In exactly 12 hours, Tupac will be required to appear in a Los Angles municiple court for a case filed against him by Allen Hughes, one half of the directorial team that brought us Menace II society.
"I been sitting on this all day," he pulls an 8th of LA'S chronic from his back pocket, appraising the red hairs in the Hawaiian sensimilla. His older brother Mopreme rolls up no less than six blunts in a row. As everyone else gets more mellow, Tupac picks up steam.
"Nigga, pass that!" Tupac has been dying to get his clown on. Stretch, Tupacs producer/collaborator and constant road dawg from Queens, is holding the blunt. "Fuck you-she just passed it to me." Tupacs eyes light up, his whole face starts beaming with his smile. A challange. He looks Stretch up and down for a total of five seconds before he gets in that ass.
"This nigga got blue carnations on his drawers."
"Fuck you, nigga." Stretch passes him the blunt but its too late.
"Blue mothafuckin' carnations. Can you believe this, dream? Feminine-ass blue carnations. Look at me!" Tupac raises his shirt-Thuglife, his now infamous tattoo sprawls accros his abdomen, the small of his back reads Exodus, his pants are sagging and his boxers are navy. "I got on some masculine-ass plaid mothafuckin drawers! We go shopping together Stretch, niggas could see you bend over and think I wear flowers on my ass!"He grabs his 40' by now Mopreme is doubled over and the engineer is in stitches.
"That did it for me, all niggas from Queens wear flowers on they drawers!"
"Aw nigga, suck my dick." Stretch is a laid back brother but hes had enough.
Tupac throws his head back and laughs, a big beutiful infectious laugh, and all is forgiven. "Its all good."
"Wait! Dont ever let me say that again. Can you believ that?" All of a sudden Tupacs changed the subject to Hammer, and Im stil trying to peep Stretchs boxers while hes not looking.
"How does he do it?" he askes me.
Im too slow, the chronic is kicking my ass.
"Timing. This nigga manages to come out while everybody else is getting arrested and shit."
"Naw, its his crib, Its cuzz he threw his crib up in the video." I offer.
"You might be right," then from nowhere he wheels his swivel chair in my direction. "You know what Thug Lifes new code is: 'No mothafucking comment."
"I aint ask you no question yet." I spit back a little defensive.
"Naw, Im talking about to them," he motions outside the back-door, to the studios parking lot, where teams of invisible cracker journalists are hiding in the bushes.
"Why are you so angry? Why do you smoke chronic? Why cant you stay out of trouble? Why is the earth round? Eat a dick!" He leaps to his feet, frustrated with the pesky media. "Niggas aint meant to be understood. Thugging. So back up off me!
I remind Tupac that the latest attack on him has come not from Dan Rathers, but Dionne Warick who objected to his attendance at the NAACP Image Awards along with the National Political Congress of Black Women.
"These niggas aint want me there and they gave mothafuckin' Micheal Jackson a standing ovation. Aint that a bitch! How much money you gots to sling at them sorry as Negroes to get them on they feet!" He rolls a little closer and confides, "Im fucking grown ass women. Thats my crime- Im a freak! I let a bitch suck my dick in the middle of the dance floor." Hes referring to November 16th of last year. He was at Nells, a New York nightclub, dancing with a young hottie when she dropped to her knees and did her thing. Three days later she would accuse him of rape. "Goddam them child molesting fake ass mothafuckas, damn them all to hell.!"
"And Dionne Warick," I thought hed never get to homegirl. "Fucking dream reading, psychic bitch! Dont get me started, Ill tell the real on they whole family!" hes on his feet again, throwing up Thug Life.
Stretch and Mopreme arnt even lisening anymore. Pac notices his audience is diminishing and changes the rules. "The first nigga to fall asleep is getting hot-ass quarters on they forehead. You here that Mo? You gots to stay up and trip with the rest of us, nigga."
An assistant from the studio is going on a food run to the rib shack, "Yall better put your order in, cuzz when my ribs come I dont want none of you righteous vegetarian, smegetarians up in my shit."
In less than 2 minutes Mo is snoozing. Pac pulls a lighter from his pocket, "Who got a quarter?" He heats the quarter with a devilish grin on his grill. "This nigga is crazy," Stretch says, shaking his head.
"Oww!! What the fuck!" Mo comes out of dreamtime swinging. "Get yo' crazy ass away from me!"
Pac gives Stretch a pound, "I got em! You saw that right? Ill teach you never to fall asleep on one of my sessions!"
