FINALLY INSANE

So I've proven my wealth in gold.  I should be ready to be a Vice Lord and etch my name on the wall of the insanely infamous.

I show up to the next goal and I'm ready to get blessed in. I wear Khahis with so much crease they'd be illegal to wear because I'd give razor cuts to anyone that brushes by me.

It's my time to shine - or my time to shame.

Then two funky looking jheri-curl, fry up your Grandma in grease heads, call me into the crack-room, I mean backroom.  They tell me that Vice Lords don't accept white people.

Huh?

Was this before you blessed in a white boy named Slobberer a month ago? Or before they were Aunt Jemima racists? Or before I accidentally almost killed someone for this initiation? Before I almost got mobbed by a sea of blue G.D.'s for this nation?  I was stumped.  But I didn't know the literature of the gang -- so they could have told me Porky Pig was an elephant and I would've taken it at face value.

Literature is the sacred laws and necessary rules, laws, and prayers that prove you're a member of the gang. The more literature you know - the higher your rank.  What I know now that I didn't then is no one abides by the literature unless it to fulfill some self-gratification.  And Vice Lords use some Muslim prayers and were aligned with the Nation of Islam -- Farracon-artist. No wonder they were denying a white bread from sandwiching in.

No white boys named Brandon allowed!!!!

GANG HYPOCRISY

Gangs also like to use other religious icons -- Latin gangs like to use some Catholic symbology, as if Mary would approve of killing someone for being of a different color or race. The only gangs that seem to have gotten the right religion is the Satan Disciples and other devil-worshipping gangs.

What gangs think they are...

What gangs really are...

At least they know who they're serving.  But before the dawn of time, people have been killing in the name of God -- but with gangs, they're not killing because God told them to. They're trying to absolve their crimes under the guise of good. Sounds like some money-grubbing greedy televangelists -- maybe they need the Kenneth Copeland gang, or Jim Bakker Bangers.  Or Jimmy Swag Swaggers... anyone, or yeah, I'll give them one up now.


LATER I WOULD FIND OUT... WHITES ARE ALLOWED

A white Conservative Vice Lord named Dave sock-monkey, or I forget -- he wrote a book a Nation of Lords that got the Vice Lords their legitimate funding from a CRACKER.... from the government back in the 1970's. He got grants to build the Holy City which is four blocks where the command and control center for the Vice Lords operated.

Yeah, that Dave in the book above -- and he was a Conserative Vice Lord, but Ladrell and booger picker Javon wouldn't know that because they are in prison.

So the other racist turd that showed up was named Ladrell -- and he had no problem picking his nose and wiping them on the bed-bug infested mattress.

This guy was a not a gun slinger, but a booger slinger...




Months later the same gold-nose-digger would see me at a mall and demand back dues of 40.00 -- enough to buy himself a rock to go with the rocks in his nose.  Funny how all of a sudden I was a Vice Lord and accepted when the color green came in the picture.

So the hypocrite lunch came out... full of phony bologna.  I was told I couldn't join because I was white. I left crestfallen.  Head was down low, kicking dust as I left the house of racism.



THE HOUSE OF CARDS COLLAPSED

Where did all the Sanford and son sisters go?  They flipped to Mickey Cobras --  a group that broke away from the Vice Lords after having our glorious leadership kill their leader outside of a drug deal. So there was two-booger diggers and white boy. Another weenie black kid I corrupted still left in the Sanford and Son gang.

I had ambition... at sixteen I wanted power, and the broken spoke, spring out of the cushion gang I had tried to joined wanted no part of me.

Then I hooked up with a crack dealer and learned the power this white substance had over others. I had a pee-shooter .32 -- but what scares them all -- I already had a rep that I had no problem blasting that thing off -- even if it was at crates.

Was I tough? No, I was stupid and had everything to prove. I was quiet spoken, I'll let you talk all the amounting trash pile shit you wanted to. And I'd sit there like I believed you.  Then I'd let them go off and try to screw me. Then I realized I fired more warning shots than I had ammunition. I just wasn't a good shot -- well enough -- grammar Nazis -- I ran out of ammunition.

MY Aunt, bless her heart -- decided she had enough after I crept into a haunted house and having the pigs pick me up on trespass, that was enough  Oh, the haunted house, well the supernatural is real. And I was as close to death as you can come -- so I had an affinity with the dead. I wanted my mother to come back to me in spectral form and explain why she left an endangered kid. I hated her for awhile. Damn, woman, you abandoned me to this world.

