Tuesday, June 9, 2009

The Race Card (Ficticious 'humor' - wordpress repost)

This was back when things were way more simple. Think you’re better? Think you make more money, or that your car is better, or that your girl is better? Put up or shut up. We played the Race card…from the cage to the end of the parking lot. Loser gives up whatever was the issue of discussion…title to the car, chain, shoes, girl (”hoe…bring yo ass!” (c) Luda), whatever. It’s retarded to lose your 10,000$ car in a 25 second footrace, but that’s how things were done when we were younger. We didn’t have time for all that fighting and shooting and shit; we were just a bunch of basketball players who loved to have fun. Forwards and centers didn’t say shit….especially when Melo and Marvin where around. Fucking with them? Guaranteed you’re walking home. The guards ran shit….literally.

The race card was a highly reliable weapon against big-shit talkers….all until Luke came along. Luke was new to the neighborhood, and had transferred to play on our basketball team. Apparently, he must’ve heard about our braggadocious ways of playing the Race card, because he came down with the intentions of winning something from someone.

Usual ridderick, typical back and forth banter taking place…then Luke walks into the cage and starts talking shit to any and everyone who would listen.

“You bitches are weak as fuck…garbage ass muthafuckas…”

He had the language down. Those were indeed fighting words. Roy decided to be the one to shut Luke down. Luke had merely moved here two weeks ago, and all folks who knew of him SWORE that was the first time they heard him utter more than two words…usually “Yes, coach.”, in practice.

Roy: “I’m about to shut your goofy ass up, coming here talking all this shit. What you putting up?”

Luke: “You’re not worth putting up SHIT for…but I tell you what; you win, and you’ll never hear me say anything negative to you again. Promise that. Don’t worry about putting up anything, because once it’s over your dignity will line the pockets of my slacks for many years to come…bitch.”

Roy: “Dignity? Playing for pride? Sounds like a scared bitch to me…I don’t give a fuck though. However I can shut you up, I’m for it…”

Luke was already standing near the outer part of the cage at this point, and Roy walked to line up next to him. As Roy turned towards the parking lot, Luke turned to him and said:

“You’re dark and ugly. Worst part is, you’re ugly BECAUSE you’re dark. You look like you smell of alligator-used swamp water…your hair looks like….how did that go? Your hair looks like a brillo pad that my Negro maid would use. Your feet are too big for your body, but they are the same size as your lips and nostrils. You look like Curious George, you should be running with the lions and tigers and bears. Your mom is an alcoholic, a whore, and a bad cook who adds too much salt and hot sauce to everything…all wrapped up into one. Your dad is a lazy mechanic who smokes too much crack in his offtime…..wait….no….that’s your mom’s current boyfriend. We don’t know what your dad looks like, so nevermind. Your mom named you Roy to make it easy on you when filling out the top of Section 8 forms…and because of that…you will NEVER.AMOUNT.TO.SHIT……..Nigger.”

With that, Luke just walked off…going back the direction which he came…blonde hair flowing in the light winds. After that day, we never played the Race Card again…nor did we look at White people the same…we just beat the shit out of Luke everyday after basketball practice. Roy went on to get his skin bleached and team up with some guy named Sigfried. We never heard from him again.


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