In college, Chris looked like a young Jim Breuer. In fact, now, he looks like an older version of a young Jim Breuer. Always quick with a joke and knew how to enjoy his vices responsibly. Within the first couple of weeks of him being on campus, he was the one to go to for a fake ID. He worked magic with a red pencil and a NY state driver’s license…well enough magic to convince the bouncers at 1 of the 4 bars in town not to care.
Chris was popular. People wanted to hang out with him. Whether they needed to score a laugh, a dime bag, or a fake ID.
I ran the campus radio station and Chris, when sober, would do a two-hour shift. Our acquaintance grew into a sort-of mentor / mentee thing. He knew me as the guy that knew everything about music, and he knew me as the guy who had keys to get into the college radio station after the transmitter was turned off for the night.
One night, at about 1 AM, roomie Jason and I were listening to some music in our dorm room. About to turn in for the night, we were laying in our beds smoking some cigarettes that Jason picked up from one of the local Indian reservations. Taking the first drag, it tasted like someone had taken a giant shit on a pile of weeds, let it dry, and then roll it up into a smoke. Jason chose Magna because the “package looked cool and they were cheap.” Idiot.
Suddenly, the door pounded.
“Guys, let me in, I need something.”
In stumbles a half-drunk Chris wearing some gym shorts and a pair of socks. He comes over to me and says, “I need some condoms.”
No problem. Hooked him up with some Trojans the R.A. left out.
“Can I get another favor?” he asked.
“No sweat, whatcha need?”
“I’m banging this whale named Beth, got any alcohol?”
Beth was a nursing student that we all knew, not in the biblical sense, but we wandered around in very distant Venn Diagrams. At this point, Chris was facing my direction, I glance over at Jason, and his jaw just drops. His eyes get big like something was wrong but wouldn’t say what it was. I point to the fridge in the middle of the room and Chris helps himself to a couple of beers and chugs them. I take a look at his back and he is covered in welts and scratches, almost to the point of drawing blood. Knowing Beth was the cause of the scratches, maybe it was a good thing she was a nursing student. This was taking scarring rituals I saw in National Geographic to a whole new level. I was glad the kid was getting laid and just hoped he wouldn’t lose too much blood that night. We didn’t mention anything to him, we thought he knew.
Before he walks out, he sees the Onyx disc by the stereo and says, “Hey, can I borrow this?” and walks out.
I never did see that disc again.
Whenever I hear Onyx mentioned in conversation or a song on the radio, I always flash back to that night in the dorm when Chris came into our room and looked like he had been tied to a whipping post.
Next morning, we see Beth leaving Chris’ room. A smug look came across her face and we thought it would be best to remain blissfully ignorant on how the rest of Chris’ night went.
|3.||Throw Ya Gunz||3:16|
|4.||Here 'N' Now||3:40|
|5.||Bust Dat Ass||0:38|
|6.||Atak Of Da Bal-Hedz||3:13|
|7.||Da Mad Face Invasion||0:46|
|8.||Blac Vagina Finda||3:12|
|9.||Da Bounce Nigga||0:30|
|11.||Onyx Is Here||3:04|
|13.||Stik 'N' Move||3:21|
|16.||Phat ('N' All Dat)||3:17|
|17.||Da Nex Niguz||4:08|