Lil’ Wayne

On a time crunch to make it out the door for an SDSU-sponsored event, I ran into my Dad’s bathroom to quickly partake in some dental hygiene before proceeding with my plans to drive at highly illegal speeds to campus.

I grabbed onto the faucet and turned it to the left, turned my body around, and turned the corner out of my Dad’s bedroom.  Since Weezy F Baby was blasting from my speakers, it took me a second to realize that what I was hearing was not Lil’ Wayne’s familiar drone but a sound that confirmed that the water had never shut off.  When I sprinted back into the room, the sink was already filling quickly while the drain defectively attempted to keep up.  I had unintentionally broke the faucet.

For the next 20 minutes, I multi-tasked with my cell phone (desperate pleas for help), a bucket at my feet (which I discovered later to be cracked on the side), the largest cup I could find (that originally had grape juice in it, which I drank), and hysterical shoveling of said streaming water from cup to bucket, bucket to tub.

I’m drenched from waist to feet, in a flooded bathroom, late for a date, make-up smeared, hair held up from the water with my mouth and all I could think was… ‘What the hell is Lil’ Wayne talking about?!’

There’s no denying that the crap on the radio is catchy as hell, but after being forced to listen to the lyrics amid the chaos in my bathroom, I’m almost positive that the music industry is slithering into America’s subconscious and consequently decreasing I.Q. points en masse.