We had a suicide pact. She violated it. She was supposed to shoot me first, then I trusted her, she would execute herself. And she killed herself alone and left me a blood-stained notebook giving me lame excuses why I should stay and grow up without her.  I wanted revenge. Mom, I wanted to kill everyone that offended you. You lied to me. And I'd make you and everyone pay from beyond the grave.

I WAS ALREADY DEAD...

So I got booted from my Aunt's house -- no matter how much money came with me, I was a jeopardy to her and her son.  No one loves someone else's child as they do their own.

I moved in with a Hillbilly family from the church. ON THE WESTSIDE.

I was in the vomit.  And already at 16, I was selling crack. No, that's a lie. I had two scrub muffins selling it for me.  And when they got stuck up, I had to make up for their bad graces. When you don't care about living -- you don't care about dying.

Then as when fate fails... I walked the street with a baseball bat. Dear, Lord, give me a cranium to crack today.

And Broke-Chris N. showed up as I was walking... He had four broke Conservatives with him, and they had an emergency. They were the food-stamp gang. And this discriminated white boy was bringing more money than the lot of them.

And all of a sudden, since I had a crack connect -- and they had a gravel connect, they wanted a new show-stopper that had no fear to be a Conservative.

They blessed me in.  And I was a VICE LORD.  I no no longer had two-craps to give about them. I was a boss in the making.

But the Conservative Vice Lords weren't enough for me anymore.

So Slobberer introduced me to a Mafia Insane Vice Lord. And things were about to change.

MAFIA INSANE VICE LORDS -- the set of violence coming up next.

THE SANFORD AND SON GANG

So, yeah, I'm in right?  Getting in the gang -- every kid's dream that's had such a crappy childhood, my childhood had to wear a diaper.

Almost smoked a crack head for the cause -- that should have gotten the red and black carpet rolled out for me immediately... NO!!!

I still had to wait another two weeks to get blessed into the gang.  Vice Lords rarely beat anyone in -- they get blessed in if they pass all the trials on probation.

Beating someone's buttocks black and blue to get in always seemed masochistic to me. They could knock your marbles loose during the beating and now they'd have Sling Blade talking members. Taking a beating to prove your worth seems like a caveman way.

This isn't Sparta -- its gangland where half of all members end up smoking crack or becoming alcoholics in ten years anyway if you're not dead or in prison.  Maybe gangs should haze with a crack-smoking spree, or keg tossing night at the local dive bar with toothless barristers.

Anyway -- since I was a skinny kid at the time, being in a gang meant instant backup against other gangs.




I HAD PRIDE in my stride.  Was buying all the cheap Chicago Bulls gear I could. Five-point star chains came with my new found F-off attitude.

Even though I'm not in yet -- I'm banging my hat to the left.

I had more pimp swagger than the Platter's Peanut at the Playboy mansion and I'm strutting across a mall parking lot to catch a dollar movie at the theater.  Cuz thats how I roll -- at the dollar theater, homey.

And looking down with my usual shadow of low self-esteem, I walk into the movie parking lot to look up and see a sea of black and blue.

As God usually liked to put me in hairy situations so I could write about them -- I happened to be going to the movies at the same time half the Gangster Disciple Nation was going to watch a movie.

Skinny white dude just walked into a mountain of angry black and blue dudes.  I wasn't going to change my diaper just yet -- I had to think quick and call back up.

As the feast of eyes fell on my colors, I took a few steps backwards and touched a piece of asphalt. Thanks, God -- you didn't totally leave me hanging.

They surrounded me.  I told them with as much morass as I could muster that the first one -- too late, one was already swinging on me. I went Fred Flintstone on his face.  I don't think they saw the asphalt until then. The blood puddle coming out of the asphalt receiver spooked them enough for me to run through and who do I see cruising through the parking lot just in time to pick me up???

Go Brother! 

My brother -- he waves at me as a tidal wave of angry gang-bangers rush behind me and drives off.  Did he think these guys were my loyal fan base coming to toss me up in the air like I just won the Superbowl???

This is why my brother disgusted me. I ran into Burger King to use the payphone. I was given the secret number to the Vice Lord cave.  Now a public place would buy me some time because cops were always circling the parking lot, but not for long before they came in here and lynched the whitey in red.  I dropped the quarter -- and a Vice Lord sister named Saquina picks up. She's sucking on a Now or Later or something --"Whatcha need, white boy?"

I blathered about the G.D's waiting to tear me apart. She paused like she was taking down all this as a secretary to give the boss when he gets back from his three hour lunch.  I need backup, damnit!!!

"We be there in 55 minutes -- the Red C don't come for another 15 minutes."

