Each Sunday, The Hard Times travels back and reviews a notable album from the past. This week we cover the 1994 compilation album “Some old bullshit”, by the 1980’s New York hardcore band turned International rap legends, The Beastie Boys.
“Brass Monkey” is a song we all love. It’s also a drink I’ve made countless times and only once has it made me shit my pants. I’m not sure what went wrong there but it may be responsible for ruining what could have otherwise been the greatest date I’ve ever been on.
We met on Tinder. It was still brand new back then. She was a Teacher’s Assistant for a special needs class at the local elementary school. We both connected over our love for the Beastie Boys and that’s when she admitted to never having tried a Brass Monkey. It was the perfect setup for what should have been the perfect date.
I got a haircut, ironed my clothes, and put on the cleanest shoes I owned, which just so happened to be a pair of fresh white Adidas superstars. The ones all New York rappers in the ’80s used to wear. I was looking fresh and feeling like a million bucks.
We started with some baked ziti for dinner at the Sbarro’s in the Hinkley Mall Food Court before sneaking in some King Cobra forty ounces to a screening of the 2012 masterpiece “That’s my boy” starring Adam Sandler and Andy Sandberg. Everything was going so well until about halfway through the movie when she reached for my hand. The butterflies in my stomach started to flutter with more intensity than I had ever felt in my life.
Then, before I could even appreciate the moment, the floodgates in my ass just flew off the hinges and next thing I knew I was sitting in hot wet shit. I tried to play it cool but there was no way she wouldn’t notice. The whole theater noticed and everybody walked out gagging at the foul odor slowly filling the room. I watched the last forty five minutes of the movie completely alone and had to toss my shit-covered Adidas in the trash on the way out.
I’m not sure what to blame for the accident. The warm King Cobra I picked up at the corner store across the street from the mall, the discount OJ from the same corner store, or the baked ziti itself. Maybe it was the combination of them all?
I never had a Brass Monkey ever again. That song isn’t even on this record. I guess I got a little sidetracked. The songs on this one are extremely fun and memorable. Like that date should have been. If you’re a fan of lo-fi blown-out ’80s hardcore and the charm of weird interstitial sampling, you’ll love this record.
Score: forty out of forty ounces of orange juice spiked malt liquor.