I didn’t see Blazin' that much the rest of the week other than in the hallways at school. Every time we ran into each other during school, all we wanted to talk about was the upcoming b-boy competition that was going to be taking place on Saturday afternoon at the Big Burger. Only we kept calling it the “schlernious burger jizz-oint,” which drew giggles from the girls that were next to Brocks locker every afternoon after lunch period.
On Saturday morning I cut through the cornfields and made my way to Blazin's’ garage so we could sharpen up the routines we had made up at the Lincoln center practice session earlier that week. When I got there we were both hitting all of the routines as if we had been doing them for years, only we just made them up last week.
Within a few minutes of practicing, I felt comfortable that we both knew our routines for the Big Burger competition so when Blazin' summoned his old man to give us a ride up to the jizz-oint straight quick, I didn’t think too much about it. I’d have rather busted out with more breakin’ before we went, but I too wanted to, “see what in the schlernious was going on up there anyway,” I told Brock. Which opened up that can of schlernious worms again; sparking Brock into saying the word, “Schlernious” about a million times over the next hour. That’s the thing about Brock, once you get him going; he’ll keep on going. Don’t ever put a quarter in him or wind him up.
When we pulled into the parking lot of Big Burger, we couldn’t even find a spot to park. We had to park on an adjacent side street that seemed like it was a mile away. The place was jumping like Jiminy crickets. Apparently the word had spread rather well throughout the surrounding towns that a break dance contest was happening that day because there were cars and people everywhere.
Throughout the week I was picturing a small crowd, maybe a couple of dozen people including the breakers at the joint. Now it was obvious that I was going to be breakin’ in front of many dozens if not hundreds of people – which sort of put some extra palpitations in my heart to be honest with you. Breakin’ in front of a large crowd was something I had never done before – at least not on that type of a stage. When I was at Suburbanite Roller rink or at Dorktown mall, people would randomly walk by and see me breakin’, but nothing like the scene that was unfolding at the Big Burger. But I tried not to think about too much. If you think about that sort of thing too much you are liable to piss your pants.
The sun was beaming brightly and it was a warm fall day for a change that elicited one of Blazin’s favorite expressions, “It feels like Indian summer out here today,” he said smiling brightly.
“You’ve gotta love what warm weather does to the females clothing choices,” I said voyeuristically. Girls our ages were wearing daisy dukes or hot pants and showing off their belly buttons.
But Brock had his eyes on the Moms. “There are muy mucho hot moms around here showing off their Ta Ta’s,” he said with salacious MILF eyes. Some of the moms were wearing miniskirts with halter tops or tube tops, or whatever you call those types of tops that were designed to cover just the “TA TA’s.”
Dads were wearing tank tops (or Wife beaters) as Brock had called them. Grandpas were wearing ugly colored shorts with even uglier colored socks with sandals; kind of like those nerds I told you about back when I was in grade school. By the way, don’t be one of those guys; a guy that wears socks with sandals. And the kids were dressed like kids, snot noses and all.
Most of the boys and some girls that I presumed were going to be in the competition were wearing various styles of B-Boy regalia – mainly the trendy kind that was shown on TV in music videos and TV commercials. But we all sort of wore that; even Brock and I.
There was this one kid, probably about 5 years old that was wearing sweatpants, a hooded windbreaker, along with a bandana on his head that caught Brock and my attention. He was standing next to his parents, wiggling his arms around; poppin’, wavin’, and lockin’ type of movements which would have looked phony, if an older kid was doing it, but since he was barely out of diapers, Brock said, “Not bad for a kid. “
The kid’s parents overheard Brock and smiled at us and then said, “He taught himself.”
Another boy about ten years old was donning a black and red track suit along with a white Kangol, and gray suede gym shoes. I told Brock, “All that cat is missing is some Fatty Phat laces. Then he’d be straight up sharp - Schlernious, even.” I instantly regretted saying the word, “Schlernious.” It reopened that can of worms again.
Brock said it over a thousand times in the minutes ahead. Even when I asked him a serious question, he kept laughing and saying, “Schlernious.”
“Can you be serious for a quick second? I have a question about the break competition sign up?”
But Brock wouldn’t let up, he responded with, “You want me to be serious or schlernious?”
