This story is a bit surreal.
My chick takes me to a travel agency, I thought I had just moved out to San Francisco to be with her, but I need to go to Chicago for a few days, suddenly she breaks my heart when she says "don't come back on my account" and sends me home on some ****ed up airline called Mark Air, yes Mark Air.
When I get to the airport it looks like a rap convention and I see a fat white dude in a warm up suit, who must be the manager or something. Over a bit of airline pizza I meet George Clinton’s guitarist, who in response to my query of whether he replaced the recently deceased Eddie Hazel, said “Yeah but in 1973” and then sort of politely asks me to leave him the f uck alone so he can eat.
So me and Clinton’s massive crew are all stuck on Mark Air, which to no ones surprise has no food on it and is way late. I’m sitting next to an older back up singer named Grady and ask him how they can possibly make money traveling with a bigger crew than MC Hammer used to roll with. Grady laughs and says “We don’t.”
Stuck in Denver and not allowed to exit during the stopover the hungry band start yelling "fried chicken" over and over again.
As we took off they treated us to some lovely a cappella versions of Little Bitty Pretty One and get this a surprisingly funky version of America’s Horse with No Name! I kept my eye out for George, but who knows what he looks like off stage.
Full Version: I Fly With P Funk
Man that is so cool.
QUOTE (keith crime @ Friday, July 28th, 2006, 5:51 PM) 
This story is a bit surreal.
My chick takes me to a travel agency, I thought I had just moved out to San Francisco to be with her, but I need to go to Chicago for a few days, suddenly she breaks my heart when she says "don't come back on my account" and sends me home on some ****ed up airline called Mark Air, yes Mark Air.
When I get to the airport it looks like a rap convention and I see a fat white dude in a warm up suit, who must be the manager or something. Over a bit of airline pizza I meet George Clinton’s guitarist, who in response to my query of whether he replaced the recently deceased Eddie Hazel, said “Yeah but in 1973” and then sort of politely asks me to leave him the f uck alone so he can eat.
So me and Clinton’s massive crew are all stuck on Mark Air, which to no ones surprise has no food on it and is way late. I’m sitting next to an older back up singer named Grady and ask him how they can possibly make money traveling with a bigger crew than MC Hammer used to roll with. Grady laughs and says “We don’t.”
Stuck in Denver and not allowed to exit during the stopover the hungry band start yelling "fried chicken" over and over again.
As we took off they treated us to some lovely a cappella versions of Little Bitty Pretty One and get this a surprisingly funky version of America’s Horse with No Name! I kept my eye out for George, but who knows what he looks like off stage.
My chick takes me to a travel agency, I thought I had just moved out to San Francisco to be with her, but I need to go to Chicago for a few days, suddenly she breaks my heart when she says "don't come back on my account" and sends me home on some ****ed up airline called Mark Air, yes Mark Air.
When I get to the airport it looks like a rap convention and I see a fat white dude in a warm up suit, who must be the manager or something. Over a bit of airline pizza I meet George Clinton’s guitarist, who in response to my query of whether he replaced the recently deceased Eddie Hazel, said “Yeah but in 1973” and then sort of politely asks me to leave him the f uck alone so he can eat.
So me and Clinton’s massive crew are all stuck on Mark Air, which to no ones surprise has no food on it and is way late. I’m sitting next to an older back up singer named Grady and ask him how they can possibly make money traveling with a bigger crew than MC Hammer used to roll with. Grady laughs and says “We don’t.”
Stuck in Denver and not allowed to exit during the stopover the hungry band start yelling "fried chicken" over and over again.
As we took off they treated us to some lovely a cappella versions of Little Bitty Pretty One and get this a surprisingly funky version of America’s Horse with No Name! I kept my eye out for George, but who knows what he looks like off stage.
Saw them when they played NU, kinda wierd show, but good. I generally don't like seeing old groups decades past their prime, but hey, I was just getting into smokeing weed, and they were p-funk, after all. Or the George clinton all stars, or something. Also saw the saddest crowd for a De la soul show. It was in the city, and it was advertised by NU as a De La soul show, but in the city as a Maseo Parker show( the trumpet player for James Brown, and P-****, and basically a funk trumpet god). there was like no crowd for de la soul, and no energy at all. but maseo rocked the crowd. Maeso!
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