This is when I knew I was trying to officially join the Sanford and Son gang.  The Vice Lord transportation was the city bus?!!!  I'd be dead and picked clean by vultures by the time they make their rounds through the city on the bus.  I was screwed. I might as well went out there and asked them to get it over with -- my caravan of Vice Lord chicks wouldn't be here for another hour. Maybe they'd wait for a fair duel. Saquina and her Now and Later sucking mouth was probably going to go to the beauty salon with the girls before picking up the 9mm's.

How does a set consisting of 40 members not have a single car among the group?

I didn't have these type of Vice Lord chicks backing me up...

I had these ones coming at a snail's pace on the city bus to save money...

I hung up the phone realizing that I was attempting to join a gang that did not live up to rap music standards of fine honeys, more bling bling around the neck's of the thugs, no fancy cars with diamond Datons spinning backwards -- no money and Cristol flying in the air with this gang... it was food stamps and city bus passes all the way, baby!

We weren't the Vice Lords, we were the Price Lords that saves at Wal-Mart gang-banging prices.

Now the guys waiting for me out front weren't the brightest guys from the moon landing, either.  They all waited outside and taunted me through the glass. And this got the manager to get nervous without me having to say a word.  He went out to tell them to leave the property if they weren't going to come in and purchase an ass-beating for me.

I ran out the back packing door.   I found the next pay phone four blocks away and canceled my request for backup.  They hadn't even left on the Red C and she was still sucking on the everlasting Now And Later.

Next week... I meet Dr. Booger, and Professor Racist -- but I also found out these were not the Vice Lords I had met were already on the way out to another gang, because the Conservatives weren't controlling anything in this part of the city.

THE STRUGGLE IS REAL

FUNKY TOWN...  principles like this prayer no one cares about anymore in Chicago -- it's all empty platitudes -- it's not red or blue that runs anything -- IT'S GREEN.   But these were the principles being a young gang-banger the led me to believe it all meant something -- in the end it doesn't, and the cemeteries are filled with brothers that died for this for nothing.

“R.I.P. MY LORD BROTHERS”
When I die lay 2 shotguns across my chest with 5 shells left cause the 6th one I used to shoot a gansta in a great battle to the death. So, tell Allah, & Almighty Lords I’ve done my best, and rest my soul in a kingdom of Black and Red. Peace & Luv
My Lord brothers.

Heading to the meeting to be a Vice Lord.

So since the only person I knew that was a Vice Lord was white, I thought that desegregation must have applied to gang life as well. The Vice Lords hadn't gotten that memo from the 1960's.

We took the VL transportation system, the bus. This was going to be awesome! Dreams of drugs, murder, and mayhem danced in my head. I would soon be able to gangster Santa-Claus. If he didn't bring me the toys I want, I'd club him with  the stocking of coal he brought me -- hold him for ransom and do a Genghis Khan on him and hit his reindeer -- how you like that, Santa Bitch?! 

But since Santa wears red and black the Vice Lord colors -- I'd spare him, 

I even worked on my best Clint Eastwood tough guy one-liners before we got to the West Side -- West Side always has the connotations of being a tough side-- toddler's weren't raised on milk of magnesia, there were raised on milk of magnum.

Sidebar your honor -- tough guy one liners never have an opportune time to be used and they come off awkward.


SEA OF CHICKS

We pulled up to the roach infested, syphilis handout, toilet of a house. Maybe it was the gang's version of Dr. Who's the Tardis -- look like vomit colored siding on the outside to keep burglars away, but when you walk in it's Liberace's house. Good camouflage...Nope - it was sewer all the way around.

Slobbering James, Mike , and I walked in -- EEEEERRRRRPPP. The piano playing stopped. The living room didn't even have a milk crate to sit down in. Empty of furniture. Carpet so nasty, taking a piss or dump on it would have been an avarice upgrade.  Yes, Mike was black, but me and Daffy Duck were the only white boys.

Little on Mike -- he was a good kid at school. I asked him to go because he was a big black guy at school. In true stereotypical fashion, even for appearance purposes only, black guys were the guys people went to for underworld fashion. So having a black guy to hang around with at school automatically upped my street cred. Yeah, it's bad, but a needed thing in a gang.

Flash forward  six months -- Mike couldn't fight. The cast to Big Bang Theory could fight better than he could. Mike was one misplaced gene away from a woman.  He would even stop to tie his shoe laces when in a brawl.  I even had a biker gang had to bail him out from leaving shoe imprints on his forehead. Fast Forward six years -- Mike would be standing outside a Vice Lord's house as he was getting sprayed with Supersoakers filled with urine for flipping to the Gangster Disciples.  If you flipped to an opposition gang, they called it pancaking. Fipping from one side-to-another.