So obviously, he kept on goofing around. But after a while, Brock went to sign us up for the contest and I kept sauntering around to scope out the competition and the talent (and the talent had nothing to do with the competition, if you know what I’m saying.)
As I swaggered around as if I owned the joint, I peeped another new jack wanna be hip cat wearing blue parachute pants and a blue and red windbreaker jacket; The kind of jacket that you have to pull over your head. This cat was eerily dressed just like me, I heard him say, “I’m going to be fresh today in the break dance contest.”
The girl next to him replied, “You’re great at breakdancinggg, Chucky,” The way she put most of the enunciation on the G in “breakdancing” sounded all vanilla for rilla. This made me hark back to last week when Rockefeller and Speedy G said that whole thing about people trying to talk as if they’re from the city, yet they’re not and about break dancing being a media term and such. The way she said “breakdancinggggg” really made me not want to use that word ever again. Even Miguel told me that he always called it, “breakin’” or used the term, “B-boy.”
But honestly – even though I’m against it, I hear people say the term “break dancing” so much, I doubt I’ll ever shake it. It’s probably going to slip out once in a while. Now that I heard that girl say it all Vanilla, I finally understood what Speedy G and Rockefeller were griping about last week.
I thought for a moment about bustin’ on them for their vanilla cracker talkin’ and such; the same way that Rockefeller and Speedy G had busted on Blazin’ and me the other week. But before I could even say something to his totally hot mom or heck maybe it was even his hot older sister, she said, “Hi” to me.
She was wearing tight daisy dukes, with high heels, and was flashing major cleavage. Once I noticed that, I suddenly didn’t feel like bustin’ on her anymore. Instead I smiled shyly and said, “Hey” in reply. It’s funny how busts on her made me not want to bust on her.
Then I heard her tell her brother or son or whoever he was, “You are wearing the same outfit as him.” I really hated how the word “outfit” had sounded but I was really diggin’ her outfit, so I guess I didn’t mind too much to be honest with you. After all of that, I just kept on walking though. I had no idea what to say to girls back then.
As I continued my way through the packed crowd, I could smell someone wearing coconut sunscreen but I was mostly whiffing the flame broiled cheeseburgers that were permeating the fall air and peddling themselves on peoples noses, subliminally making parents reach into their wallets to order a round of seared intoxicants for their spouse, their kids, and themselves. The bluish-white smoke was billowing out of the restaurants’ chimney and into the crowd and reeling everybody inside to the cashiers who were cheerfully ringing their orders and taking their money. It all seemed like it was in slow motion. It was strange. I think it had something to do with my nerves but time had really slowed down that day.
Then I spotted this jack ass from school, Randal VanderNorth. He didn’t used to get under my skin all that much before, I really didn’t have much of an opinion about him at all to be honest with you. I knew he was some rich kid that always got his way and everything but I didn’t care much about that.
What pissed me off was when I was at this Keg party a couple of months ago at the Chanecksons house and I overheard Randal talking some bull shee-ott. By the way, this dude we went to high school with Brian Chaneckson had an older brother and he threw college aged keg parties. His older brother didn’t let his younger brother drink or we “freshman” drink at the party, but it was a place to hang out once in a while. Sure his older brother was throwing underage keg parties, but he only let the college cats drink. That’s KIND-OF responsible, if you ask me.
And sure a couple of us freshman snuck a cup once in a while, but I didn’t, it wasn’t my thing, I didn’t like the way it tasted and I definitely didn’t want to be one of those teens that I saw puking their lungs into pavement pizza. Most of us freshman didn’t drink though; we all just drank sodas like mad and wolfed down the chocolate. Brian liked to get all hopped up on coffee, suck on peppermints sticks, and he was also known for blowing off firecrackers when the mood struck him. I later found out that Brian was putting alcohol in his coffee, but whatever. Like I said – it’s not my thing.
Anyway, while I was at that keg party I overheard Randal lying his ass off in a slur; he was drinking from the keg, it was obvious. And the thing that got me going was that he was lying to this really nice girl Gina; not lying to her face, but behind her back.
I overheard Randal VanderNorth telling Brian Chaneckson that he was getting close to Ginas’, “good stuff” or the “sweet spot” or however he was referring to it, I don’t completely remember; I’m not 100 percent sure; however the way he put it really sounded creepy -lecherous even. He was talking about this nice girl from our school, Gina D’agostio. She’s totally hot, totally rich and she’s a proud virgin. No for real, she hasn’t given it up and she boasts about it; it’s hot. It’s damn sexy and smart too - if you really want to know the truth. It’s kind of a paradox, in a way. Or an oxymoron; sexy-virgin. But I like that.
