So, then...
MC Facts was his name.
This...phantom man...
This...drug-wrought hallucination…
This ungodly irritance, which has been cursed upon me.
I tried to ignore him as I hurried back to class, but he followed along—beatboxing all the way—muttering nonsensical rap lyrics; like, I'm pretty sure I heard him rhyme "cookie" with "dookie." Rap lyrics that it wouldn't take a professional ear to know were absolutely terrible.
Naturally, it wasn't long before I'd had enough of this bizarre form of torment.
"Please, shut up. Please just shut up," I snapped, turning to him in an explosion of rage as I was halfway up the stairs to the second floor. "Tell me, what's the point of all that noise you're making?"
"It's rap, little ma'am. I'm just doing it for fun." He shrugged. "Self-expression."
"Well, you're terrible at it."
"Ouch."
