It may not be dead… but it definitely could use some therapy and a green juice. At least as far as my recent experience.
I can’t even re-tell this story in full, but I shall enumerate the 5 lessons of the day, and give my final thought like Jerry Springer.
1. If you are buying sammiches… at 3am… in the south bronx… let’s not act like you are innocent.
Bitch ain’t nothing out this time of the night except the devil, people who met him, and people who are too dumb to know better.
You’re wearing a long tee-shirt and knee-high boots… you’re already out of line. You look like a fashionable ghost…
Unless you selling that rhubarb.
In which case your pimp or lady pimp.. or whoever answers the email on your OnlyFans page should have handled this sammich run. Doordash niggas look like berserker Vikings for a reason.. they deal with creatures of the night. Like Spawn.. or Michael Jackson.
2. If a gentleman of leisure walks into a sammich shop saying “Ayooo.. I just robbed me a nigga, turn dem cammas off so I can use deez creddy cars to buy shit”
AND is DEAD serious…
Making the “I don’t know math so let me fight the teacher for calling on me” face.
Yeah… you should leave him alone if you cant scrap. PERIOD. Nothing about this mans life seems like it has prepared him for complex decision making or whatever goes through the mind of people who don’t beat you up.
This ain’t tag team.. I don’t know you OR him. Sun got on black “I shot the party up” air force 1’s and NBA jeans.
If he backs that thing out and I get hit in the crossfire and you DONT… my dying breath will be used to call you all types of bitches and dog headed bitches and stank hoes. I’m not an avenger. I’m high. I ain’t sign up for the Kumite. Fuck you think this is. You selling that rhubarb or what?
3. You start wilding on that crazy dude like chivalry ain’t dead and my mother knows who you are, I will let you get Worldstar’d. I will watch said crazy nigga sweep your leg like Karate kid and I will go have a Pepsi. In fact, I will tell you to shut up all the screaming as I order extra fixings on my delicious sammich from Aki and say tandem Muslim prayer for you.. and high five sun as I leave the scene of your accosting. How do I sleep? Like a fucking newborn.
4. Putting your hands in the face of a crazy nigga when you’re clearly not interested in telling me how handsome I am does not provide much in the way of motivation for me to go all Batman Begins on said crazy nigga.
The last thing ANYONE wants to hear after taking a few lead poisoning strenth haymakers is “aaww.. Naah, I’m into girls… but thank you sooooo much… muah 💋”. So fuck that… you should have winked at me when you walked in here. I’m not a mind reader.
5. Turning to me and Aki and saying “yall just gonna let him put his hands on me?”
Yes.. yes I am…. technically YOU started it. I may say “is that lady bothering you sir”.
“Oh.. yall some whole bitches… bitch ass men ain’t even help a WOMAN”.
Yeah… that don’t make me feel bad. It makes me want to pull out my phone and see if I can find a RZA instrumental that has the BPM’s of your ass whipping. Need a good backdrop for the Kung Fu noises and sound effects I plan on adding in post edit. Matter of fact… the way you fell was funny… might make a tik tok dance out of it. This could have been avoided, but you wanted to make a stand… and you did.
Now we all know who’s “not allowed to ask for your phone number mid robbery”…. at 3am…. in a sammich shop… in the south bronx.
fuck outta here sun. His beef was with the dude who ain’t wanna turn off the cameras for his theftwich hold the mayo (and most probably Newport 100’s) so he could use credit cards he just stole.
There is a wallet deprived man suffering from blunt force trauma because this mf’er don’t feel like repeating himself when he said “run it…”
Time is the only thing standing between him and ramen noodles with cut up beef jerky in it and telephone lectures from his baby mom bout why she not visiting this time.
Think of the thought process behind a person like that… and you want to call him all types of pussy ass niggas and fuckboy faggots and mush him in his subway series hat. You are a crazy sob. You mushed a robber…mid robbery… or theftwich or whatever….yeah.. not my problem.
MORAL TO THE STORY: If you are a woman… or a beautiful womanly man or whatever… and you are a “hands in the face” type, you might want to know how to fight. Personally, I am not a beater of womans, but nor am I a street vigilante. My heroics are on a case by case basis. You slapped my girl cousin… which one.. some of them might have had it coming. We are a mouthy tribe.
I don’t go running off all willy nilly into trouble because a woman yells help… that’s how Rosewood started.
Minding your business is a delicate process, like heart surgery, or pickpocketing. For moms and grandmoms I fight eternally, for sisters and close girl cousins.. until I get tired, but anything below that pay grade, you might want to call the cops, your man, your dad, the nigga you are currently dutty whinin’, a nosy neighbour, a less jaded person than me, or keep your opinions to yourself in the Bronx at 3am, cause I ain’t helping you. Unless (as we have covered) my mom knows you, or I think you will let me ladle that fondue as a parting gift.
Emmett … who ain’t in it
See if the shopkeep got a cold compress for that eye.