Topic: Raise Up!

SlapJack

Date: 2008-01-27 17:33 EST
"Nigga what?"!! What the f**k do you mean that nigga's not here??"!!"

The no-nonsense gangster known as Slapjack was, per usual, highly agitated. Not only had he left Metro City and traveled on a noisy boat filled with fools and retards to this absolutely ridiculous white-owned city, but now some scrawny cracka was trying to tell The Emissary of Black that he hadn't seen his boy Scorpion Wraitharan in nearly two muthaf***en days.

At seven feet tall, Scorpion was definitely a hard nigga to miss. Slap suspected that this crafty cracka was probably trying to lead him astray because he was black...and he definitely thought about popping several caps in his weak, lying a*s right here. BUT not knowing where The Don Mega was and being a stranger in a foreign place, Slap knew that the punk a*s white establishment would certainly try to lock him up for being a Black NO-SELLOUT killer. F**k those prejudice bitches!

"F**k all that. I'll deal with yo' punk a*s later." Slapjack agitatedly muttered as he stalked out into the busy street. So, this Vander'Wall Inn was a fat f***en zero. Where in the hell did Scorp go running off too"

He knew for sure that those punk a*s, man-hating, manipulative, goody-goody, pain in a nigga's a*s Scathachians were responsible somehow for the Big Man's disappearance. He never trusted them. NEVER.

Those muscleheaded ho's runnin' around calling themselves "Sisters", yet there was not a black, Nubian princess in their midst. Fake a*s cracka bitches. He had no love for these "super hyped" law enforcers. And, truth be told, he was still eternally pissed off at Scorp for getting tightly involved with one of them. Tapping their little a*ses was one thing, but inking it with all the love drama was downright trite. The more Lane dwelt on it, the more he wanted to smack Scorp in his big a*s head and drag him back to MC.

Well, that s**t aside for now, it was time to find his missing nWo crew member. Scorpion clearly wrote to him that their boy Dirty Sanchez was totally running s**t on a big block in an illicit part of the city called "The West End?. Dirty operated out of a club called Blue, and Scorp had already made contact with him according to his earlier letters. Okay, so let's make this s**t easy! The West End would be the hardcore thug's next stop.

It was settled then. At a club named The Blue, Tha BLACK would get some muthaf***en answers.

SlapJack

Date: 2008-01-28 23:47 EST
Okay. Here he was. The Club Blue.

Where the f**k was that nigga Sanchez at"!!

It figured that his rice n' beans eatin' a*s would be late. Then again, late for what"!! Slap hadn't sent prior word over to Dirty that he was coming over to The Blue. Hell, Dirty couldn't possibly even know that he was in town yet!

Yes, yes. All honest truths. BUT there was no absolutely reasoning with the agitated EMISSARY OF BLACK. No matter how you cut it, you were wrong....f**ken prejudice and f**ken wrong! Now can you dig that sucka?

Well. Bottom line bitches, this thug was damn tired. It had been a long trip and he was (yes, you guessed it) agitated as hell. The West End, however, felt more like home to him. Granted, to Lane it was still full of bitch a*s niggas, punk a*s wannabes, and the ever-looming oppression of the crackas in power, but at least their attitude and style were semi-correct.

Slap made his way into the popular Club Blue and sat his a*s down at a table near the back of the establishment with his back to the wall. Always with his back to the wall. Those wily crackas found it much harder to trip him up that way. Snake a*s, prejudice, schemin' cracka bastards. From his position at the table, The Chocolate Bomber scoped the place out carefully, but he saw no sign of his nWo brother-in-arms, Sanchez.

"Punk a*s muthaf**ka....always keepin' a real nigga waitin' for his pimp a*s." Slapjack muttered with a high degree of annoyance as he ordered a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of ripple. From there he blazed up a phat blunt and commenced to gettin' his drink on.

He knew Dirty, and that nigga would be by to check on his high priced ho's and to manage his business. Dezam! If it was one solitary thing that Sanchez loved, it was a solid cash flow. Slap figured this was as good a place as any to wait for his boy.

Plenty of booze. Plenty of ho's. No Scathachian bitches. No punk a*s authorities. Things were straight.

Couple that with the huge a*s fact that he didn't have to kick back and look at too many bitch a*s crackas here in the dim light of The Blue, and he was one happy...errr....less agitated gangsta.

Time was rollin' on. No sign of either Scorp or Dirty. Best not keep a nigga waitin'.

SlapJack

Date: 2008-02-17 17:06 EST
Tic Toc....

Tic Toc...

Tic Toc...

