Why a Busta?

Howdy! This being my first entry in my blog, I figured that I need to comment on the title. One of my good friends, Mr. Brock East, likes to talk alot of trash. Some time ago, I guess that I was doing whatever Brock wanted to do so in his “tirade,” he called me a busta. Since then, it has just stuck. We all credit it to Brock even though I’m sure that he didn’t invent or create the word. Now, here is what I mean by Brock not getting his way. Typically, Brock would call me at like 10:00 pm on one night and be like, “Let’s go play golf tomorrow at 8 am. Just drop everything you already had planned and come play golf.” Now, obviously, that’s not much time to change plans so most of the time I would have to decline. So, therefore I am a busta. Thanks Brock East.


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