Do Da Homie (no homo)

Who's your homie?

Like, for real. Who is your undeniable, ride-or-die, do anything for, better/worst half?

We all have them, ladies and fellas alike. Homies, peeps, dunnies, potnas, nigs, brothas, comrades, et cetera. That one person that you know you can call at a whim if there is someone 'round the way that needs a beat down. That person who people confuse you with, even though you are both clearly not identical in any facet. That particular individual that your family doesn't particularly favor, but you could swear was a long-lost sibling. Oh, you remember now! Yeah, that person.

What's that person like?

I'm lucky enough to have two. Let's call them...Yellow Cake and Piff.

First up is YC.
I've known this brother since I was in OshKosh B'Gosh, sippin' on Similac. We went to the same church growing up, and I guess he's been the one time-tested friend. A lot of the times, he's been something like my conscience. Me, I guess I'm something like a counselor-in-training. And I don't mind at all. YC's simply a fun loving person, almost always willing to provide laughs. A true homie. Here's a quick story:

On one particular sunny day in one of the summers of our teenage years, we were at yet another cookout. Everything a growing boy would ever want: lemonade, kool-aid, biscuits, hot dogs, yada yada yada. People were all over the place, having a merry time. The group of my lifelong friends were there, who we shall call the Fantastic Four (which consisted of me, YC, Bizarro and Spears). I had a not-so-secret crush on Spears, but it was a relaxed atmosphere, so I wasn't really "on".
Somehow, we started this really sadistic game that involved hitting each other.

It made no sense then, and it makes no sense now.

Anyway, Spears starts chasing me to hit me. Naturally, she get me, so I turn around to hit her back. Only I decide that it'd be pretty funny to kick her in the butt. I thought it was a good idea.

The kick was successful, but I somehow forgot that she'd want to hit me back. She starts chasing me, and as I turn to run away from her with the graceful speed of a gazelle...I run into a tree. A big tree. A freaking HUGE tree. I fell over, landed in some dirt (some of which coincidentially flew into my eye) and started praying that no one saw...

Remember how I said that people were all over the place? Yeah. So...yeah. EVERYONE IN ATTENDANCE saw it, and laughed at me. And my best friend? Standing with the masses, laughing, while pointing his finger.

Yep. Love that kid.

And then there's Piff.

This brother ::shakes head::...

You know how everyone has the voices in their head?
There's one voice that says "I know that you want to skip class today, but you really need to go. The amount of money that you pay in this place? Shoot...you'd better attend class, dummy."
There's another voice that says, "Eff classes, eff school, eff yo' mutha-effin' degree. Nigga, let's hit up the mall, get some numbers and allow me to spank dat ace in some Madden."

Piff is the latter. He is the Id to my SuperEgo, the evil guy on my shoulder, and I am his conscience. We met in high school, over the affections of a particular female, who just happened to be his boo at the time. Somehow, our personalities clicked.

Now, I pride myself, to a certain extent, on being a pretty rebellious character. I like going with the flow, and enjoying the ride. But I have an off button. I know when to stop. My sense of right and wrong dominates most of my decisions. Piff? Not so much. Imagine me, with less inhibitions, more wrong, less right, hopped on Mary Jane and ginseng. That's Piff. And I love that dude like my own flesh and blood. There are so many stories that I can bring up, but I'll just choose one:

Once again, in the days of yesteryear, we were in class. I think it was an English class. It was snowing outside, and I was probably day-dreaming or something. Suddenly, my peripheral vision kicks in, and I see him, wielding a snowball. (Later, I would find out that he went to the bathroom, for the sole purpose of getting said snowball.) Before I could do anything about it, he launches the snowball dead. at. my. face.

I wasn't mad yet. Somehow encouraged to play along (IN ENGLISH CLASS), I run to the window, scoop up a handful of snow and before I can throw the snowpile, I hear, "NICHOLAS! GO TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE!"

My response? Years before I heard of Oh Hell Nawl, I said, "DISBS!"

Oh, I said it. I was heated. I was mad as hale. How'd I get in trouble, being the victim? I naturally threw your typical teenage tantrum. I think in the process, she ends up sending him down to the bench too.

However, once we got there, we started laughing about it. I don't know how. If they decided to call home, I would be getting in trouble. And here I was laughing about it.

And we still laugh about it.

These two fellas are my closest friends, and it gets hard to understand why or how sometimes. I think they give me balance, a good place between stability. Together, they can't let me get too serious or freak out too much. They also cannot let me shrug anything off without first letting me know how stupid it was in the first place.

So again I ask, who are your homies?