A Very Special Infinite Story
Surprisingly you manage to snap out of your perpetual funk, in order to buy drugs. Maybe they ARE the answer!
Your parents are so surprised to see you leave your room, let alone the house that they don’t even question where you’re going, they’re just happy you’re going. It gives your Mom some time to fumigate your room and your Dad to fuck her doggy style on your bed.
Anyway, you make your way down to Da Hood. You know you’ve arrived when you see an increase in urban blight and a bunch of black people giving you dirty looks. Speaking of which you’re still fucking clueless to where you’re supposed to get some drugs so you just ask a group of black people hanging around a basketball court. They’re all bigger than you and definitely meaner and tougher.
“Drugs? Whachu’ talkin’ ‘bout white mothafucka? You some fuckin’ narc or sum shit?”
“No, I just…”
“He gotta be workin’ fo’ the five-O! This cracka mothafucka would have ta be crazy walkin’ down here by hisself!”
“No, I got money for drugs! See?” you stupidly say pulling out your allowance money.
The instant you do this, the homeboys’ eyes light up and then you’re bum rushed. You first see a fist with tons of bling on it smashing into your face and then you’re looking up at several shoes frog stomp it into mush as another pair of hands goes through your pockets. Finally one of them throws a basketball at your bloody head and calls you a dumb ass white boy as you lie on the court and then they make their good escape to use your money to spend on chicken and malt liquor.
You fall unconscious and bleed to death during the night, because nobody’s going to call an ambulance for the likes of you and even if they did, it wouldn’t get there in time to save you anyway, because as we all know 911 is a fuckin’ joke. Your body is soon moved to rot in an alley when people want to play basketball again.
A few days later when the cops make their once a month rounds in Da Hood to collect their extortion money, one of them finds your body and calls it in. You’re buried and forgotten without fanfare.
The moral of the story?
Don’t go down to Da Hood if you’re a clueless white boy. If you wanted to buy drugs in a “poor area” you could’ve easily went to a trailer park. There are lots of nice white people there.
Oh and you probably shouldn’t do drugs either. Maybe.
And now you know!
Your parents are so surprised to see you leave your room, let alone the house that they don’t even question where you’re going, they’re just happy you’re going. It gives your Mom some time to fumigate your room and your Dad to fuck her doggy style on your bed.
Anyway, you make your way down to Da Hood. You know you’ve arrived when you see an increase in urban blight and a bunch of black people giving you dirty looks. Speaking of which you’re still fucking clueless to where you’re supposed to get some drugs so you just ask a group of black people hanging around a basketball court. They’re all bigger than you and definitely meaner and tougher.
“Drugs? Whachu’ talkin’ ‘bout white mothafucka? You some fuckin’ narc or sum shit?”
“No, I just…”
“He gotta be workin’ fo’ the five-O! This cracka mothafucka would have ta be crazy walkin’ down here by hisself!”
“No, I got money for drugs! See?” you stupidly say pulling out your allowance money.
The instant you do this, the homeboys’ eyes light up and then you’re bum rushed. You first see a fist with tons of bling on it smashing into your face and then you’re looking up at several shoes frog stomp it into mush as another pair of hands goes through your pockets. Finally one of them throws a basketball at your bloody head and calls you a dumb ass white boy as you lie on the court and then they make their good escape to use your money to spend on chicken and malt liquor.
You fall unconscious and bleed to death during the night, because nobody’s going to call an ambulance for the likes of you and even if they did, it wouldn’t get there in time to save you anyway, because as we all know 911 is a fuckin’ joke. Your body is soon moved to rot in an alley when people want to play basketball again.
A few days later when the cops make their once a month rounds in Da Hood to collect their extortion money, one of them finds your body and calls it in. You’re buried and forgotten without fanfare.
The moral of the story?
Don’t go down to Da Hood if you’re a clueless white boy. If you wanted to buy drugs in a “poor area” you could’ve easily went to a trailer park. There are lots of nice white people there.
Oh and you probably shouldn’t do drugs either. Maybe.
And now you know!
- ID: 40845
- Nickname: dahood
- Hits: 203
