Wooooooo! Yeaaaah! I got my pro-ops, I got my pro-ops....thanks to the chosen few (one person, as I write this) who were oh so cool to review. Before I begin this chapter, another Friday quote, this time from Big Worm:
"You smokin' my weed too, Craig? Now I'ma kill you AND Smokey, 'cuz yous playin' with my emotions!"
Hahahahaha. You have not lived until you have seen this movie. Seriously. Now, for the next chapter.
Oh yes, and in this fic, I am establishing that the Twins were NOT deleted in that explosion. They are PROGRAMS, I see no reason why they can't be rebooted after "dying." I mean, when you play a video game, and your character dies, it may be game over, but you still restart the game and play all over again with the same character, right? I assume the Matrix works the same way.
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Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins
---------------------
Tyler was now unspeakably...hungry? Yes, he was hungry. Hunger and anger don't go very well together, so he chose to visit his aunt, who was always to be counted upon to have food, and good food at that.
His aunt was, as always, overjoyed to see her (no longer) successful, big-shot businessman nephew, and quickly ushered him in. Plopping him at the table, she tossed him yet another 200-pound plate of incredibly tempting (and artery-clogging) soul food. Tyler dug in, as his aunt watched him scarf down her cooking.
"Have you heard the news?" she asked nonchalantly.
Tyler looked up from his plate. "Hm?"
"Some terrorists tried to shoot up the freeway. Eyewitnesses described them as...albino pimps, or something like that. Anyway, about eighty to ninety people ended up dying."
Tyler nearly choked on his fried chicken, and demanded that his aunt keep talking.
"All right...but I don't see why you're so excited. Anyway, these terrorists were driving around in an Escalade, apparently chasing some other car. They kept shooting up any other car that was in their way. So obviously, the police were after them --"
"Fucking PIGS," Tyler interrupted.
His aunt smacked him over the head. "Watch your language, boy, and don't interrupt me. Now, as I was saying, before the police caught up to them, their car just... blew up."
His eyes widened to approximately the size of plates. "It EXPLODED? As in, went all ka-blooey?"
She nodded, and added more mashed potatoes to his plate. "Yeah. And you know what the weirdest thing is? Paramedics searched all around, and they couldn't even find those bastards' bodies." Tyler rushed to his feet. "What? What is it?"
He grabbed his coat and nearly ran for the doorway. "Um...I really have to go. Business stuff, you know." He felt a quick cramp in his gut, he hated lying to his aunt. "Thanks for the food, Aunty. Tell my mom I said hi." He slammed the door and was running for his apartment before his aunt could even reply.
*****************
Tyler was beyond himself with rage. How DARE they? How DARE they die in an explosion before he could kick their asses for his money? Those insolent little white boy wanna-be-straight-pimp-G shitty ass pricks! He'd hit up their mother if he had to! He deserved, if anything else, financial justice!
He raced into his apartment and to his dresser drawer. Searching quickly through his underwear drawer, he pulled out his handgun, a Desert Eagle. Though he himself did not know how much Desert Eagles sucked, he always found himself rather confident with it on him, a feeling of security.
On his way out, he grabbed his leather trench coat and his best pair of sunglasses. If he was going to kick old lady ass for his money, then he might as well look cool doing it.
****************
Sitting in the Denny's, taking a booth to himself, Tyler examined the license plate number that was scribbled on a scrap of paper. He knew that those damn pimp twins were dead, so there was little purpose in keeping the number. To tell the truth, he had almost no clue why he was still thinking about revenge. He wasn't serious about beating up an old lady, he just wanted his money.
The door opened, and on a reflex, he looked up. His eyes must have deceived him, for there were a set of twins, who dressed much like pimps, who were pretty pale, and had long dreadlocks. Tyler rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, and looked again. Yep, the same exact twins that destroyed his car.
He fingered the gun in his coat. Those presumptuous sons-of-a-bitch. They killed ninety people, they destroyed HIS car (most importantly), and they had the balls to walk around in a Denny's as if it had never happened? Oh, how Tyler was going to make them pay.
He swallowed the rest of his free glass of water and glared at them, hoping that they'd see and cringe. White guys were always intimidated by black people.
