Edgar Allan Poe Community College

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Monday, May 9, 2016

DJ Decapitates Heckler with Flying Vinyl.

     To: All Students
     From: Doc Paranormal
     Subject: Here's a touching letter I received. Caution: It may bring tears to your eyes as it did to mine:
 
    Dear Doc Paranormal:
    Seven years ago, my boyfriend, an aspiring DJ who I’ll call DJ Bus Stop, was returning from a 50 Cent concert when his brother, who was driving, ran the car off the road and into a concrete bench at–you guessed it–a bus stop. My boyfriend, who was standing up at the time heckling pedestrians through the moon roof, was catapulted forward onto the sidewalk.
     To make a long story short, my boyfriend was paralyzed from the neck down, tragically causing him to be unable to spin records anymore. So there was bad blood between us for the next several years when I got tired of rushing into the bedroom to put another twelve-inch record on the turntable or even do some “scratching” under DJ Bus Stop’s exacting directions.
  But then one night I heard thundering beats coming from the bedroom before I had even put some vinyl on. This is when the hairs on my neck stood on end…
     On the evening that I heard the mysterious music, which was Biggie Smalls doing ‘10 Crack Commandments,’ I rushed into my boyfriend’s bedroom screaming with happiness, figuring my beloved DJ Bus Stop had stopped being quadriplegic–and had put the record on the turntable himself! Instead, I was crestfallen to see that the turntable was empty and that my boyfriend’s face was contorted like he was ill.
     “What’s wrong, honey? Don’t you feel well?” I asked him.
     He opened his eyes and started crying. “Just listening to Biggie, darling,” he said.
     “How could that be?”
     “Sugar, I got so tired of asking you to DJ for me that I just started playing my set list in my head.”
     “You mean like now? Like you’re playing Slick Rick?
     DJ Bus Stop looked startled. “How’d you know I just put that dude into the mix?”
     “I don’t know. But I can hear him rapping clear as a bell.” Then I got an idea. I asked my boyfriend to start playing another song in his head–and rushed out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind me. At first I heard nothing but street sounds coming from outside. But shortly, low at first, then loud enough to hurt my eardrums, I was assaulted by the familiar sounds of ‘Can’t Touch This.’”
     I rushed back into the bedroom and shouted to my boyfriend, “That’s MC Hammer, isn’t it?”
     “Yes,” he replied, “I was playing that old-school legend in my head.”
       I was astounded. My boyfriend and I had entered an eerie new territory in our relationship. Every Friday, he began to entertain me with massive 4-hour DJ sets sent to my welcoming ears entirely via ESP.
     As he got crisper and better with his scratching, cross-fades and such, I just knew there was money in his talent. Yes, DJ Bus Stop was going to rise again. That’s when I used my considerable powers of persuasion to book his first show. If only I hadn’t, because of the shocking events that followed…
     I regret to this day that I booked my quadriplegic boyfriend to ’spin’ his ESP hip-hop to a crowded room at a local club. Now I have to admit, most legitimate clubs laughed in my face when I told them that DJ Bus Stop could play entire sets using only his mind–and that people could hear every track. The only place I was able to convince was this unsavory after-hours joint with a crowd made up of gangsters, pimps and adventurous college students.
     DJ Bus Stop was initially a smash. The crowd could hear him and the sound was crisp and clear because it was coming from his mind and not a muddy P.A. system. The whole place was jumping.
     But wouldn’t you know it, after he was about 45 minutes into his playlist a skinny little heckler began to annoy my boyfriend about playing only "old school" stuff. Now this tiny dude was an obviously wanna-be gangster who probably thought he could earn brownie points by making fun of the cripple. Well, DJ Bus Stop still has a monumental temper even though he can’t punch anybody out, and I could see it building by the second.
     But before I could intervene, something horrible happened. There was still a 12-inch vinyl record resting on another turntable from the previous DJ. Well, suddenly it lifted up and flew like a blur towards the heckler, striking him in the neck and severing his head from his body.
     Actually, it wasn’t a clean cut. The head only flopped over at first, with blood and gore spewing out, but when his body hit the ground, his head ripped off completely and rolled about three feet away from his torso. It all happened so fast, the baby gangster didn’t even have a look of surprise on his face. He still carried the smirk he’d been wearing all night.
     Everybody started screaming and one woman ran towards the exit throwing up. I was worried that a riot would break out and the angry crowd would attack DJ Bus Stop. But I was surprised when the owner of the club came out, grabbed a mic and reassured everybody that it was “all in the show.”
     The crowd quieted down and the club owner politely asked DJ Bus Stop to continue his set. Next he ordered his minions to mop up the mess. Fortunately, it turned out that the club owner was an old pal of the Notorious B.I.G. And both of them had hated the thumb-sucking baby gangster that my boyfriend had decapitated with a 12-inch version of Biggie’s “Me & My Bitch.” DJ Bus Stop had actually done the legend a favor! Was Biggie’s ghost involved? We’ll never know. Although to this day, no one can explain how “Me & My Bitch” got on that extra turntable—because the prior DJ had been spinning nothing but modern sexy soul.
     After the floor was cleaned up, the gangster’s body was cut up in a back room and thrown into a plastic pool where the club owner kept his pet crocodile collection. After a feeding frenzy, there was no evidence left.
     At the end of the night, the club owner handed DJ Bus Stop a fat check and told him he was welcome back anytime. My boyfriend was thrilled, but as far as I was concerned, his public DJ’ing career was over. I would never go through another night like that even if we were paid double.
     These days DJ Bus Stop’s only gig is playing for me in our living room. Every Friday night, I relax from a hard week’s work listening to sweet, sweet rap music sent to me via the extrasensory abilities of my quadriplegic boyfriend.
     Thanks for listening!
Signed,
Marie

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