It’s a good thing there are smart girls out there like her, because we guys are big idiots when it comes to thinking – when it comes to that stuff, we just want it – and we’ll say anything we need to, to get it. I like a girl like Gina that could do the smart thinking for both people and tell a guy “NO.”
You see, Gina was not running around being all fast and furious and willy nilly by sharing her hooh-hah with anyone that claimed to be a pooh-bah. You’ve really got to admire a girl who didn’t let any Tom, Dick, or Harry pop her cherry. Some guys and some girls don’t even think about it. They let any old idiot or liar get all up in there, but not Gina – she was smart and knew she was worth waiting for.
That was why it really started to piss me off. Old boy Randal was telling Brian, “Yep, it’ll be any day now that Gina gives it up to me. My birthday is coming up and she said she is going to give me that thing I have been asking her for, for the past six months – you believe that Brian? This chick has made me wait six months to sleep with her,” Randal said incredulously – which even pissed me off more. It was obvious he didn’t appreciate her.
Then Randal looked around and spoke quietly, he didn’t see me takin’ a leak behind the old oak tree, because it was thicker than me. I could easily hear him, I was that close, and there was no wind that night. All of the party people were inside Brian’s house except for Brian, Randal, and me.
He whispered, “Little does she know that while I’ve been patiently ‘waiting for her’ (he even used air quotes, I saw him through the leaves) to sleep with me and for her to gain my trust, I’ve been getting some action on the side from Lucy Goosey from the bowling alley. That girl gives it up to me whenever I want. BJ’s, Doggie style, anything … So waiting for Gina has been a piece of cake.”
I really wanted to say something at that point, but instead, I just zipped up my fly as they walked back into the party.
That’s the thing about guys, well some of them, maybe even most of them; Girls can give guys all sorts of tests and questions and rules and waiting games and all of that kind of shiznit. And those guys can pass those tests with flying colors. But secretly many of those guys, and I’m not saying me - are scum bag liars. And I’m sure all of those girls that are with those, “scumbags” are saying, “Well not my guy; my guy is good!” I’m sure Gina is thinking that her Randal is good. But anyway, that’s why I don’t like Randal.
There was no way that Randal was at the Big Burger for the break dance contest, I’d bet he was just coincidentally there to grub on down. He’s one of those destined to be Ivy Leaguer cats that was probably going to his indoor tennis lesson after he ate. You know the type, he was also on the golf team at school and he was given his daddy’s keys to the BMW now that he had his driver’s license; lucky bastard, plus his parents own five houses – everyone at our school knew that. But yeah, he was that type rich eff.
If I was a bigger dude, I would have really liked to kick his ass for pulling the wool over Gina’s eyes. You see, I try not to get into others peoples business, but at the same time, I hoped that someone would hook Gina up with the info about old Randal and his gutter alley hoe - before I ended up having to be a tattle tale and blow his show.
I was right too, by the way, Randal wasn’t there for the break contest. Randal grabbed his bag of grub, meandered through the crowd, and made his way to his daddy’s BMW that was filled with a bunch of older kids that were wearing golf shirts.
Before leaving, Randal sat on the hood of his car and smoked a square. You should have seen this punk. He grabbed a cigarette from his gold cigarette case like it was a big deal; he pulled it out so slowly like he was operating on a brain; he had pulled it out so deliberately slow that you could tell he wanted everyone to see he had a gold cigarette case. He even made sure to hold it high in the air and all of that jazz, just so everyone could see that his family had money. Seriously, you should have seen him; he made this big production out of lighting it too. Then he blew the smoke around as if he thought he was cool. These extra hard and elongated exhalations that he made while swaying his head from side to side made me loathe him.
His eyes watched the smoke until it disappeared into the sky and then he forcefully puffed down another drag. I was able to crack a smile though. He was giving himself cancer – at least that was the thought that had crossed my mind as I watched him smoke his cancer stick like some big shot. I mean, it says it right there on the damn box “smoking causes cancer.”