They didn't notice, and now Tyler was getting really irritated. He watched them, and he observed that they walked like assholes, talked like assholes (their British accents were SO fake), sat like assholes (one of them crossed his legs...who the fuck does that?), and they even ate like assholes. He would be doing the world a huge favor by rubbing their pale faces into the concrete.
After an hour of generally behaving like assholes, they prepared to leave. Tyler wasn't a stupid man, so he left before them, searching the parking lot for their Escalade, under a silly hunch that it would be there. Just when he was going to call himself an idiot and go home, he saw it. The same damn Escalade. With the same damn license plate number. Wasting no time, Tyler (using his ghetto skills), broke into the back seat and tumbled right into the trunk, all the while thinking, "How? HOW?"
After about twenty minutes, the twins finally left the Denny's, and climbed into their Escalade, in which Tyler was waiting. As they drove off to wherever murdering assholes go, he couldn't help but overhear their conversation:
"We are not pleased."
"No, we are not."
"The Merovingian has been upset with us lately."
"Yes, he has."
"We cannot fail to destroy the rebels."
"No, we cannot."
This left Tyler very confused. Why did these bastards refer to themselves like that? Who was the Mer-whatever? Why did they need to destroy the rebels? Who WERE the rebels, for that matter, and what were they rebelling against? His thoughts were interrupted by the twins' terrible rapping.
"This is how we do it where we're from."
"Thuggin' in Club Hel until we see the One."
"Shoot him, in the face, switchblade right in his waist."
"Drivin' in our Escalade, programs know we're not afraid."
"To shoot up humans, all for, the Merovingian."
Tyler thought he was going to be sick, until he had an image of their faces covered in blood, begging for forgiveness and holding a nice fat check.
******************
The twins arrived at their destination, and left their car in a parking lot. Tyler waited until he knew they were gone, and leapt out of the SUV. As he stretched he observed the building. What assholes. They stopped at a French restaurant. Who the fuck goes to a French restaurant?
He walked in, and right into the concierge. He examined Tyler's clothing. "I see...well, I suppose the Merovingian must be expecting you."
"Um...if you say so?" He had no clue what the man was talking about. He supposed, then, that the man must have been tripping on E, because he had never met the Mero-whosie, and was only there to kick albino ass.
He walked into the dining room, searching for a table, when he spotted them. Those DAMN twins! Oooooh, he would kick their asses. He sped up his pace as he got closer and closer...
"Excusem moi?" Shit! Another piece of frog-eating, cake-sniffing, bog-trotting Eurotrash! "May I help you?"
Tyler forced a smile, and turned to face the French waiter. "No, no, no, that will not be necessary." Approaching the twins NOW would be a stupid thing to do. He headed directly for the restroom.
He examined himself quite closely in the mirror, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw white. He pulled out his gun and turned to see the pimp bastard twins, both holding switchblades and grinning all too widely.
"You fuckers!" He pointed the barrel at one of them, glaring at the other.
The one the gun was pointed at only smiled. "You rebel."
Tyler looked at him funny. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You destroyed my car, remember?"
The other raised an eyebrow. "Which car were you?"
If Tyler could have turned any redder, he probably would have done so. "What do you mean 'Which car'?? I'm the one where you nearly tore the back off!"
"Oh, you mean that one that was too slow to make his left turn."
"It's a pity that we had to do that."
The gun shook uncontrollably. "A pity? A PITY?? I tell you what's a motherfucking pity! It's a pity that I can't kill you both right now, because there are probably eighty or ninety families that would appreciate it! And by the way, how the fuck did you little white shits survive that --" He fell silent, and dropped to the floor, knocked out with one punch.
Two shook his head. "Such an ignorant coppertop. How sad."
One nodded, and stood over Tyler's unconscious body, grinning ear to ear. "You got knocked the FUCK out!"
The Twins looked carefully around the restroom, and then squealed with laughter. Anyone other than Two who saw One's Smokey impression never lived to tell the tale.
-----------------------------
Chapter two, finished. YAYO! Review (concrit is nice, y'all) pretty please, flame if you're feeling brave, and don't be afraid to submit those marriage proposals. Sorry if the Twins sound a bit off, but this is humor... I don't own Big Timers, their song "This How We Do", or the movie Friday. On one last note:
"First of all, don't be tryin' to cut it like yous a straight G, cuz I'll cut off your balls and hand them to you. I've had to tell you too many times, Smokey! Don't mess with my money! It's the PRINCIPLE of the thing, the PRINCIPALITY even!"
