We were in Vegas complaining about our relationships and drinking tequila out of red plastic cups—the ones that are always stacked next to the free alcohol at parties. I suggested that we all run away and move to Jamaica together. As we toasted to that, Harry burst out: “We the Plastic Cup Boyz!” “What the hell is that?” Spank asked. “Nigga, we always got plastic cups. When you see these red cups, it’s always a party or a good time. So we the Plastic Cup Boyz.” I was tired of saying I was bringing my “crew” or my “team” or my “package” to each club. We needed a name. So from that day forward,
...more
