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.
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.
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