It’s all Ice-T. He rejects fajitas in favor of phojitas.
The corporate attorneys tap their tablets. “I want Nice-Tea, on the drinks
menu”, he says, “in France .”
When the attorneys don’t get it, their faces begging for the brutality of an
explanation, he emphasizes “Niece-Tea.
In France .” He makes two-handed
typing motions to the attorneys, who oblige. Someone chants, “Clobber you with
a sizzlin’ skillet / phojita in a
fizzlin’ minute ”, but the room’s so packed, it’s not clear who rapped. The space
glows with blue cigarette vapor and stuffed polished ashtrays and shiny sharkskin
zoot suits. Ice-T questions the “G” in T.G.I. Fridays. He thinks it should be
“O.G.” as in “Thank Original Gangster It’s Fridays.” He asks them to
double-check the grammar—“Y’all went to Yale
or whatever”—while the attorneys type. It’s all Ice-T. “But if we do keep God”, he emphasizes, “gotta be deity neutral gotta be mono-deity neutral.” He adds, “Dieu
as you please, civil play”, while one
of his homies slaps him a low five. The room quiets but for the ever-present
tapping of tablets. “Y’all better not be doing Facebook”, cautions the rapper. They get back to the menu. “I want
Ice-T-Bone steak”, says the rapper. “I want Ice-TV Dinner and Ice-TIAA Cref for
all the employees and Ice-TT Shaker on the speakers overhead: there, and there.”
He spreads out his arms in benediction. It’s all Ice-T. He’s regulating. The
attorneys haven’t been so humbled. They all wear the same laissez faire eyeglasses
and the same Titanic haircuts and the same chokers around their necks. Someone
raps “Gonna diss your stereo / It’s gonna be Blaupunkt” but it’s not clear who’s speaking, with so many entourages
huddling at every distance. Ice-T turns to his counsel. “Yo, I want outta Law
& Order”, he goes. “See about that Miami Vice-T idea.” Suddenly, the rapper
Pitbull appears, on the right hand of the Fridays CEO. “Oh hell no”, says Ice-T, who stands. Everyone stands, except the
attorneys, whose offshore helter shelter faces once again require the brutality
of an explanation. “Now, Tracy”, says the Fridays CEO, but Ice-T bristles at
the mention of his given name. “Who we got here?” he says. “Pitfall? Red Bull? Bull bleep winkle?” It’s like the weigh-in of
a prizefight, with Ice-T and Pitbull standing so close, each man can see his face
in the other man’s irises. “No Dice-T”, says Pitbull. “It’s fajita, not phojita.” Ice-T thinks this over, not blinking. “One condition”, he
goes. “Theme park. Out back. Ice-Tee
time for my golfers. Ice-Tee ball for the little ones. Ice-Tee shirt concession.”
Pitbull winces. The attorneys offer cigars to their colleagues. Everyone claps.
It’s all Ice-T. He’s regulating. Out comes Ice-Téa Leoni, dressed in a very revealing
waitress kit, offering a slushy for everyone. The cameras flash in Ice-T’s
face. He could have anything. His own political party. The Ice-Tea Party. But
he’s affable, as is. Yes, affable will do. Yes, it will. It will suffice-T.
2 comments:
As a cour-Ice-T-sy, I'm letting you know that I am using this for a course on narratives in social media. If that isn't Ice-cep-T-ble, let me know.
Not only acceptable, but I appreciate it that you think of this highly enough to Bring It Before Others. I am honored and humbled. Thanks -- hope all's well with you. See you soon, I hope!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------B.A.
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