Ain't that a bitch!!?" Time keeps flyin' and a nigga is gettin' more agitated by the *@&#^$&@* minute!

STILL NO SCORP.

STILL NO DIRTY.

These punk a*ses better keep the liquor flowin"...Or s**t is gonna get pretty damn nasty up in here!

Sawa

Date: 2008-02-23 20:05 EST
Wifts of blonde hair feathered for a moment as she came out from the back, a shadowed door past the bar. A single fluid move brought a tray tucked behind the waitress station to hop in the air, then to an upturned palm.

Hips turned with each jingling step, towards the lone "agitated" buck. A swat to the ass of one of the Girls leaning over too far caused a table of "gentlemen" to chuckle.

Tray to hip. Voice just a shade over the music. A new voice to the table to take an order.

"What can I get ya to drink Shoug?" Sugar voice. "On the house?" Spice smile.

She bent at the waist, letting the gold and ice bracelets chime and glitter in the lights and the music. She knew exactly every move to get and redirect a mans attention. From the bounce of her hair, the right perfume to wear, twiddle of the pen against her hip, and the shift of her feet.

SlapJack

Date: 2008-02-24 17:18 EST
"Bitch I'm tellin' you I'm straight out Tha Nickel, and we ain't got a*s-lickers, just a*s-kickers!"

-Willie D of The Geto Boys ("Mind of a Lunatic")

Bitches. Bitches. And more bitches!

It was no surprise to The Emissary of Black that Dirty Sanchez owned this muthaf***a. It was a regular Pimp Shack!

As the enforcer in black (who happened to also BE Black) looked over the room with an agitated mug on his imposing face, he took note of all the folks, especially the prejudice-a*s WHITE folks coming and going. It did not take an educated genius (especially a so-called white "genius" who would just go on to steal an up-and-coming brotha's ideas and publish them under his own cracka a*s name) to tell you that this bada*s nigga was pissed!

Where in the f**k were Scorp and Dirty"! Ridiculous fools! Nigga please!

Even though no time or date of this meeting were ever discussed, and there was a great chance that neither of the other men even knew that Slap was in town...Slapjack figured that they should have known that he was here in town and that he was HERE, right now at The Club Blue!

Perhaps you are thinking that the logic behind this line of thought was a tad bit flawed...well...F**K YOU Nigga! Who the hell asked you s**t"!!!

As Slapjack finished the large bottle of ripple, which he purchased the minute he sat his a*s down in order to calm his growing annoyance, he suddenly noticed a fine a*s ho heading over his way. Blonde, curved, amazing aqua colored eyes, and straight up BOOM! Unfortunately, she was a cracka. Which, without a single doubt, meant that she was a skullduggin', not to be trusted, always-lookin'-to-scheme-a-nigga, lyin' punka*s, fruit bootie, cave bitch.

But other than that, she was alright.

The gorgeous woman's voice was certainly friendly enough as she addressed the old school MC gangster: "What can I get ya to drink Shoug" On the house?"

Slap sat there for a few dire seconds processing the expertly hidden prejudice in her statement. "Shoug?"! Shoug"! Are you tryin" to call me sugar" Peep this Boo, when was the last time you saw black sugar" Sugar?"! Sugar is whiter than the ***damn MAN himself! Don't even be sayin' that I'm a colorless, ridiculously sweet substance that the white man puts in his coffee or tea at his own imperialist whim to make it taste less black!"

He sighed with evident agitation before continuing on, "Baby I don't know what you are tryin" to subliminally say, but I'm sure that there is some diabolical s**t behind it. And look here Boo, a nigga is not havin" it. As for "on the house??" Well, that's always a good thing, so long as my nigga Dirty Sanchez still owns this place. Does he?"

Sawa

Date: 2008-02-24 21:12 EST
"Boo, that's cute. But uh lets get this straight.." she looked right at him". "Brudda man' I aint yo shawty" she smiled again as she stood up. Her order pen was deadly still in her finger tips.

"I can call you shoug, I can call you Booker, Booker T, Booker get this, Booker get that, or I can call you a long black taxi. The kind with the long glass windows and room enough for a 6 and a half foot box". If ya know what I mean. Cause you gave him, just the right amount of time." "Hi Papi"

A shorter rant would have let him notice the tray that's never seen a drink and bulky on the bottom?.

Dirty Sanchez

Date: 2008-02-24 23:43 EST
I won't deny it, I'm a f*ckin' ridah, you don't wanna f*ck with me. Got dah Police looking at me, but ya can't touch a m*ther f*ckin' G, my ambitonz as a ridah, b*tch.