As I waited for Blazin’ to sign us up for the breakin’ contest, I couldn’t help wondering why one of the ladies in the crowd was wearing curlers in her hair. She was probably about fifty years old but the curlers in her hair made her look seventy – wouldn’t you want to wear the curlers at home and then look good when you’re out in public with your kids?
On the other hand there was a little old lady maybe eighty years old, heck she could have even been ninety, wearing a babushka; little old ladies wearing babushkas are so cute, with their creaky walking and wrinkled smiles and such. She was probably at the Big Burger to cheer on her great-great grandson or GGGD-daughter. I sort of couldn’t wait to see her cheering and shouting for some kid that was breakin’ -saying stuff like, “Way to go sonny boy (or girly)!” That sort of thing really gets my rocks off to be honest with you. Little old ladies are so damn cute. I love how they call their purses “handbags” and steal packs of sugar from restaurants. Only little old ladies can get away with that.
I was truly starting to feel nervous though as I took a reconnaissance of the crowd and saw that there were probably 200 million people gathered inside and out of the big burger, just waiting for the contest to start. But at the same time, I couldn’t wait to show everybody that the Neighborhood Street Rockers were a force to be reckoned with.
Blazin’ had finally wiggled his way through the zillions of people and just in time too, because the competition was scheduled to start in ten minutes. When I asked him what took so long, he told me that he was stopped by a few cats from school and he said he was talking his ass off so much that he almost forgot to find me. - That’s Brock for ya.
Blazin’ and I quickly began slithering through the teeming Big Burger crowd towards the stage where we saw official looking people trying to clear the linoleum roll that was laid out on the black top, which was going to serve as the stage for the competition.
There was a DJ manning the tape deck and turntable that was next to the large sheet of linoleum that was taped down with gray duct tape – just like in Brocks garage and my basement. There were chairs right next to the linoleum with three guys wearing suits and ties and two ladies wearing dresses and heels – not the sexy kind of dresses and heels but the professional kind. They looked like they were the judges of the competition or the owners and managers of the restaurant or something. They had an important look about them - that was for sure. Sometimes, you can just tell that sort of thing.
The thing about it was, Brock was in his loud, cackling, schlernious spouting mood when we walked by those “official looking people” and I just hoped that he wasn’t irritating them with his loud ways and all. The last thing I wanted to do was irritate the judges. But maybe I worry too much about that kind of thing. But he was getting loud, that’s for sure. I’m a loud person and he was too loud for me.
Finally battle time was upon us. The contest started with little kids doing centipedes on the ground and goofy wiggly worm movements with their arms that were sorry attempts at wavin’, tickin’ and poppin’ – you could tell they were little kids. One kid did the James Brown – Michael Jackson Moonwalk but he didn’t do it right; he straight up sucked, I don’t care how cute all the parents called it, he sucked anyway. One after another, little kids were attempting to look like breakers but in fact all they were doing was giving breakin’ a bad name.
The flipside of that equation was when Blazin’ and I got our chance to get on the linoleum to do our thing, we were going to look like rock stars. And when I said that thing about, “time had slowed down” because of my nerves or whatever. Well forget that. It wasn’t standing still anymore. Time began to run like a mo fo, it was blowing right by super fast – and I think it was because of my nerves.
The MC of the contest announced, “Next up today are Phil K Swift and Brock Blazin’ of the Neighborhood Street Rockers” the crowd cheered as we got ready and time had froze and sped up all at once, it was really quite queer.
“Freak A Zoid” started playing through the large ghetto blaster that Brock had brought with. We had the option of using the sound system that Big Burger had available but Blazin’ was way too excited about using his own personal Boom Box – and so we did. We started the routine out with organized robotic and synchronized movements along with these King Tut routines we had made up. Then we educated the crowd with: up rockin’, lockin’ and floor glides; you know, moonwalk type stuff. But we rocked it right.
For the first time, the crowd was cheering their flame broiled burger breathes off. After our minute of theatrical routines, we finally got down to business. I busted out with crazy fast windmills then Blazin' busted out with his super fly beach balls. Then in the heat of the moment, I didn’t even plan it, heck, to the contrary, I told myself I wasn’t going to do any, but I busted out with head spins anyway. I had been working my scalp to the bone trying to get ‘em down. Seriously, head spins had sort of put a bruise on the top of my head and I wasn’t going to do them because of the pain, but my adrenaline had taken over and made me dive onto my head.
