Today’s mash up consists of The Isley Brothers and Cody Chesnutt, thus making it a blend of old school soul and neo-soul, considered illegal in many countries.
And now, a mash up.
I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, chess is the Pauly Shore of good times.
Jerry Riggs took his finger off the white pawn and said, “Check.”
His opponent, Alphonso Stern, thoroughly flabbergasted, uncomfortably out of shape, retorted, “My God, man, that was your opening move.”
He was half glad he was blind, as the other half of him wished it could see what the hell smelled so bad.
The blind man, or as he preferred, visually challenged person identifying as male, I.C. Knutting, was in a bit of a predicament. More on that after this: the true meaning of his initials I.C. was never known. His weird parents took it with them to their shallow graves. Shallow, not in depth, but shallow as in superficial, as in, his parents faked their deaths to avoid the responsibility of raising him. They were complete jerks that way, and it further defined their morbid sense of humor.
Many assumed, and they were wrong, it stood for Ichabod Crane. After all, his parents were huge Washington Irving enthusiasts, and I.C. looked like the living embodiment of the fictional character.
“Dear Lord, it’s not you, it’s me.”
Thomas Knockers was in a bad way, and it was obvious. He had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. The veins looked like overlapping routes on a GPS. A greater display of his discomfort was in the way he pressed the palms of his hands against his head, above the ears, as if trying to play a stubborn accordion. He was experiencing the mother of all migraines.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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