Dirty knew that n*gga Slap was in town. Dirty knew every little m*ther f*cking thing that sexual chocolate hypin', low ridin', thug killin', and every day angry black m*ther f*ckin' villian, had been up to. 'Cause Dirty was that kind of m*ther f*cker, and to further the point, he could walk up to that black *ssed gullo, and say something like, 'Chingate, you sorry *ss mallete!' But Dirty wouldn't do that sh*t yet, yo.

Oh hell the f*ck no, he wouldn't. Cause that wasn't gangsta. That was NWO, that would have been some b*tch ass n*gga sh*t, yo. And Dirty was a Mexi-CAN, m*ther f*cker.

Now this sorry *ss cabron, the Mexi-CAN was watching picked the wrong mommita, to get on the wrong side of, that was for g*ddamn sure. Lica was a soldier, yo. She was down for that sh*t and didn't pole jock no n*gga cause she didn't have to, son. Mommi's a rider, a soldier, yo. Down for whatever came at her or her man, her papi, son. F*ck the bull sh*t, b*tch. She would have laid that mo*ther f*cker straight out in a San Pancho second baby, but she wouldn't, son. She knew, just like her man did, yo.

Now that all that sh*t is set aside, let's get to business, aight"

"I can call you shoug, I can call you Booker, Booker T, Booker get this, Booker get that, or I can call you a long black taxi. The kind with the long glass windows and room enough for a 6 and a half foot box". If ya know what I mean. Cause you gave him, just the right amount of time."

"Hi Papi"

Man how the f*ck could you not love a woman like that, huh' I mean lets look at that sh*t. Break it down if you will, I mean here she is talking down a six foot tall m*ther f*ckin' n*gga, and she don't shiv, yo. F*ck that, she looked that n*gga head the f*ck on, and damn that culo was smokin' *ass hot, f*ck ya!

Clearin' that throat of his, Dirty stood there. Arms folded covered the red and black that was the Wolfpac, baby. Brown eyes stared from under that black bandana, as that nasty mouth went to talkin'

"Who the f*ck do you think you are, eh cabron'" You come into my house ese', like you my holmes or sometin', n*gga" You come in here like an OG" Some kinda Gangsta" M*ther f*cker you in the Cholo's place now, b*tch!

You in de Cantina de Azul. So raise up, n*gga, raise the f*ck up, and show a m*ther f*cker some love, b*tch. Show that NWO love, Homeboy!"

Yeah n*gga, it was good to have your homeboys close, f*cker.

SlapJack

Date: 2008-02-28 01:54 EST
"Don't go chasin' waterfalls. Stick to them di*ks and balls you used to...punk a*s muthaf**ka!"

-Ice Cube of The Westside Connection

The Chocolate Bomber sat with an open mouth and wide, agitated eyes as this sexy a*s bitch popped off to him with the fearless lilt of a prize hooker gone renegade: "I can call you shoug, I can call you Booker, Booker T, Booker get this, Booker get that, or I can call you a long black taxi. The kind with the long glass windows and room enough for a 6 and a half foot box". If ya know what I mean. 'Cause you gave him, just the right amount of time."

A nigga was 100% beside himself! "NIGGA WHAT"!!!!" Had he been at home in MC, Tha Bomber would have reached back like the pimp he was and open palm slapped this bitch into next week. He wasn't down with beating women, but a good pimp slap kept all the wiseas*es in check...be they men or women.

"Look here ya silly a*s cracka beyatch. You keep talkin' your prejudiced bullsh*t and a nigga's gonna have to boot your monkey a*s back to your cracka a*s parents. I ain't playin wit 'cha. A six and a half foot box"! what are you tryin' to say...all niggas belong in the ground dead"! That a black man can't own a suitcase"!! That this punk a*s sundae would be better off with all vanilla and no chocolate?"! As far as I see it, you are one white hood short of a ***damn cracka-hosted lynchin' party. And a nigga is not havin' it! You feel me fruit bootie!?"

As the agitated brotha was continuing to launch his furious rant into full gear (sometimes they lasted for anywhere from 6-8 hours once he got going), the lovely Lica's "surprise guest" showed up....FINALLY!

It was about this time that the lowdown, throat cuttin', gangsta-a*s, steal-yo-momma-and-sell-her-bitch-a*s-back-to-ya, Sanchez showed his "rice and beans eatin' a*s" to The Emissary Of Black. Dirty's words, like him, were as sharp as ever.

