This article is part of the The Legend of Tooth Tooth series.
Y'all know my boy Tooth Tooth, right? Dress real businesslike, sometimes got that eagle with him?
Man, you serious?
Awright, yeah, I thought so. Cause how you not gonna know who Tooth Tooth is, right?
Man, I got stories. Did I tell you about that time Tooth Tooth met the pope? Son, that shit is crazy. Actual goddamn pope, son. You gotta take my word on this one, god, because you ain't gonna find that shit in any history book, you heard? This was two minds coming together, but will you ever hear about this shit from any devil's history book? Naw, man, naw. You just gonna hear this from me, and I heard it right from Tooth.
So like, Tooth Tooth get it in his head he want to go to Italy, right? I'm like "the hell you need Italy for? New York, son, you got all the Italianos you need." But he's like, "check this out, god: they got women over there." And you know how Tooth Tooth is like, this great orator? Word is bond, son I accepted that logic when he said it, I was like "yeah god, I bet they got beaucoup ladies down in Italy." But like, they got ladies everywhere, man. I didn't think of that at the time, I just took his word on it 'cause he laid it down so good.
He gets on a plane, son, hell of a time getting that eagle of his through customs.
It's 2008 and still ain't nobody trust a black man with an eagle.
Word, and mind you this was a few years ago, so even worse back then. So he hits up Italy. Ladies out the ass, just like he said, but somehow he ain't getting nowhere. It's like they don't respond to his vibe, you heard? They ain't picking up what he laying down. The clubs ain't shit, neither. He goes into one club, fly ladies all over the floor dressed in damn near nothing, but the system is playing some Italian disco shit. Wild homo, god. So homo that it upsetting his eagle, so he walked straight out.
So Tooth rolls to this other club, looks promising and he hears some reputable beats from inside, but he gets to the door and the racist-ass Italiano cracker won't let him in with his eagle. He like "you eagle gotta wait outside-a, paisano," and Tooth is like "nah, man." That eagle's like his brother.
Now let me pause this shit for a minute because I see the disbelief in your eyes, but check this out: yeah, so ordinarily Tooth Tooth would never let some square-ass Euro man bar him from a club, but you gotta remember that the man's far from his element here, and he ain't about to do shit to make his bird uncomfortable. The thing you gotta know about the eagle is that it don't go where it ain't invited. It's like a vampire, you feel me?
I feel you, god, I know how eagles be.
It takes some serious shit to get Tooth Tooth worked up- and I'm not saying he lost his cool- but at this point he was without ladies, and he ain't accustomed to that, and he was feelin' for his eagle. He was all up in the street, probably the only black man these folks ever seen, yellin like, "is there no place for a black man and his eagle in this savage land?"
It ain't take the man long to regain his composure- and I'm not saying he ever lost his composure, you feel me, but you know what I mean- and he decides he's gonna get to the bottom of this shit, get to the bottom of this inhospitality and this homo music, this hostility toward eagles. He takes the first cab he sees, and he tells the driver like, "yo, take me to whoever in charge of this shit." And the driver don't quite feel him, looks at Tooth all quizzically, so Tooth is like, "yo, whoever is the boss of this shit, take me to the boss."
The driver seems to pick up what Tooth means, so he's driving him around and in a while they come up to this palace, man, with columns and domes and shit, and so Tooth is like, "yeah, that's that shit I'm talkin' about." He's like, "I know this shit, this the pope's house, ain't it?" So they pull up, Tooth Tooth peels two of whatever the biggest Euro is off his knot and gives it to the driver, and he starts making his way through the crowd toward the place, pushin past all these old Italian ladies and shit, he don't care, he just trying to get through. And maybe he pushes down someone he ain't oughta have pushed down or whatever, who knows, 'cause these two buster-ass guards start fronting on him. He's like "back off, herbs, I just want to see the pope and I ain't need any of your bullshit," but these busters are convinced they don't want Tooth Tooth near that pope.
Maybe it's that eagle they worried about.
True enough, god. Them buster guards are like grabbing at his arms and shit, tryna play it safe 'cause they not sure if that eagle's gonna fuck with them, and you and I both know that eagle is ready to fuck with them. So just exactly as Tooth is about to be like, "yeah kid, might gotta take my shirt off," the pope rolls out and starts blessin' old ladies and shit, and Tooth Tooth and the eagle both see him, and the pope looks back and he peeps Tooth Tooth and the eagle, and all of a sudden it becomes clear that game has recognized game.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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