Bottom line -- I was solely responsible from turning a good kid with great goals into a criminal doing a life sentence on the installment plan. Anyway... Mike was now soured by the gang lifestyle.


THE FRIDAY GOAL

We walked in with the crappy carpet that homeless people rolled themselves in. And what did my eyes lie themselves upon?  I had walked into a sea of girls. There was 20 female Vice Lords gossiping and sharpening their nails with machetes. So now there was three males, two white, and one Uncle Tom black guy. We had walked into Gunday bingo get together at the local buckshot church -- their only type of potluck.

Then out of the back came three big black dudes. Now we felt at homeless -- I mean felt at home. Slobberer told them he's an Insane Vice Lord.

HISTORY LESSON

For whatever politics were on the street, IVL's had three years to join up with another set. There were no longer anymore just plain IVL, nor Central Insanes -- there were now just Imperial Insane, Mafia Insane, Cicero Insane and Hamburger with Cheese Insanes. Kidding on the last one.  I wondered if this gang was going to defend themselves with purses and cat fights.

So we all stood in a circle as the opening Fatiya literature was read. They asked why I wanted to be Vice Lord and I said I was born for this shit.  YES, GOT TO USE ONE OF MY CLINT EASTWOOD LINES.  I got some nods like I said something poetic at church that netted a swoon of Amen, preach it white guy comments.

They blessed Slobbering James in from Insane to Conservative. The hat was passed around to pay up weekly dues. I put a five dollar bill in and they would have thought I put in a million. They gasped, "Who put the fin in there?" Fin was slang for a five dollar bill. Why they called it a fin? I don't know. I couldn't think of an animal that hat five fins.

NOW I Was Placed on probation.

I had 30 days to prove myself -- kill someone, and bam -- I'd be a Vice Lord. You're also the grunt on call for anything.  I'm joking about killing someone -- that was only if needed.

I was hereby knighted Sir-Break-A-Bitch -- everyone gets a nick-name -- my real name was Dr. Potty Stool.

I faithfully went to meetings. Carried the guns, drugs... and they spent my five dollar donation at a happy meal. So there was a drug deal going down. I had to carry the strap(gun). The leader of the set was Chris C.  The deal went bad -  our set leader sent me to retrieve the money owed.  The only person I could scare at my size was a, a, was a -- huh... scare someone, I just couldn't think who I'd scare back then.  But two years later -- I scared no only a lot of people in Chicago, I scared people in my own set, and the law was out to gun for me from state to federal level.

So when a beanpole like me that weighed less than a sheet of paper went to strong-arm someone back then, it was a joke. I started to hop in the car with the guy that owned my chief. And a Bruce Lee's fists of fury came at my face -- my head was rung like the bell at Notre Dame. I was trying to get my bearings. But being that I was a Ninja in the making, I backed up and starting kicking him like Fred Flinstone driving his rock mobile.

It got him out of the car -- things escalated.  He pulled out a gun and fired two shots as he was getting out of the car.  He missed. My. 22 was in my Michelin sized coat -- I just started letting the bullets fly through the coat.

What I felt like shooting my peon .22...

What I must have looked like...

Gangbangers are either really good shots or horrible shots. At that time I was a horrible shot. But when the brothers realized I had no fear, I was earnestly trying to turn this guy into Swiss cheese. He wasn't hit, but I came out of the situation looking like Charmin clean gangbanger.

I was in, so I thought -- one problem was about to come up and it dealt with a booger-picking Vice Lord that had more grease in his jerry-curl than a bucket of Colonel Sander's chicken.

AND THIS IS WHAT I'll be discussing. And why idiots like Suge Toothbrush never leave that lifestyle, Suge Knight still want to be a tough guy after making millions. The whole damn point is to make money to get out of the ghetto -- now look what the black Santa Claus is in trouble for now? Using his car as a bulldozer.  Suge is a wasted tampon idiot.

ENTER THE VICE LORD GANG

WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS...

Step right up, come one, come tall. I had a buddy in the neighborhood that wasn't a part of the nerd mob I abandoned. He was 6'4, and looked like Opie on organically grown steroids. After the beating, I needed new friends -- Big Red was it.  He would steal his mom and dad's van -- which looked like a toaster oven on wheels, and that was the trouble mobile until he wrecked it a week later -- I wasn't there but it probably popped him out the top like a burnt piece of bread when he crashed.

Terrorizing the neighbors... Most the neighborhood I felt abandoned me. So we started launching bottle rockets down a pole, aim the pole, and we had a mortar. We even hit one neighbor that looked like Ned Flanders right through his cracked window as he drove by.