I was really trying to get lucky, I suppose, because I didn’t really have head spins down just yet. I was only able to do a couple of them but the crowd still loved it anyway. By the look on all of the people’s faces I could see that they were amazed. However, deep down, I knew that I didn’t really do anything impressive. Impressive would have been head spins for days like Boogie Bob does.
On Blazin's next turn he busted out with copters then transitioned into backspins and then back into more windmills. Then he showed off swipes that made his body look like a flipping chair and his down rock made him look like a dancing spider. Brock was getting good is what I’m screamin’.
I got back out there one more time and rocked top rockin’ like I meant it. I Brooklyn rocked against Blazin’ just to show the crowd what wazup. Then I dropped into down rock that looked like dancing karate moves on the floor with all fours. I ended with backspins that made me look like a “tilt a whirl,” into a kip up that had landed me back onto my fat laced suede shoes right as the song had ended.
Without a doubt we were the best contestants of the day up until that point, hands down. The crowd got to watch real breakin’. I’m not even bragging though, the real deal was that the rest of the entrants up to that point were just wick whack wanna-be’s. I’m not putting them down; I’m just telling you what they were, so you know.
Once we had finished our turn, Blazin' and I had to wait for the forthcoming entrants to do their thing. Some girl that was in the competition sign up line in front of Blazin', (he had told me,) was up next. And three other dudes were scheduled to go on last. The three guys had Blazin' and me concerned because they looked like they knew what wazup. They just had that look about them – a look that said they were going to be good. The same way that I knew that Boogie Bob was a breaker when I had first seen him - it was one of those feelings.
The MC got on the mike and announced, “Next up on the big stage we have our first and only girl of the competition – She goes by the name of Chee girl.” The girl walked over to the MC, whispered something in his ear and then the MC got back on the mike and said, “Sorry, let me correct that. Next up on the big stage is Chi-Girl.” (Pronounced Shy girl – as in Chi-town, you know someone from Chicago) The crowd cheered their asses off, which I understood, finally there was a girl to enter the big show, you’ve gotta give her props.
Over the speakers, Cyndi Laupers, “Girls just wanna have fun” began to issue at a low volume, but as “Chi Girl” began her routine, the DJ turned it up. “She must be a gymnast or something,” I said to Brock. She started way back off of the linoleum and then sprinted into flips, handsprings, and aerial cartwheels or some shiznit like that. I was not a gymnastics expert or anything, but I knew a gymnast when I saw one; she had rocked it out too.
She worked her way into a top rock with hip hop dancing and then sank to the ground into scatting and footwork hops, it was her own style. She even did a coffee grinder; where one of your legs does a 360 circle completely around your body as you hop over the other foot that’s holding your body off of the ground.
For her grand finale she kicked her leg up and around and twisted herself into backspins – super fast, she did a million of them, the crowd cheered loudly, which included Blazin' and me; we were both cheering just as loud as everybody else was. That’s the thing about breakin’, even when you’re watching someone else, even if you’re competing against him or her, you just can help but cheering for someone that’s good.
Blazin' and I were impressed with her. She wasn’t just good because she was the only girl in the contest. She was good no matter what. Chi girl had a complete package with her incorporation of gymnastics into her routine and that hip hop dancing she did. The crowd cheered equally as loud for Chi-Girl as they did for Blazin’ and me, so frankly, I wasn’t sure what to expect anymore.
“Chi-Girl was the only girl who had the balls to enter the competition. And you’ve gotta love that,” Blazin’ said.
“You’ve gotta love balls?” I asked Blazin’ with a smart assed look on my face.
“You know what I mean,” Brock said.
“Yeah, you love balls.” I said.
“Dude, you know what I meant,” Brock said. And I did, I did know what he meant, but I had a good old time messing with him anyway.
I whispered over to Blazin' after she was done, “We ought to get that girls number and see if she wants to be a part of the Neighborhood Street Rockers; the way I see it, adding a female breakin’ gymnast to the mix would be smart.”
Blazin’ had instantly agreed with me, I didn’t really have to sell him on the idea.
“Okay everybody,” the crystal clear monotone voice emitted through the speakers, “Last but not least, our final contestants of the day go by the name of the Suburban Break Crew; Slim Jim, Kid Mojo, and Jet Drinkwater you are up next.”
