IF THIS IS DEATH... BRING ON THE ANGELS

...The truck lights varnished my vision into effulgent white. BAM!!! The Vice Lord next to me yanked the wheel and we rumbled into the ditch. This isn't a biggest bass at the pond story, so I don't know how close in millimeters to the truck's bumper we were -- but I know it was razor close.

The next minor hurdle I had to leap...

Death. The amphetamines ripped through my body. My heart pounded like mobilized artillery being fired. Pride kept me from paramedics. Once again I knock knock knocking on hell's door. The Vice Lord got me to his sister's house.

My once sexual tryst turned into a dance with the pied reaper, trying to lead me down the pit of hell. The Vice Lord's sister washed me down in cold water and that's as Hubba Hubba as it got. Deplorable and decommissioned as an astute leader all in an hour's time.

Demonic swirls splashed off the dark ceiling. Shadows tempted me with the release of death off the periphery of my eye lines. I thrashed, tossed, sweat like a thousand fat men running in the desert.

The Sun Popped Up

With two scoops of Raisins. And like some commercial, once the night flamboyantly disappeared with all it's hideous creatures -- my temperature lowered to human resonance.

A week earlier I almost popped someone for calling the only black family in this town, "niggers." Now I if feebly appeared outside, they'd lynch me with Barney Fife watching. No fear. Always kept a gun near. This time it wasn't bullets or bad attitudes that almost got me -- it was love at last sight. Five heart shaped pills. Sorry to break their hearts, but I had more important business at hand -- gangbanging in a war the Fat Santa started.

BACK TO THE HOOD

It took me a weak to recover over at Biker Breath's. A week out of battle gave out enemies the upper hand. The Latin King seat Inca approached me to begin a lucrative cocaine distribution pipeline. He wanted someone outside his own clique to split up the drugs.

When you drug deal, you learn that your inner circle becomes your closest enemies when the god cash reigns on the throne. The Inca admonished me to just distribute to heavy clientele he'd send and don't low deal small quantities on the streets. Cool. The bigger quantities don't make as much but is safer.

Only one caveat -- do deal freely, That meant worry about just the snitches and pigs and not rivals trying to blow you away.  I would have to take out my arch nemesis -- Fat Jamal and his hanging thunder rolls that protected his Brontosaurus brain.

THE PLAN OF EXECUTION

.As fortune cookie fate would have it, we lounged at a park with one of Jamal's ex-girlfriends that sold weed for me. She had a G.D. with her named -- stupid face. I forgot his name. So it's stupid face. A couple of Vice Lords under me and a Latin King hung out at the park as well.

The G.D. talked big game that he'd dust Jamal for treating his now girlfriend like that.  He quickly changed that to stab when he saw me salivate seeing Jamal's corpse barbecuing and spinning over a spit with a knife and fork in my hand . Okay, "Let's do it."

As unluck would have it for Jamal, we had his coordinates where he was hanging that day. Literally, a few blocks from the park and the projects. The King, G.D. and his girlfriend would ride in one car. All the Lords in another. I told them I had to fuel up for getaway purposes and to stop by the projects to meet us so we can grab our guns and properly take on the Black Santa if they have guns.

Wires Got Crossed

Since I had a bunch of one celled amoeba brains with me, they forgot the most important part of the plan. Car One didn't meet us in the projects, or they chickened out. We got some artillery and waited for them to show up. Okay, less minds think alike. Let's go to the location and handle Professor Clump ourselves. Then if things get out of our favor -- we got guns.

We headed to the location and landed on a scene of cops and bedlam everywhere -- MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!

DYING WITH A VIP PASS

Because Fat Man was about to get out of the can, the war hawks circled. And they did. Jamal got out and wanted my ten pounds of flesh. I got him some weed and cash for a peace pipe but that didn't last because he wanted to take Santa's job for fattest man in the world.

The demented park meeting

The war approached our doorsteps. The mob hadn’t coalesced back together yet. Mafia Insanes still treated us like poodle poop. And Jamal wanted the meeting. We showed up with a B.D. – a Black Disciple under the folks banner. That alone should have got our asses kicked for bringing a rival to a Vice Lord meeting.

No sooner did we pull up, Jamal and his merry band of midget oxymoron dwarves flooded the vehicle. The B.D. got hit in the backseat. I slugged one off the car with my car door. We grabbed the bats, parked down the street and ran after them in broad daylight in the middle of traffic.

A bunch of crazy kids with bats weren’t to be toiled with. So sooner then the melee commenced, it ended. We headed back to the cave to mount up all the forces when La La Brain from the Howard set pulled up asking us to tone down the fight.

It’s on like cliché Donkey Kong – or Pixels that flopped this summer

With Adam-punch-my-potty-mouth Sandler. No one drinks beer worse than Sandler’s grandma. Who would want to see that turd of a movie? Sorry – tangential yellow stream of consciousness. But seriously? That movie?

Hell, no! They messed up a meeting. Jamal’s diaper size increased to egotistical proportions and it needed an adjustment.

We hit the mattresses. Soiled and bed bug covered.  Okay, piss stains. Right before I took off, three of the dwarves spiraled up wanting to fight. They took off as we rushed from the house. We gave chase, speeding down the main highway at night. They overtook us. Now we were the hunted.

We had no weapons. A coke can exploded off my gawdy pimp ride. Now it’s on.

BARRELING INTO DARKNESS

That’s it. This spooky frogs had to die on a budget. We had a Drakkar cologne bottle. That way if we killed them, they’d smell good at their funeral. We had a tire iron. Wow, might as well detached the steering wheel to throw at them.

I yanked the car into the parking lot of the best doughnut place in town. Baited them. They pulled in, we jumped out to do some smooshing. They took off. This began to be a bad game of smash a mole. I jettisoned after them at 90 miles an hour. We threw our armaments of war at them. They’re car careened into some trash cans.

Stunned but not dead…

They vaulted back onto the highway spewing smoke like an Italian smoke shop in winter waiting for the Cardinals to announce the new Pope.

They gained ground onto a country road. Out of things to throw, we abandoned chase.

GO SPEED RACER…

I went to Biker Breath’s mistresses house. Me and another Vice Lord decided to head to the country as forces rallied from Chicago for this war. On the way out – after finishing the best trailer concoction to date of cheese, Sloppy Joe, macaroni with mushroom soup,

I decided to go with the Vice Lord to his sister's place. Him being black and his sister white, I had to wonder what diabolical slutty mailman humping went on to splice his family genetic line.

Biker gave me about six heart-shaped pills. He told me to relax and get energy. I took one. Wow! Alert and ready to hump the legs off a girl I got loaded. I hated drugs. Sold them as a good hypocrite, but loathed those that did them. They were speed.

I felt so good, I ate the rest on the way to the country hideout. About two-third the way there – my heart palpitations sped up to the degree I couldn’t stay on the road. I didn’t want my crony next to me knowing I would pass out, or at least have a heart attack.

Proceed to the morgue with a VIP pass

Then I did one of the biggest and dumbest things my pride could do in my idiot life, I kept driving as a pickup truck with something hitched to it headed right into my heart attack path. The sweat poured into my eyes. And the Vice Lord looked over and me and said – “Oh, shit!”

Too late – I swerved into the other lane headlong into the path of this pickup truck.