Post by Dru Tha Merc on Feb 18, 2011 16:31:49 GMT -5
(Writer's Note: Apologies for The Shortness... Had two exams this week and two more exams on Monday... Eww.)
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Dru Dallins and Niles Markie are outside a Bistro located somewhere in North Tampa. A Bistro that turns into upscale night-club at night. In Tampa, you can find any sort of club, you can look around and fall into one for all we patrons and citizens of Tampa know. The two men look at each other, than stare out of the balcony to the night and its many stars. Niles is downing his third bottle of Chardonnay, and truth be told, it’s hard to decide if that’s impressive or not.
Dru Tha Merc however, everyone’s favorite Gangstar. Well, to be truthful, Dru isn’t thinking too much besides where the hell did he buy his current tie. Walmart? Though it was a pretty stripe of silver in the middle of it all, I suppose it’s not really that important to note.
Let’s consider a few things. A manager and his client are here sitting, talking, one is drinking a Dirty Martini, that being ice cold Vodka and and olive juice, and the other… A concoction of Southern Comfort and Margarita Mix. Called a Cajun Buzzard around some places in Florida, though we hear it originated up North.
Dru’s got the Cajun Buzzard.
Niles does the Dirty Martini.
So the conversation begins, the two young men sitting and clinking glasses as they talk, and the waiter asks if they are interested in any food.
Dru: Hmm… I’m stuck in between fried mozzarella or nachos.
Niles: What’s with the whole fat man splurge? Don’t you usually have some sort of food regiment you stick to before a match.
Dru: Of course nigga. This however is a special occasion. My gracious white-boy bosses of Noble and Sterling, have given me the night off.
Niles: You have a match though… Against that Jamaican fool. You know, speaking as a Caribbean-American, I’m really not a fan of Jamaican and Jamaican-Americans.
Dru: Little racist ain’t you there, Niles? Ya garbage-ass-ass-nigga. What kinda shit is that?
Niles: Look man, I am one of the richest rich out here. I could go right now and buy a night with Jessica Simpson if I wanted to, and pay Ryan Reynolds to film as well. I could buy the capital of Uganda on a whim and still have enough to buy Micronesia. These aren’t things that phase me. I laugh at that shit. I giggle at that shit.
My issue with Jamaicans is because they act like they are better than every other island, because people see them as the most recognizable island. Let’s not forget about what a hard X dicking Haiti took. Let’s not forget about Trinidad, or the god damn Barbados, or St. Croix, or St. Thomas and the rest of the Virgin Islands. How are we gonna forget about the Bahamas, or Grenada.
Yet here we go… Boom. Jamaica. Only damn thing they ever gave the world was good weed, Bob Marley, Reggae, and half-way decent liquor.
…And I hate Wray & Nephew.
Dru can’t help but chuckle, the Gangstar not yet seeing his manager get so worked up.
Dru: Sorry, Niles but nigga, I can’t say I share ya… Frustrations. A nigga thinks a Jamaican bitch looks just like a Trini bitch or a Bajan bitch or what the deuce ever. I mean, okay, so Jamaica has caused problems to every other Caribbean nation… Why can’t ya’ll just be BETTER than them.
Niles sips his martini carefully, as if trying to diagnose the problem with more liquor.
Niles: Why can’t you be better than Esix Cordero?
Dru: I am better than Esix Cordero.
Niles Markie seemed partially impressed his client didn’t explode into a fit of anger or rage at his manager. He cleared his throat.
Niles: And other countries, of the Caribbean are better than Jamaica, but you’d never believe that given the fact that they are never given their chance to shine. Which is where you will pass over in that respect, Dru.
Because fate will graciously gracious you with an opportunity.
All you have to do is annihilate Daevin from the face of this earth.
Dru: Well I did plan to—
Niles: No nigga, you don’t get it. I don’t want you to finish it with a 1-2-3 pin.
I want you to end his career.
Dru stares at Niles for some time in amazement, before he grins wide and wicked.
Dru: All ears, boss. All ears.
Niles: That’s my mine. Listen closely.
With that, Niles and Dru both drain their glasses and move in closer to one another, looking around for anyone who may actually care to listen. You never know of course.
Niles: I want you to let him try to hit you with any move that will put him in your arms. What I want you to do basically… Is to hit him with a Code of The Streets from as high as possible. If you have to climb the top rope to do so… Go ahead.
If you want to throw him over the rope.
Listen closely Dru…
This is very important.
I don’t care if you win or lose.
I want to see Daevin Dushane hospitalized.
You got me? End his career.
That’s all I want you to focus on.
