I have a fear of listening to Afroman. Of all things in life, my fear for Afroman is nothing short of a terribly irrational fear. I do have a few rational fears, such as my fear of being burnt, even brushing a radiator freaks me out. My Afroman-phobia, if you will allow me to indulge in some self-pity, is probably the most irrational thing about me. Every time I broke a bone or got injured, Afroman was playing. Is there some correlation between injuries and Afroman’s sick music? I don’t think there is enough data out there to prove or disprove that hypothesis. But until there is, I will only listen to Afroman when I am covered head to toe in Kevlar. 

An example of where this fear came from was when ‘Because I got High’ was playing and a friend jumped on my back and whatever way my body jerked, I twisted my knee. Now it wasn’t just a little knee jerk, this was a full on twisting like 90 degrees. I felt the liquid or whatever it was in my leg crack and bubble up in that few seconds. The last time I felt pain like that was when I shattered my knee playing rugby.

A few years ago, I blew my knee out. Before I went to rugby training, the song in the car going there was ‘Palmdale’. 15 minutes into the training session, I was on the dirt with a shattered knee. I had broken a piece of bone loose and it was cutting my ligaments like a hot knife through butta. To add insult to injury I was left in the changing room for an hour and a half with a shattered knee. The guy who was suppose to check up on me forgot and left me there. I was lucky enough to know one of the trainers who dropped me home. Two days later, I had emergency surgery.

In China, on one particularly polluted Beijing evening, I was listening to ‘Back to School’ while strolling around looking for some good street food. Fucking amazing street food, lamb skewers with the local Uyghur who smoked like a chimney is way more fun than you can ever imagine. The guy was fucking nuts, but incredibly interesting to talk to. His face alone told an endless story. Before I crossed the road to grab my food, I went over on my ankle from a fair height. The bricks that made up the footpath that were normally there were gone and I didn’t see it. Nearly broke my ankle goddamn it. I couldn’t walk right for two months.

Those are the three incidents that have led to me to only listen to Afroman when I am in the confines of a safe environment, like on the floor in my bedroom with my arms and legs spread out. Anytime Afroman is being played, I leave until it is over. Don’t get me wrong, I really like Afroman. I listen to him now and again, but never when I am outside somewhere. I associate his music with being badly injured, there is nothing I can do to think about this in any other way that is rational. Irrational fears are a reality, but why did I get stuck with a fear of Afroman and not something really retarded like clowns or spiders.

BOO!
BOO!

I like to think of myself as a rational human being. After all, I did burn the Bible, Qu’ran, and the entire literary work of Ayn Rand, if you can even call that literature. This is the one weird quirk I allow myself to indulge in. If I really wanted to, I could blaze Afroman out of a boombox down mainstreet and chances are, I would be completely fine.But I would still have a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I am going to hurt myself. I guess that is just conditioning. At least this conditioning has left me with an irrational fear for Afroman, and not an irrational fetish for the guy. Nothing, thankfully, was awoken deep inside me and my Pornhub searches aren’t any worse than the average guy.

I think I should condition myself by listening to Afroman and reward myself with chocolate or money every time I finish a song. That does lead to another problem, what happens when there is no reward after the song when I finally get rid of that conditioned fear? The answer, i’m afraid will have to be left for a drunken evening with friends because i’m too sober to consider the different avenues for personal treatment. For now, I will hide under my bed and listen to Afroman. Don’t cry for me, I’m already dead.