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I was at a bar in Brooklyn last nite and I ran into one of the internets great legends, COMBAT JACK. As we both enjoyed the sights and sounds he ruminated on why no malt liquors had ever made it to permanent nightclub or bar lounge status. I told C.J. that I was working on a drop that talked about the best malt liquors ever and as I began to describe the post he told me a true story. I was cracking up after he recounted the story and I asked him if he wouldn’t mind doing a drop for the site. This is a special treat for you kids. Here in his very own words is your boy, COMBAT JACK…

This summer has been real sweet out here, what with all the parties, free concerts, and your usual summerish events (other than the ridonculous heat wave that has had niggas, chinks, spics, jews, jihadi’s an’ cracka jacks roasting together like some big ole multi-culti blunt).

Anyways, as we approach the last days of this season, I’ve found myself reminiscing on my glory days of summers past. You know, like around ’93, ’94, when legends such as The Notorious B.I.G. and a young Nasir Jones were just starting to make names for themselves, while their West Coast counterparts like Dr. Dre, Snoop and N.W.A. were heating ish up in my walkman, and I could not, for the life of me land a record deal for one of my then clients from
Brooklyn by the name of Shawn Carter. On one particular Saturday (I think it was ’93), I was on my way to meet some folks at Central Park to enjoy a free concert featuring the then sane and hot Blast Master K.R.S. One. At the time, my favorite brew of choice was Private Stock (today, I rocks Heineken and/or Grey Goose). Man, a 40 oz. of Private Stock, chilled and frosty was an elixir incomparable to beverages like the aforementioned Goose or the Cristals of today.

Anyways, St. Ides was making a big name for itself because niggas from East to West were claiming how a swig of that mead would have one buck whilin’ like a Jherri’ed up O’Shea Jackson with gat in palm. In addition, the St. Ides Brewing Company (based in Pennsylvania) had been hiring cats like EPMD, B.I.G., Ice Cube, Tupac and members of the Wu to record ill ass commercials that were as hot or hotter than some of the actual records niggas was dropping. I decided that, on my train ride from B.K. to Manhattan, I would sample a bottle of the famed beverage and see what the hype was all about. New York City was still not in full Guiliani mode so there were some of the simple pleasures left to enjoy like drinking on the subway. You couldn’t beast out of course, but if you were smooth with your style you could get that one off.

Man, I tell ya, after taking about 6 swigs, a nigga started sweating like an effin slave (the train car had a.c. too) and by the time I polished the joint off (as I reached my destination), I was mad hyped up, comfortably numb and hearing loud ass beats in my head. Being that it was a hot day in the sun, and I tend to be a sweater (I sweat more than the average cat), my crew kept asking me whether I had been pumping gas since I was emitting an ethanolish scent. On top of the blunt I shared, my essence was not at all inviting to the pretty birds I was trying to bag that day. No doubt, my buzz was akin to tripping out on some light hallucinogens, and I felt mad invincible and brawlic as shit, but smelling like a smoked out gas attendendant was not on my agenda. Needless to say is that I returned to indulging myself with the P.S. and I left the 93 octane to the kids who didn’t know any better.

Funny shit is, a year later, an ad agency reached out to my girl (now my wife) and requested that she appear as a model for the upcoming B.I.G. St. Ides commercial. After discussing the possibilities, and although our song was Big Poppa (we played it at our wedding) we both decided that it wouldn’t be a good look professionally for either of us. I can admit now that secretly I imagined my girl coming home smelling like a gas attendant. Little did we know that that ashy nigga would go on the be the G.O.A.T. and we would have had some classic footage to share with our grandkids, but like they say, hindsight is 20/20. Anyways, I leave you with some vintage St. Ides commercials including the one featuring Christopher Wallace. I guess it’s safe to say the light-skinned bird in his commercial was 1st runner up.

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 6th, 2006 at 4:36 pm and is filed under Crappers, Ghetto Celebs, Jig Lit Review, When I Reminisce.... You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.