A GANG OF MISMATCHED SOCKS

This all makes for an episode for a show that could be called... My Screwed Up Life.

The gang was being formed...

Like playing a game of Tetris with people. We had short, fat, ugly, muscular, some skinny and fat at the same time, Insanes all looking for a Vice Lord home to fit in. At first it was just a mob of people throwing up gang signs, watching "Banging in Little Rock," and wearing colors.  You wear all red and black outside a house, you might as well paint your house the colors of a bull's eye.

The hillbillies I lived with adapted the stance that it was better to have gang-bangers hanging out around the house than us going out into the neighborhood and causing trouble. So the trouble came to my house. We spray painted the fences out back. Drank the accepted beverage of gangsters... the ye ole forty ounce. Which the Mafia Insanes still owed me 33.00 bucks for. I'm not forgetting that. I'll forgive them trying to blow my head off -- BUT NOT THE FORTY OUNCE MONEY!!!

Breathing into a bag - hoping it helps -- It doesn't.  I'm still ticked.

So we had a set of about 25 guys and a few girls. We didn't have much money. Weren't selling drugs at the time. We weren't organized.  So the mind starts scraping the bottom of the gutter. If I'm supposed to be calling the shots -- the first thing you have to do is establish authority. That means the person above you needs to validate your authority.


We got insulted somehow and made an incursion to a Gangster Disciple neighborhood. Now the veil can be torn and the truth told years later. What I wouldn't have admitted at the time.



It was complete animal crackers

Because a lower form of available life called one of us a few names... we were going to open fire. So the gun came from one member's dad. The trigger man looked like a shriveled up raisin and he thought he was a batch of Cuban Cigars illegal import cool. He wasn't. He should have joined the California Crack Smoking Raisins, the ugly cousins of the raisins that made money.

It was all planned out. We absolutely had no plan. It wasn't fastidious. There was no George Patton war room counsel swatting pointers at battle maps and placing guys with grappling gear on roofs.  Go into this public housing in broad daylight, ten guys deep with a gun, and shoot this guy while he was having a BBQ with his Aunt Flo over there trying to sell him Mary Kay. Looking back on it, it was beyond the rational definition of stupid. This was a mere exigency to prove we had mettle.

A Hot Chick Saves the Day

Remember the hot neighbor that my brother caught me playing hand flute with as she mowed the grass? I ended up dating her. Penthouse Forum isn't all made up, at least not for me at that time. And in the relationship bliss of first dating before stinky socks, annoying ticks, and elemental muscularity caves from opening car doors to slamming a screen door in your significant others face - it's the butterfly hot coal stage of adolescent passions.

She was part Native-American and Puerto Rican. That was a mixture of about to get stabbed if I slammed a screen door in her face because I forgot she was carrying in the groceries. And not to mention a whole other language spit machine gun fast at you if she's mad.





Ah, floating on a cloud...

Because when you first start dating, you want to spend every waking, sleeping, and wet dream moment with your new fling. That always ends a few months later with a therapist, small violin, and annoying your friends that now you're the Prozac guy that can't get over his depression because it's not the same as the first month.  Cry Baby Waaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!

So as we're marching around the side of the building. We see the intended target. If this was a professional hit, circumlocution would have been a law -- but since it wasn't... Raisin started yelling GDK(Gangster Disciple Killer) and other defamatory parlance to the rival gang member. He might as well had a prop plane fly over with a banner behind it reading... WE'RE HERE TO KILL YOU!


It's him and two of his buddies. Ten of us, and a very visible life taker danging from Raisin's spiny-noodle arms.  Because I was dreaming of a picnic with my girlfriend and a nice romantic flute glass filled with a 40-ounce -- I issued the order to call off Raisin from firing.  That was the real reason I called it off. Second, because it was beyond stupid.

HE GOT IN MY FACE

All this was going on as the rival gang members now saw their way out. They put Aunt Mary Kay out as a shield before running inside and locking the door. They didn't do that, but they got inside.

But it was aborted. Raisin then decided he would make a grab for power over my "cowardice" to recall the mission. Truth be known. We would have all been in jail fighting for who snitches first to get a reduced sentence if Raisin would have shot that guy.

Call it the booty... but the moment of clarity was amorous and amorphous clear.  So now with Raisin rallying the troops to take my head off -- I made a judgement call. Went and spent the evening with lawnmower girl, then got my chief on the line and we called everyone on 3-way to put Raisin in his place. I controlled the communication, so I controlled the play.

The black Raisin with the Smigel sibilant voice was discharged from his duties. Come to find out... he wasn't even a Vice Lord. He was a Black Stone, which is cousins to the Vice Lords. We had a weed in the dandelion field. Wait, aren't dandelions weeds? NEVERMIND.

Moral of the story -- thinking with the downstairs brain this time saved a life and ours from being
locked up. And they knew who was the boss. Now it was time to get an infusion of greenbacks to go with the bare backs.

NEXT BAT TIME AND CHANNEL

Next week, or whenever my lazy bones wants -- enter the Almighty Latin Kings.