"Who the f*ck do you think you are, eh cabron'" You come into my house ese'...like you my holmes or sometin', n*gga" You come in here like an OG" Some kinda Gangsta" M*ther f*cker, you in the Cholo's place now, b*tch! You in de Cantina de Azul. So raise up, n*gga, raise the f*ck up, and show a m*ther f*cker some love, b*tch. Show that NWO love, Homeboy!"

Slap stood all the way up and slowly lowered his shades so that they were on the bridge of his nose as he looked down at Dirty and his woman "warrior" Lica. His eyes were wide with dramatic villainous shock and (yes, you guessed it) agitation.

"Woah, woah, woah, woah! Speak common tongue nigga! I don't speak that Spanish bullsh*t! Speak like a down nigga, ya sick a*s bastard!. Folks move to this crazy a*s place to get away from all you punk a*s, Spanish-speakin' muthaf**kas, and so what do you silly niggas do"!! You follow 'em here and open up a ***damned bar!! AND then ya still speak Spanish to 'em! Dezaaam! Punk a*s muthaf**ka!"

With that, a wide, ivory smile spread across the Metro gangster's dark face. His tone of voice audibly changed, "DIRTY UP IN DA HOUSE!!!!" Slap exclaimed with genuine happiness (a miracle?). "NWO baby!! NWO runnin' wild up in this bitch! Cantina de Azul....tight nigga...tiiiiiight! I feel ya Dirty, Dirty! You and your fine a*s girl!

His large, gloved hand slowly formed the wolfpac symbol as he held it over his head to greet his old friend and business partner Sanchez. "Westside rollin'. Hit a nigga up Dogg....NWO style."

JewellRavenlock

Date: 2008-02-28 11:35 EST
Her shift in the WestEnd had not gone well and she was therefore cutting it short. She couldn't believe that man had propositioned her, her"Jewell Ravenlock Kidd! Did she look like some common street prostitute" Sure, her black leather outfit that she preferred to scout in was particularly skin tight, and although it covered her body thoroughly, it revealed a good deal; but that didn't mean she was selling her body! And for only ten silvers" Insulting, absolutely insulting.

She ripped the black scarf that hid her blue curls off as she stalked down the street, not feeling at all repentant for breaking that man's jaw. He had obviously deserved it. But now her hand hurt and her ego was seriously bruised. Really, she was worth more than ten silvers, wasn't she" Stephen had his work cut out for him later when he would be forced to reassure his wife that he would pay much more than ten silvers to spend a night with her. For now, she'd have to settle for something else to lift her spirits and get her mind off the dismal day she was having.

The large sign for Club Blue was before her and she paused, considering it. She had been in the place a few times before, once even to apply for a job she decided later that she didn't want, and thought she had heard one of the Sisters mention that Issy's Scorp had deep connections there. If the Don Mega visited the locale, she felt it oddly safe to enter, which probably didn't make sense since Scorp definitely dealt with some of the more dangerous, seedier people in RhyDin. The sign beckoned to her, the Club offering her sanctuary from the streets she was coming to hate and promising alcohol to wash the bitterness away.

Jewell stepped inside, pausing to give the place a cool once-over with those grey eyes before she deemed it acceptable and moved for the bar, calling out for whiskey on the rocks as she sat down. She glanced over towards the two men that are being rather loud, recognizing one as the owner of the place. Her look is disinterested at best as she turns back and accepts her drink, but she is absolutely listening in on their conversation.

Sawa

Date: 2008-02-28 20:15 EST
She did her job, he could rise up and call her this and call her that. It's alright. She'd bring up who was calling who what later. Besides, she'd been called much worse. And if Dirty hadn't acted the way he did when they saw Slap come in, well....maybe things would have been different.

Dirty had it all in hand. Papi always had it right in hand, and "baby girl" always delivered. A wink to them both, Lica looked over her shoulder to the rest of the room as her man and the buck talked.

Now, what did catch her eye was someone who did not belong in a place like this. Not even close. Lica knew all the girls that danced here and they were not hiring.

"Fox in the chicken coop..." Lica's endless aqua eyes watched Jewell Ravenlock listen in. You don't go gallivanting around Rhydin thinking people won't know who you are, and nothing crossed Lica's mind that would warrant a social tea and cookies party.

She gave a slick hand signal to the one waitresses who had started to walk over and take her order. The waitress spun on her heels and went to another table.

JewellRavenlock

Date: 2008-03-06 22:17 EST
She hadn't heard anything of interest from either Sanchez or the man he was speaking with. However, she continued to listen unobtrusively to their conversation as she sipped her drink; it was hard not to take interest in Sanchez and his friend who, much like Lando Calrissian, was the only black man in a galaxy far far away.

