doing the “Anti-freeze” and the “Body Rock”, nonstop. They handed out Degrees as party favors. Now, everybody was steppin their game up! Meanwhile, the cats that were in school all along were given free classes on “twerkin their jelly” non-academically for the systematic downfall of The Empire. Everything was in place. Back alley gangstas were turning white collar and white collar gangstas were turning themselves in. Aint nobody know how to act. I saw one cat in a Sean John suit, with Bird Man shoes, a G-unit hat, a Thug Life medallion, and a Super Bowl ring. He was Crumpin’ so hard I almost put a spoon in his mouth. George Clinton did a “White Only” show at Abbysinian Baptist Church in Harlem. He stepped on stage in an all white suit, clean as Canadian pussy, and simply said “YOU CAN'T UN-RING THE BELL” before ascending into the Mothership leaving a trail of genius and crack smoke over the Harlem sky. The Pentagon was clueless. Slang, like, “this shits the bomb”, had thrown them so far off course, they had begun to ignore us. Perfect! I jumped in my Caddy, drove down to Dr. Kings burial site and smoked one for The Dreamer. I had a plan that I was only going to need one strand of Puffy’s chest hair, a Cotton Gin, a message from Flava Flav on my answering machine, the divorced wife of a dope Southern rapper, an appearance on a U.P.N. Sitcom, a glimpse of Oprah’s privates, a hand shake from at least three black nationalist figures, a kiss from a guru, cocktails with Bono, duck sicked in an elevator, contact with Jesus, and a private tap dancing tap-off with a girlfriend to accomplish. I was certain I wouldn’t fail. I was gonna make being dope being dope again. That would mean “bad” meaning bad and “good” meaning good. Yes, the end of the Quotation Mark. The assertion of the predicate. Mad grammatical shit, Son! You can quote me on that! Let the games begin!