Personal Narrative-My Neighborhood Funky Corn

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You see this struggling young funky fresh rapper right here. He’s me. Once I had it all, a palace, a butler, and a lobster shaped hot tub. But that all changed when I met... Snoop Dogg. Way back on the day of April 20, 1889. It had started like any other day, I was waking up to the smell of clean socks. A smell I remember as if it was my bride for many years. I live for the clean socks. The clean socks live for me. But something wasn’t right, one of my limited edition Dr Dre socks was smelling funky. I realized I had to journey into the Mexican Water Laundromat and clean them. When I got there I noticed I had only one hour to clean them because it closed at 5:38. I tried and tried to make my socks funky fresh in an hour but I couldn’t.…show more content…
I accepted the offer and ventured off to the nearest Walmart. There I found the one pint of grape soda and saltine crackers with 420% extra salt. When I returned, Tupac had his blender ready to go. I gave him the crackers that were saltier than the Dead Sea and the grape soda to mix as I was told. It was when I pulled out the socks where I experienced the same feeling from the laundromat. The only movement was one…single...tear. As the socks were taken so was my calmness as I broke down forced to watch every sewed thread break into nothing but a purple slush. “Bottoms up,”Tupac had said, “it 's now or never.” My tear drizzled face was drying up as I drank the slush accepting that the socks were now gone…forever. I could feel the concoction working as Tupac said, “this boy has been placed under this curse’s knife, so bring him back to his old life!” With a sploop, a fizz, and a zoobidy bop. I was me again with a normal set of speech. No more rapping, no more being trapped, but also no more Dr Dre socks to wear. No more socks to get me cute girls. No more socks to invite me to slumber parties and talk about cute boys. No more socks to have me accepted as a friend. No more socks to love and care for, but I still live for the socks...and the socks had lived for me. That 's my story, but always remember that no matter how much you love something it can only be around for so long. A poem by Robert Frost states that: Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early
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