Welcome back to Five Spot. Every Friday, we'll examine a recent bit of music news and, albeit sometimes awkwardly, tie it to a bit of Houston rap. It's five videos and occasional cussing. Send tips to email@example.com.
I caught somebody trying to break into my house Wednesday. And I punched the shit out of him. Because I am a man of action. It's like this:
I usually get up around 5:45 a.m. so I can get done what I need to get done before the wife and boys wake. The house we stay in is one of those three-story townhomes where the first floor is actually the garage. That's important to know.
Anyway, so it's about 6:15 by the time I'm ready to leave. I walk downstairs from the second floor, where the kitchen and living room are, to go into the garage. It's completely quiet in the house. It's almost completely dark too.
So I get to the bottom of the stairs, open the door to the garage, and right there, right the eff at the door that I just opened, is a man. He's maybe six foot tall, has a medium build, and his face is perfectly hidden by the darkness. He looks like every murderer you've ever seen in any movie.
The garage was closed, so it's not like he just wandered in there. This is how I know he's in there with ill intent. He must've climbed in through the window, my brain says, which I know to be unlocked because it's always unlocked because I opened it once two years ago while I was putting grass in our tiny backyard and neglected to lock it again because it was always just too inconvenient.
For all I know, this man, this burglar, this bastard, he's going to kill me, molest my children, steal my 27" TV and then burn my house down with my wife inside. And like I said, ours is a townhouse, so it's connected to other townhomes on both sides. If he burns ours down, he'll likely kill the woman that lives to our left and the man that lives to our right too. That's a lot of bodies, yo.
So my immediate reaction is to fight. I'm not sure why, that's just the first thing I think to do when I get surprised. It's been like that since I was a kid. My body just decides - without consulting my brain, mind you - that the most reasonable thing to do in that situation is punch. So I did.
I punched him with all of my might. I punched him the way Neo slow-motion-punched Agent Smith at the end of the third Matrix
. I punch him the way that dude punched Snooki on Jersey Shore
last night. And I hit him square in his jaw. I'm fucking incredible.
Only, instead of hitting a jaw, I hit some leaves. And instead of a burglar crumpling to the ground into a broken and ashamed heap, my momentum tumbles me forward over myself through some dusty branches and onto the garage floor. Because it wasn't a man that was standing there. I didn't save my row of townhomes from a murdering, molesting arsonist. I saved them from a plastic tree.
The 6' tall plastic ficus tree that we used to have in our living room but was moved to the garage to make room for our Christmas tree and inexplicably placed in front of the door by my wife the night before so she wouldn't forget that somebody was supposed to come by and pick it up Thursday.
I punched a tree Wednesday morning. That's the kind of shit that happens to me. Enjoy the videos.