My Aunt was quickly becoming persona non-grata to the local neighborhood association, which they never invited her to anyway.  They even took our house off the neighborhood watch list and probably invited burglars to do a home invasion hoping I'd get whacked in the process.


And the end of the day -- I HAD BECOME VIOLENT

 I started whacking kids with nunchucks -- pulverizing closet doors to strengthen my knuckles. Stabbed my brother with a sword. It was all theatrics. He advanced when I had it pointed at him. It was a small cut and he played the Oscars in front of my Aunt rolling around on the floor like the Night Stalker just cut him up with Freddy Kruger's claws.

I had enough. Blood for blood. Vengeance over forgiveness. Two eyes for an eye. I took martial arts. I was planning to go to Tennessee when I was 18 and join the Nine Gates of the Shadow Ninja Society that had a black-clad pajama camp in the woods.

I began ordering knives, machetes, weapons, nunchucks, blow guns. Who better to start to terrorize than my brother, Mengele himself. I got the blow gun. Looked at the darts -- This aren't pointed! I had been duped -- I didn't understand physics then. I put all three pieces of the blow gun together -- waited until my brother went to mow the lawn. Cracked open the door and and blew back the dart -- crap -- the plastic ball on the end sucked down my throat.

After digesting Barbie's missing testicle -- I loaded a second one and clenched my teeth and blew like the Big Bad Wolf - and what do you know? It stuck in his hindleg. My brother swatted and jumped around like a Bee stung him -- swiping the dart out. I would have got away with it if it wasn't for the meddling -- okay, I was too slow to shut the door basking in the torment I laid on him, and he saw me laughing my buttocks off. They fell off and I had to reattach them after he chased me around the house for ten minutes.  After years of mental and physical torment by my brother -- the Ninja Tabi boot had switched to the other foot.

What I thought I was...

What I really was... only I was skinny and not gigantic Titanic.

IT'S A BIRD -- IT'S A PLANE -- IT'S A SLOBBERING DUCK

Since I had met death and lived - I relished in all things death. Books on how to kill people, Anarchist's Cookbook -- all the martial arts books were on the death punch. Destroying people's temples. Anything with death -- including death metal was my friend to explore.

THE VICE LORDS

One day Big Red Rooster pops up saying his friend is in from Davenport Iowa. And he's an Insane Vice Lord.  The very words Vice Lords meant weak, small gang, and losers. I didn't want to be a G.D. anymore, but didn't want to be nothing.

James(the guy from Iowa) shows up in my garage. White guy, mind you. And the guy has a lisp, and leans to one side like someone stuck a brick in his left pocket. HE LOOKED GOOFY -- He would not shut up about being a Vice Lord -- confirming my suspicions that if trash balls like this are Vice Lords, they truly are the dumpster of the Chicago gangs.

Something clicked...

His pride for this gang. He wouldn't shut up about them. Then someone had threatened Big Red and James got on the phone and reamed this guy up and down naming tons of names of Vice Lords he'd get after this guy -- scared the guy into a tearful apology. He slobbered and spit so much talking, the phone needed to be toweled off like it had been Tyson in the ring for 3 hours.

His pride intrigued me. If the Vice Lords are so dumpy, why does he love them so much? James couldn't fight, so he wasn't the esprit de corp of any gang -- he swung his arms like some crazed windmill after hitting an exhaust full amount of crack to try, by a miracle of God, land a punch. I watched him do his stupid monkey Kung-Fu, and the opponent stepped back, drove one blow on James -- and he went face first into the snow with his butt sticking up in the air like he was in prison waiting for a pounding by Bubba-Spanxx.

Thee old notion to be a part of something bigger than me crept up again. But still, I could see no Vice Lord clans in Normal. Then James, the Slobbering Duck windmill puncher, went to work at a buffet restaurant. And there was a Conservative Vice Lord working there. So I show up to make sure James finishes work without putting his wiener in the jello-salad and we're invited to the Friday goal(meeting) of the Conservative Vice Lords.

Conservatives are the oldest formal branch, and under the fluid type of Vice Lords. There's two types -- Fluid and Shabazz -- the Shabazz family incorporates all "Insane" branches of the Vice Lords. But Conservatives as a whole were the biggest branch back then -- barely holding onto today as Insanes have grown. The fluids also contain Travelling Vice Lords and Unknowns. More on them later.

This was the moment of truth. I would be shocked, pissed, and proud all within a month.

THIS IS WHERE WE LEAVE OFF UNTIL NEXT WEEK -- JOINING THE GANG through bullets and struggle.