With Lica's approach, though, her attention shifted though her eyes did not. One did not mutter offensive comments around one of the Fae, who had impeccable hearing even in a loud bar, and expect her not to hear it, did they' Greys remained fixed on the air before her as she raised her drink automatically to her lips, letting the burn of whiskey linger on her tongue before she swallowed.

Only when she was done with her first drink, and the waitress who had been moving to offer her a refill had been waved away, did she turn to look at Lica. A flicker of a frown moved on her lips before she looked away again, speaking up, "Am I to be denied another drink for some reason?" Her tone was cold, that one drink unable to calm her broiling anger after her unpleasant time spent on the streets of the WestEnd.

SlapJack

Date: 2008-03-07 01:13 EST
And now...while we await the next smokin' entry in this thrilling saga of prejudice, it's time for: A "Drive By" Intermission.

<The Following Intermission has been paid for by the N.W.O. and by The United Allied Society To Kill All Crackas (UASTKAC) Foundation.>

Tired of being disrespected by the punk a*s white establishment founded solely to keep your black a*s out of Rhydin"

Constantly agitated with prejudice honky innuendos at every turn once you finally GET your black a*s INTO Rhydin???"

Tired of knowing that The OTHER Man is secretly holding Anti BLACK Meetings under the very roofs of such punk a*s prejudice establishments in Rhydin such as The Red Dragon Inn and The Southern Glen" What the f*ck is a ***damned "Southern Glen" anyway??" Honky bitches using code on us now"!!!

Ok...Tired of dealing with punk a*s, nigga-hatin', cracka-lovin' bitches telling you that you can't own a muthaf*cken suitcase??"

HAH! If you answered YES to any of this, well then look here my niggas and my niggettes....I got something for yo a*s.

Hello people of Rhydin. My name is Slapjack. Not that it's any of your ***damned business what my name is bitch! What the f*ck you need to know my name fo' anyway?"" You workin' for The Man you muthaf*cken spyin' a*s, bitch a*s, crack smokin', redneck puppet?"! Don't let me catch you rifling through my safe or my closet you muth...

Well, fruit booties...I'm not here to talk to you about baked goods, tea, punk a*s flowers or about starving white children. My black a*s is here to talk to you about racist honky pigs who control our wonderful city, here.

Have you happened to notice that I am the only BLACK MAN in the streets of Rhydin???" OR, I should say, I am the only REAL BLACK MAN in Rhydin!!! And me...I just came here looking for that cracka-a*s NWO gangsta they call Scorp! And when I find his punk a*s, I'm finna bust a cap in it for dragging me down to this godforsaken hole known as "Crackaville"!

Ok back to the ISSUE! Where are all the damned brothas at?"! Does this trifle s*it not bother anyone" OOOOOOOFFFFFF course it don't!!! Why?"" Well that's very easy to answer....you are all a bunch of prejudice, fruit bootie, cracka-h*mpin' bitches!!!

You know y'all celebrate every time a nigga gets locked up in the city jail by that prejudice TOWN WATCH of yours for not having exact change at the RDI bar!!!!! "Town Watch' my a*s! Ya might as well call them The Anti-Nigga Patrol!

Ok, back to business suckas. Well, I decided long ago......NO, I ain't gonna say "not to walk in anyone's shadow"! Crackhead muthaf*ckas.

I decided LONG AGO, that to Beat the Man, you don't have to go to school or turn the other cheek. No, no! In fact, the easiest way to BEAT The Man is with a MUTHAF*CKEN BALL BAT! Work his punk a*s over! Then bust a few raw caps in his prejudice-lyin-deceivin'-egg salad eatin'-non dancing-pale a*s!!

Yeah! You know it! Kick his bitch a*s head off of every ghetto wall until the muthafu*ken cracka a*s muthafu*ka has more lumps than a ***damned bowl of oatmeal! Hoooooooooodie Hooooooo My Niggas!!!

But, I digress...I digress.

Bottom line peeps: Please send generous funds to the UASTKAC Foundation as soon as possible. Why' Well, first off, 'cuz I said so nigga, and if you don't, I'll bust yo fu*ken honky-loving a*s into next month bitch! Secondly, please send money to support hardcore niggas like myself who want to live in a better and BLACKER Rhydin. Now can you dig that"!?

Ok, ok no more singing on tha hill, we got crackas to kill. Hurry your as*es up, Dirty and Scorp!!!

Thank you! Thank you! And F*ck you!!!

<The Preceding Intermission was paid for by the N.W.O. and by The United Allied Society To Kill All Crackas (UASTKAC) Foundation.>