I kind of laughed to myself about Slim Jim because, Slim Jim was not slim, in fact he was as big as a football player or a lumber jack, but for whatever reason big people get nicknames like “tiny” or “slim” sometimes.
The first guy up from their crew (Slim Jim) entered the linoleum stage, gliding on his feet like an astronaut, with moonwalk-esque movements that transitioned into a series of serious wavin’ and poppin’ routines, first rate. Then the Big Red headed behemoth did these moves that reminded me of spaghetti legs and crazy legs that I used to do on skates but he was on the ground in shoes doing them, it was just an illusion that he was on roller skates, it was an optical illusion. You dig. It looked cool as EFF though. And seriously, from far away, I bet you would have thought that he was on roller skates doing spaghetti legs.
The next Suburban Break Crew member made his grand entrance – I heard his break mates yelling, “Go Mojo, Go Mojo Go Mojo!” He began his routine with that move that Dustin and Hazy had tried to show me at school a few weeks ago in the hallway before first period – Atomic Flares. Only this cat Mojo had them down like a champ. His crew members called the move, “Thomas Flares” instead of “Atomic flares.”
“Mojos got the Thomas Flares workin’ … work it work it,” Slim Jim said.
It was damn cool to see the Flares in person, since I had only seen them on TV before during the Olympics – and that was on a horse, Mojo was doing them on the ground. But at the same time, after that move, I was beginning to worry about our first place chances.
Next, this dude, Kid Mojo, transitioned into pennies, which were windmills where you grab your crotch while you’re spinning and revolving around and you just use your momentum to keep going, instead of pushing off with your hands. Some people call them, “nutcrackers” but around our neck of the woods, people called them, “pennies” too. Kid Mojo boldly leapt to his feet and exited the stage to numerous cheers.
Honestly the cheers were longer and louder than we had heard all day. And not those fake kind of cheers that were given when the five year olds were breakin’. Heck; if I’ve got to admit it to you then I will but I think I may have been cheering louder than anyone was after Kid Mojo had finished. Sometimes, you’ve just got to give credit, where credit was due – do you know what I mean Jellybean?
The last member of their crew was half the size of Kid Mojo and one quarter the size of Slim Jim. His name was Jet Drinkwater. Some people in the crowd were cheering for him before he even did anything; it was mainly the chicks. They must had known him from school because a couple of them were yelling, “We love you small glass of drink water,” The girls that were yelling it had really gotten a big old roar out of themselves too. They must have said it a hundred times while giggling their heads off.
This “Jetty pooh” cat had busted out with helicopters, footwork and backspins. Which really made the crowd go crazy, you see, because of his height, it looked like a little kid was doing all of these impressive moves but in fact he was right around our age. He was good though; I have to admit it to you.
Their grand finale was the three of them standing as one big helicopter. Slim Jim was standing upright in the middle of the pack. Kid Mojo wrapped his legs around the back of Slim Jim’s head and the rest of Mojos body hung down Slim Jim’s back. Jet Drinkwater wrapped his legs around the front of Slim Jim’s head and his body hung down on the opposite side of Mojos, down Slims front. Slim Jim had four legs wrapped around his neck. The three of them had finished assembling their 3 man helicopter. Slim Jim began to revolve around in 360 revolutions; the force of motion made Kid Mojo and Jet Drinkwater extend outwards to horizontal. They both put their arms straight out to make their human blades that much longer. They were both parallel to the ground as Slim Jim turned around in circles as the crowd went ape shit. They had formed a spinning capital “T.”
“A three man helicopter blade,” Brock said and then added, “That dude Slim Jim must be getting dizzy as all heck.”
“Fo shizzle my nizzle,” I said.
After the Suburban Break Crew was done, it was no surprise that the crowd was going straight up bonkers. They were going Izz-Off! They weren’t just a good crew for this contest; they were a good bunch of breakers for anywhere. Blazin' and I had definitely hung tough with those guys but as far as that contest went, they had the upmanship on us and that was for sure.
The MC grabbed the mike and announced, “We will take a fifteen minute break while the judges tally up the votes.”
Blazin' and I both concurred that first place was out of question and we both concurred that we probably deserved 2nd place based on the breakin’ alone. “If you factored in the crowd noise for old girl and if you factored in her gymnastics abilities and such - Chi-Girl may get 2nd,” I said as Blazin just shrugged and smiled