"You smokin' my weed too, Craig? Now I'ma kill you AND Smokey, 'cuz yous playin' with my emotions!"
Hahahahaha. You have not lived until you have seen this movie. Seriously. Now, for the next chapter.
Oh yes, and in this fic, I am establishing that the Twins were NOT deleted in that explosion. They are PROGRAMS, I see no reason why they can't be rebooted after "dying." I mean, when you play a video game, and your character dies, it may be game over, but you still restart the game and play all over again with the same character, right? I assume the Matrix works the same way.
---------------------
Of Mutilated Cars and Albino Twins
---------------------
Tyler was now unspeakably...hungry? Yes, he was hungry. Hunger and anger don't go very well together, so he chose to visit his aunt, who was always to be counted upon to have food, and good food at that.
His aunt was, as always, overjoyed to see her (no longer) successful, big-shot businessman nephew, and quickly ushered him in. Plopping him at the table, she tossed him yet another 200-pound plate of incredibly tempting (and artery-clogging) soul food. Tyler dug in, as his aunt watched him scarf down her cooking.
"Have you heard the news?" she asked nonchalantly.
Tyler looked up from his plate. "Hm?"
"Some terrorists tried to shoot up the freeway. Eyewitnesses described them as...albino pimps, or something like that. Anyway, about eighty to ninety people ended up dying."
Tyler nearly choked on his fried chicken, and demanded that his aunt keep talking.
"All right...but I don't see why you're so excited. Anyway, these terrorists were driving around in an Escalade, apparently chasing some other car. They kept shooting up any other car that was in their way. So obviously, the police were after them --"
"Fucking PIGS," Tyler interrupted.
His aunt smacked him over the head. "Watch your language, boy, and don't interrupt me. Now, as I was saying, before the police caught up to them, their car just... blew up."
His eyes widened to approximately the size of plates. "It EXPLODED? As in, went all ka-blooey?"
She nodded, and added more mashed potatoes to his plate. "Yeah. And you know what the weirdest thing is? Paramedics searched all around, and they couldn't even find those bastards' bodies." Tyler rushed to his feet. "What? What is it?"
He grabbed his coat and nearly ran for the doorway. "Um...I really have to go. Business stuff, you know." He felt a quick cramp in his gut, he hated lying to his aunt. "Thanks for the food, Aunty. Tell my mom I said hi." He slammed the door and was running for his apartment before his aunt could even reply.
*****************
Tyler was beyond himself with rage. How DARE they? How DARE they die in an explosion before he could kick their asses for his money? Those insolent little white boy wanna-be-straight-pimp-G shitty ass pricks! He'd hit up their mother if he had to! He deserved, if anything else, financial justice!
He raced into his apartment and to his dresser drawer. Searching quickly through his underwear drawer, he pulled out his handgun, a Desert Eagle. Though he himself did not know how much Desert Eagles sucked, he always found himself rather confident with it on him, a feeling of security.
On his way out, he grabbed his leather trench coat and his best pair of sunglasses. If he was going to kick old lady ass for his money, then he might as well look cool doing it.
****************
Sitting in the Denny's, taking a booth to himself, Tyler examined the license plate number that was scribbled on a scrap of paper. He knew that those damn pimp twins were dead, so there was little purpose in keeping the number. To tell the truth, he had almost no clue why he was still thinking about revenge. He wasn't serious about beating up an old lady, he just wanted his money.
The door opened, and on a reflex, he looked up. His eyes must have deceived him, for there were a set of twins, who dressed much like pimps, who were pretty pale, and had long dreadlocks. Tyler rubbed his eyes, blinked a few times, and looked again. Yep, the same exact twins that destroyed his car.
He fingered the gun in his coat. Those presumptuous sons-of-a-bitch. They killed ninety people, they destroyed HIS car (most importantly), and they had the balls to walk around in a Denny's as if it had never happened? Oh, how Tyler was going to make them pay.
He swallowed the rest of his free glass of water and glared at them, hoping that they'd see and cringe. White guys were always intimidated by black people.
They didn't notice, and now Tyler was getting really irritated. He watched them, and he observed that they walked like assholes, talked like assholes (their British accents were SO fake), sat like assholes (one of them crossed his legs...who the fuck does that?), and they even ate like assholes. He would be doing the world a huge favor by rubbing their pale faces into the concrete.