Dru stared at his manager thoughtfully… What was running through his head? Sure, Dru had no problem ending a career… But… Why?
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To Be Continued…
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Dru Dallins and Niles Markie are outside a Bistro located somewhere in North Tampa. A Bistro that turns into upscale night-club at night. In Tampa, you can find any sort of club, you can look around and fall into one for all we patrons and citizens of Tampa know. The two men look at each other, than stare out of the balcony to the night and its many stars. Niles is downing his third bottle of Chardonnay, and truth be told, it’s hard to decide if that’s impressive or not.
Dru Tha Merc however, everyone’s favorite Gangstar. Well, to be truthful, Dru isn’t thinking too much besides where the hell did he buy his current tie. Walmart? Though it was a pretty stripe of silver in the middle of it all, I suppose it’s not really that important to note.
Let’s consider a few things. A manager and his client are here sitting, talking, one is drinking a Dirty Martini, that being ice cold Vodka and and olive juice, and the other… A concoction of Southern Comfort and Margarita Mix. Called a Cajun Buzzard around some places in Florida, though we hear it originated up North.
Dru’s got the Cajun Buzzard.
Niles does the Dirty Martini.
So the conversation begins, the two young men sitting and clinking glasses as they talk, and the waiter asks if they are interested in any food.
Dru: Hmm… I’m stuck in between fried mozzarella or nachos.
Niles: What’s with the whole fat man splurge? Don’t you usually have some sort of food regiment you stick to before a match.
Dru: Of course nigga. This however is a special occasion. My gracious white-boy bosses of Noble and Sterling, have given me the night off.
Niles: You have a match though… Against that Jamaican fool. You know, speaking as a Caribbean-American, I’m really not a fan of Jamaican and Jamaican-Americans.
Dru: Little racist ain’t you there, Niles? Ya garbage-ass-ass-nigga. What kinda shit is that?
Niles: Look man, I am one of the richest rich out here. I could go right now and buy a night with Jessica Simpson if I wanted to, and pay Ryan Reynolds to film as well. I could buy the capital of Uganda on a whim and still have enough to buy Micronesia. These aren’t things that phase me. I laugh at that shit. I giggle at that shit.
My issue with Jamaicans is because they act like they are better than every other island, because people see them as the most recognizable island. Let’s not forget about what a hard X dicking Haiti took. Let’s not forget about Trinidad, or the god damn Barbados, or St. Croix, or St. Thomas and the rest of the Virgin Islands. How are we gonna forget about the Bahamas, or Grenada.
Yet here we go… Boom. Jamaica. Only damn thing they ever gave the world was good weed, Bob Marley, Reggae, and half-way decent liquor.
…And I hate Wray & Nephew.
Dru can’t help but chuckle, the Gangstar not yet seeing his manager get so worked up.
Dru: Sorry, Niles but nigga, I can’t say I share ya… Frustrations. A nigga thinks a Jamaican bitch looks just like a Trini bitch or a Bajan bitch or what the deuce ever. I mean, okay, so Jamaica has caused problems to every other Caribbean nation… Why can’t ya’ll just be BETTER than them.
Niles sips his martini carefully, as if trying to diagnose the problem with more liquor.
Niles: Why can’t you be better than Esix Cordero?
Dru: I am better than Esix Cordero.
Niles Markie seemed partially impressed his client didn’t explode into a fit of anger or rage at his manager. He cleared his throat.
Niles: And other countries, of the Caribbean are better than Jamaica, but you’d never believe that given the fact that they are never given their chance to shine. Which is where you will pass over in that respect, Dru.
Because fate will graciously gracious you with an opportunity.
All you have to do is annihilate Daevin from the face of this earth.
Dru: Well I did plan to—
Niles: No nigga, you don’t get it. I don’t want you to finish it with a 1-2-3 pin.
I want you to end his career.
Dru stares at Niles for some time in amazement, before he grins wide and wicked.
Dru: All ears, boss. All ears.
Niles: That’s my mine. Listen closely.
With that, Niles and Dru both drain their glasses and move in closer to one another, looking around for anyone who may actually care to listen. You never know of course.
Niles: I want you to let him try to hit you with any move that will put him in your arms. What I want you to do basically… Is to hit him with a Code of The Streets from as high as possible. If you have to climb the top rope to do so… Go ahead.
If you want to throw him over the rope.
Listen closely Dru…
This is very important.
I don’t care if you win or lose.
I want to see Daevin Dushane hospitalized.
You got me? End his career.
That’s all I want you to focus on.
Dru stared at his manager thoughtfully… What was running through his head? Sure, Dru had no problem ending a career… But… Why?
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To Be Continued…
