Notorious RUG

Five years ago today I was involved in the first of many BUI accidents. According to a NY Times study 1 in 5 cyclists involved in a fatal collision, had alcohol in their system. What were the other 4 doing? From that article I gleaned that it’s much safer to Bicycle Under the Influence than not.
I’ll tell you what is dangerous though… anti-​parking delineators. I hit one at 20mph, somersaulted into the air, and slid headfirst across the asphalt like David Wright charging for home at Citi Field. Besides the fact that they’re nearly invisible to the inebriated eye, I was also distracted by the Kansai University cheerleading squad. You can imagine my surprise when I saw 20 extras from Eric Prydz’s Call On Me video prancing around like white-​tailed deer… white-​tailed deer that grind to Caribbean Soca music. The only other time I’ve seen Asian girls get down like that was the Queens’ Spring Spectacle and it was because of a DJ, the notorious RUG.
The center of the dance floor was a pulsating hive that would suck in people nearby like The Borg from Star Trek: The Next Generation –
«Resistance is futile, dance or die!»
If there was going to be a death within the boogie borders, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me. Which led one bystander to exclaim –
«You Southern boys sure talk slow, but are fast on your feet!»
I silently prayed to the same god that vengefully struck me down on Yamatecho Road for my immoral thoughts. The divine answered me with the hymns of St. Rugerford, patron saint of party-​goers. He played a crazy open-​format set that included the likes of Nine Inch Nails, Rage Against the Machine, Daft Punk tracks, and Kendrick Lamar that had everyone humming in a low chant –
«Rugz, don’t kill my vibe, Rugz, don’t kill my vibe, Rugz, don’t kill my vibe…»
We were rewarded for putting our faith in him, and by the end of the event he could’ve cranked up the bass on some Gypsy Kings and we would’ve applied our drinks and our two-​steps to it.
Back to the accident, my medical/​motivational team turned me on my back and through cloudy eyes I could see a crowd of wide-​eyed faces above me. Some shaking with fear, one with tears cutting shiny lines on her face, expecting the worst. While they wiped away blood-​snot with a hanky and helped pick out chin-​gravel with an instrument that had probably seen many an eyebrow, I chuckled with post wipe-​out embarrassment. They explained that their studio wasn’t open yet and they wanted to practice some routines in the well-​lit, mirrored façade of the building. How I wish the notorious RUG had been there. He would’ve put on one of his Thuggish Ruggish Boning playlists, while I purchased beer and sake from nearby vending machines with my cell phone. Boom!!! Parking lot pimpin’.
Give this man some speakers, a mixer and a Macbook and he’ll drop beats not bombs