Fishscaling: "Columbus Exchange/Crack Spot"


Oops. Not that kind of cooking.

Not that you should trust bloggers and white-boy Internet critics, but the praise heaped on Fishscale in the end-of-year polls has been gratifying. Considering the stated mission herein is to translate for the masses the entirety of Ghostface Killah's 2006 opus, I'm relieved that others find the effort equally noteworthy. So let's keep going, bearing in mind that More Fish came out two weeks ago and we're kind of swimming upstream at this point. Remember, however, that in historical terms eight months is but a blink, and this effort at translation, like Fishscale itself, will last a lifetime.

"Columbus Exchange/Crack Spot" is Ghostface at his best. Unhindered by subpar associates, it's a perfect snapshot of Tony Starks' crack-cooking world. We're in his apartment, where Trife, Raekwon the Chef, the Beloved Angel Ol' Dirty Bastard, and Woodrow the Basehead and wife are cookin' it up and smokin' and snortin' it down. It's a mess of activity: People coming and going, a dude watching out the window to see whether that Verizon truck is the cops. Everyone's checked for wires, junkies and dealers alike. Tony Starks is understandably paranoid. He's busy, and people are freakin' his shit. One minute he's getting pissed at somebody for stopping by, the next minute he's inviting them in and making one of his G-men check them for wires. Ralph Kramden's on the TV.

Tony Starks: Hey, turn the water down! And what are you watching over there, The Honeymooners marathon? That's been on all night, hasn't it?

I can smell the cocaine cooking. Dr. Glove has put all the money in the safe. I gave Woodrow the Basehead the first taste of this batch. He rolled up his sleeves and reached for his pipe. He was surprised at the quality. I told him to be careful because it wasn't cut with anything. He took a hit and — damn it, Woodrow! — his head thumped the table and a few rocks fell out of his pipe. He was bleeding a lot. He smelled ripe. I told Trife to get him some ice, told Raekwon to keep an eye on Woodrow's wife. 'Tell her to chill — give her some cocaine.'

There were three knocks on the door. I was nervous and dropped the coke. Ol Dirty Bastard dropped his straw, put his grillz back in his mouth and grabbed his cocaine napkin. There was white snot hanging from his nose. It looked like ejaculate, which made Woodrow's wife fall to the floor laughing. "Goodness gracious," she said, "put away that cocaine! You're killing us! The residue from that last batch was great. I got my son ten rocks, but smoked five of them. I stayed in the house — I lost a lot of weight."

A guy named Crime was at the door. He was mad, but I didn't give a fuck. I told him, "You can't just be coming up here -- we're cooking crack, for goodness sake! Add to that, I'm paranoid as all get out, and the police are sniffing around."

People probably think that I was kinda crazy when I lost it and yelled at Justin, but I had to make sure he was on point. I told him to watch out the window, and pay special attention to that Verizon truck. Every fiend who walks through the door, make sure they're not wearing a wire. Don't give anyone any more than they pay for, and only give them a taste if they buy a lot. If they buy ten, give them a new glass pipe. Our stuff is very potent: if they take a hit, they'll cough up phlegm.

Make sure you get $100 from Pam. Did she mess with you? We're going to fuck with her old man. He came here selling TVs, an Xbox and a Playstation 3, and all he wanted was three rocks! Big Frankenstein came in with droopy socks. He was following me around, and here I am trying to hide from the detectives.

-Randall Roberts

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