Yo, yo, I’m fixin’ to put y’all up on sumptin’ right quick… You know that feeling you get when you’re at the swap meet and you see that platinum wrist piece with the ice all laid out in baguettes just blinging at you? Well, that’s how Sam Dizzy was feeling when he unwrapped his brand new Miller Lite Super Bowl XXXV Official Inflatable Chair with footrest and fat-ass wide girth seat. That shit was STUNTASTIC. Straight out tha plastic.

Mikey Gaertner

Now for those who don’t know how I gets down, I stunt ‘til I die, so of course I eased up in that plastic thrizone with a quickness. Life was sweet. Even though I’m not exactly equipped with the 300-pound undercarriage that it’s designed for, that chair was more comfortable than that new Mercedes wagon with the frog eyes. Nah G, that chair was better than a pimped-out Bentley. On dubs. Jee-yah.

So I was living lavish and everything was lovely, right? Hell no. I hadn’t been marinating in that plastic piece of trife for more than five minutes when I realized I was lower to the ground than a 17 year-old’s Integra at Ontario Mills. Now you know I’m not ‘bout to get punked out, so I raised up and administered an ass-whippin’ that chair is not soon to forget. Then I got down and started blowing that damn thing up again….

Four days later and that sorry piece of shit was dead. The backrest was broke. Foot rest was broke. Lumbar support? Yeah, that lil’ fool was broke too. Thirsty for revenge, I called those shady bastards at Miller and told them they better ante up with my $37.95 ‘fore I have to show ‘em where the guns at. They made fast with the apologies and promised Sam Dawg a new chair. Well, its been a week, and I have na’n new chair. Things ‘bout to get drastic…. NEXT WEEK: I take on the Upland PD.