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Well, She Wouldn't Let Me Go Out The DoorJun 02 '04 (Updated Jun 25 '04) Write an essay on this topic.The Bottom Line Who knew what that window would lead to? Alright, there is this story about how my last ex-girlfriend and I broke up. When I tell it to people, it's not that exciting, though the actual events were quite screwed up. Well, I have this knack for turning a simple story into something truly f!cked and the favorite of my friend's seems to be my gross embellishment of how me and my ex broke up. It was invented during a phone conversation with Mike (speeddemon531) and first told live verbally at Lori's (drdevience) house to her, Mike, Tim (flamepillar), Brian (voxpoptart), and a couple non-epinionators. I have been asked to retell it in literary form on epinions.com. Though I am sort of reluctant to do this here (you just _can't_ get the whole expression by reading it), I will do it anyhow. This is not going to be a literary gem, either, because I'm writing it as I would say it. I hope you enjoy! - - - - - - - - - - The fourth floor ghetto project apartment my ex and I shared... The whole reason my ex and I broke up isn't that important. Let's just say we had a fight which played the role of the final straw on the camel's back. This is no place to really air out dirty laundry. What I _will_ say though, is that when I was trying to get out of the apartment and thus, out of this situation, she laid down in front of the bedroom door to block me from leaving. And let me tell you, I ain't gettin' no domestic violence charge for dragging her out from the doorway, in turn risking putting any sort of mark on her. So, what else could I do? I jumped out of the window onto our rickety old fire escape. That sh!t was definitely not stable! And thus my f!cked up adventure starts. First of all, this sh!t was not cool from the get-go 'cause posted up on my fire escape was this black and rotted metal trash can with fire in it. I'm like "what the f!ck!" And next thing ya know, a homeless crackhead comes flying up from the ground like some "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon" sh!t and is like, "Meeeneenenenene Meeeeeneeeee HEH HEH HEH!" Then all of the sudden, this crackheaded woman reaches in her shirt and pulls out a little baby and starts roastin' it on the fire! I'm like, "awww hell naw, this sh!t is too crucial." But I'm not freaked out by much, I mean, I do live in the projects so it's cool. But damn, I can't even get out the f!ckin' window without seeing some disturbing sh!t. THEN CRASH! The damned fire escape just gave way! That's what you get when you spend too much time trying to rationalize why a crackhead is roasting a newborn baby over a flaming trash can on the fire escape that is right outside your window. Whatever. Now I was in a f!cking dumpster with parts of the fire escape on me. Then I realized I ain't the only one in the dumpster - there's like 3 crackheads in there with me! OK, I should make a confession now, I'm a former crack dealer. How else do you think a cracka like me could live in the projects? Sh!t I had to do something to get a rep. Now I just kill people with a gardening hoe and miracle grow. But that's for a totally different story. Anyhow, these crackheads must've been sleeping in this dumpster for a long time. But they smelled something; it was the smell of crack times two: a cracka who used to deal crack! Their as*es got up like some Residence Evil characters and were straight ready to find the crack in any orafus that they could check. I had to be out quickly 'cause you know you ain't gonna out run a crackhead for more then a few hundred feet. But my car was close. So I jumped up in my car but this all turned into some "28 Days Later" type sh!t with the crackheads, like, stuck to my car! I didn't know what to do, it was ridiculous. But you wouldn't know this unless you were a crack dealer from the projects but these crackheads have cracktified sweat and blood which makes it very adhesive. That's like an adaptation just like crackheads running fast. Oh, you thought it was the drugs (looks at you stupidly)? Nope, it's an adaptation from the drugs. Took many a crackheads to do this. I think it all started with that dude who wrote "Revelations" but anyhow. Think about this sh!t: a crackhead who can catch anyone and once he catches them, will stick to them. Crack dealers in my hood gotta get sprayed down with Pam and have a jet-pack strapped to their a*s before they go out. I told you, it's crucial! But the point is, them crackheads were stuck to my car like glue and I couldn't do a damn thing. Swerving back and forth helped me a bit. I yelled out the window, "hey, look at those white lines on the ground, they're made of crack!", but one still remained on my back windshield. Sh!t I didn't know what to do. So I got home at about 4:30am and the crackhead was still there. It was frickin' showdown time. This motherf*cker was undoubtedly wanting to maul my a*s 'cause you know there ain't a crackhead who can go 2 1/2 hours without some crack! So, I did what any man would do. I took the damned mailbox and beat that crackhead to death outside the house! Oh, what, like you wouldn't have done the same? Please (hypocrite). Anyhow, after I bloodied him up good (you know a crackhead will come back to life on your a*s when you least expect it - oh you don't? Trust me) I went inside, scatterbrained by all that happened. Sh!t I barely even remembered I had just broken up with my girlfriend. I was met by my stepfather, a 50 year old, with a thick grey and black beard and glasses. By all definitions this is a conservative dude. So what happened next shocked me... "So, what are you so bloody for?", he said very nonchalantly. "Well, ummm, I just killed a crackhead in the drive way", I said with a convicted smirk. "Uhh, yeah I have to expla-." "B!tch, did I ask for you to explain?", he asked. "No, I did-f!cking-not! Now, be quiet, your mom's asleep. Did you go up in his pockets?" (What the f!ck?!?!?!). "No, no I did not. Umm, are you realizing how irrational it is to go into a crackhead's pockets? It's a crackhead, they have no damned money they spend it all on crack!" "My point exactly", he responded. So we went outside, I grabbed the paper, and this dude started vigorously frisking this dead crackhead. And I'll be damned if he didn't pull out a lil' piece of some crack! Now I got why this man frisked crackheads: he was a second-hand crackhead! "You smoke?", he asked. "Crack? Hell...", he glared at my coldly, "...uhh yeah!" So I smoked crack with my conservative step dad while some of his friends from the city came and cleaned up this crackhead. Their truck read, "Crackhead Clean-Up: You Bash 'Em And For The Right Cash We'll Smash 'Em". And people say our city services are suffering these days. Pssshhhh! And, uhh, I went to sleep then. That's it. Weird, huh? * * * * * * * * * * For more information about Cryptic Cradle and his reviews, please click here. * * * * * * * * * * This has been a Cryptic Cradle Production.  |
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