Frag out Dear Cliff
Copyright © 2016 by Jenni Gisselbrecht Hyena
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its publisher.
Jennifer Jasiri Gisselbrecht
“Alright, good old speedo.” I piped up, delivering a few giddy glances and an elbow to our now even spiffier looking, Donna Linton in the back seat of our van to the left as we rounded the corner onto Bakersville Drive. “You ready to start this year’s Macy parade and all off early with the new reincarnated African Wall Street?” “Rock and roll, big mama!” She hooted. “Nguvu zote kwa watu!” “Nguvu zote kwa watu” We all chanted unitedly in reply before Leslie finally pulled the van next to an empty and out of order meter of our final destination of fifth street, and old Harambe Trump’s good old aptly named hirise skyscraper on the east side of Manhattan; now run by the literal fucking elephant of the room, Clifford Joeseph Trahan aka “Johnny Rebel”. “Just look good old fucking times eh, cousin?” Jason uttered softly to Donna, giving her a sisterly like slap on the shoulder. “Yeah.” She nodded rather solemly in agreement. “Just wish a certain someone of ours could be right here to share it along with all the rest of us as well.” “Alright, listen up.” I voiced authoritatively, taking up my usual position as crew leader once again. “Security is critical to all of us on this bout, just as equally is it his Trahan and his cronies, so, Stella, I need at least five members from your group to provide clear overwatch of the street above. No one gets in or out of the immediate area till we fully make the window. That includes Bloods, Crypts, Twelves, and especially any false prophet of Mohammed skidmarks.” “Aye, man.” She kindly saluted, and dashed right off with Hodari and the rest of the group to hop straight off to business. “No need to search me, boys.” I said to the two security guards past the door before drawing my Vektor SP1 and putting a round each into the both of thier craniums, as one sick fucker automatically attempted to grope my genitalia. “I’m already well strapped.”
Who ordered the extra crunchy peanuts along with a side of crispy smoking hot bacon or two? Harambe? Nope. That's right. He checked out early before his due date. That old buzzard that beat down poor young German Shepherd, Eric Garner like fucking dog and massa, returned to sender. Oh yeah, that's right. It was YOU, Mr. Rebel. Hope your name actually does indeed live up it its superior sounding reputation.