After an hour of generally behaving like assholes, they prepared to leave. Tyler wasn't a stupid man, so he left before them, searching the parking lot for their Escalade, under a silly hunch that it would be there. Just when he was going to call himself an idiot and go home, he saw it. The same damn Escalade. With the same damn license plate number. Wasting no time, Tyler (using his ghetto skills), broke into the back seat and tumbled right into the trunk, all the while thinking, "How? HOW?"
After about twenty minutes, the twins finally left the Denny's, and climbed into their Escalade, in which Tyler was waiting. As they drove off to wherever murdering assholes go, he couldn't help but overhear their conversation:
"We are not pleased."
"No, we are not."
"The Merovingian has been upset with us lately."
"Yes, he has."
"We cannot fail to destroy the rebels."
"No, we cannot."
This left Tyler very confused. Why did these bastards refer to themselves like that? Who was the Mer-whatever? Why did they need to destroy the rebels? Who WERE the rebels, for that matter, and what were they rebelling against? His thoughts were interrupted by the twins' terrible rapping.
"This is how we do it where we're from."
"Thuggin' in Club Hel until we see the One."
"Shoot him, in the face, switchblade right in his waist."
"Drivin' in our Escalade, programs know we're not afraid."
"To shoot up humans, all for, the Merovingian."
Tyler thought he was going to be sick, until he had an image of their faces covered in blood, begging for forgiveness and holding a nice fat check.
******************
The twins arrived at their destination, and left their car in a parking lot. Tyler waited until he knew they were gone, and leapt out of the SUV. As he stretched he observed the building. What assholes. They stopped at a French restaurant. Who the fuck goes to a French restaurant?
He walked in, and right into the concierge. He examined Tyler's clothing. "I see...well, I suppose the Merovingian must be expecting you."
"Um...if you say so?" He had no clue what the man was talking about. He supposed, then, that the man must have been tripping on E, because he had never met the Mero-whosie, and was only there to kick albino ass.
He walked into the dining room, searching for a table, when he spotted them. Those DAMN twins! Oooooh, he would kick their asses. He sped up his pace as he got closer and closer...
"Excusem moi?" Shit! Another piece of frog-eating, cake-sniffing, bog-trotting Eurotrash! "May I help you?"
Tyler forced a smile, and turned to face the French waiter. "No, no, no, that will not be necessary." Approaching the twins NOW would be a stupid thing to do. He headed directly for the restroom.
He examined himself quite closely in the mirror, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw white. He pulled out his gun and turned to see the pimp bastard twins, both holding switchblades and grinning all too widely.
"You fuckers!" He pointed the barrel at one of them, glaring at the other.
The one the gun was pointed at only smiled. "You rebel."
Tyler looked at him funny. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You destroyed my car, remember?"
The other raised an eyebrow. "Which car were you?"
If Tyler could have turned any redder, he probably would have done so. "What do you mean 'Which car'?? I'm the one where you nearly tore the back off!"
"Oh, you mean that one that was too slow to make his left turn."
"It's a pity that we had to do that."
The gun shook uncontrollably. "A pity? A PITY?? I tell you what's a motherfucking pity! It's a pity that I can't kill you both right now, because there are probably eighty or ninety families that would appreciate it! And by the way, how the fuck did you little white shits survive that --" He fell silent, and dropped to the floor, knocked out with one punch.
Two shook his head. "Such an ignorant coppertop. How sad."
One nodded, and stood over Tyler's unconscious body, grinning ear to ear. "You got knocked the FUCK out!"
The Twins looked carefully around the restroom, and then squealed with laughter. Anyone other than Two who saw One's Smokey impression never lived to tell the tale.
-----------------------------
Chapter two, finished. YAYO! Review (concrit is nice, y'all) pretty please, flame if you're feeling brave, and don't be afraid to submit those marriage proposals. Sorry if the Twins sound a bit off, but this is humor... I don't own Big Timers, their song "This How We Do", or the movie Friday. On one last note:
"First of all, don't be tryin' to cut it like yous a straight G, cuz I'll cut off your balls and hand them to you. I've had to tell you too many times, Smokey! Don't mess with my money! It's the PRINCIPLE of the thing, the PRINCIPALITY even!"
