Bootleg (4 page)

  I
was looking through some old
Jet
magazines the other day and I came across the name Walter Hudson. Remember him? He was that fat guy who was confined to his bed because he weighed sixteen hundred pounds. Now, this just doesn’t make any sense to me. At some point he must have looked down and said, “Damn, I can’t find my penis. Maybe I need to work out a little.”

But no, Walter refused to acknowledge the signs. He just laid there and continued to eat. I blame his family because they were the ones that kept feeding him. At some point if you love someone you don’t encourage that kind of behavior. For breakfast Walter would have two pounds of bacon, one dozen eggs, a large loaf of bread, and then he’d wash it down with a gallon of orange juice. You’re not supposed to give him all that food. The family should have hidden a few of the eggs, or maybe switched to turkey bacon. It ain’t like he’s going to get mad. And even if he does, what is he going to do, get up and kick your ass? I think somebody in his family was making money off of him. They had some little sideshow. The billboard read:

This man was so big he had to call the fire department to help him go to the bathroom. I guess twenty minutes after he ate that big breakfast he’d pick up the phone. “Hello? It’s on.”

The fire truck would arrive with sirens going and people from all over the neighborhood would show up in front of the house. The squad of fireman would haul his huge body down the hall and into the bathroom, then, with their gas masks on, they use the jaws of life to hold his ass open long enough for him to do his business. The neighbors would let out a cheer until that smell hit them. Then, they’d have to call the sanitation department to clean the mess up.

  L
os Angeles has nice weather most of the year and if you’re going to work in show business, this is where you’ve got to live. But I’ve got to get out of LA for one very important reason: earthquakes. We had one a couple of years ago that scared the life out of me. I haven’t shit on myself since I was about five, but the day of that earthquake I let a chunk go. I was especially afraid because I have children to think about. I remember I was standing in front of my house butt naked, thinking, “Man, I hope them kids make it out here. And I hope they’re smart enough to wake up their mama, ‘cause this place is shaking.”

The funny thing is that Angelenos are not fazed by earthquakes. After almost every earthquake they’ll be saying, “Dude, that wasn’t the big one.”

I guess they’re waiting for the whole state to break off and fall in the ocean. See, I’m packing ‘cause I know that the ground is saying, “Get the fuck up off me!”

I did some research and found out that the largest earthquake ever recorded took place in Anchorage, Alaska. It was a 9.2 on the Richter scale. See that’s twenty-two percent stronger than the
Northridge earthquake we had in 1994. It shook for over fifteen minutes. So that little 6.5 we had was a gay earthquake compared to a 9.2. This thing’s like, “Rumble, rumble, rumble … knock this over, knock that over. Ooh, I’m exhausted. I’m out of here.”

I saw footage of the Anchorage earthquake. It was terrifying. I wonder what goes through your mind during fifteen minutes of earthquake? I guess the first thirty seconds you’re thinking, “Oh my God, I’m gonna die.” Then twenty seconds later you’re thinking, “Damn, when is this shit gonna stop?” Five minutes into the earthquake you just say, “Fuck it, I might as well go to work. This must be the norm. Let me go brush my teeth. Man, I ain’t scrubbed so well before! Scramble myself some eggs and get a quickie in with my wife. Baby, I may not be this active again until the next big earthquake. Hang on!”

  L
et me tell you, being in show business, I really get to meet the sickos of the world. And it seems like everybody wants to be in show business. Everybody! I met a pimp from East St. Louis on my last movie who was trying to break into show business. He was on the set doing extra work with two of the ugliest hoes I’ve ever seen. He walked up to me one day and pitched a movie to me.

“Hey, Damonson—how can I get some dialogue up in this motherfucker? Man, they got me doing this extra work. I’m too pretty for this shit, nigger. It makes me look bad in front of my bitches. But listen, I got this movie for you. I got this script I wrote…. What you laughing at, nigger? I seen
Blankman
, you better listen! No, nigger, that movie was not funny. My retarded son didn’t even laugh at that movie, and that boy laughs at car accidents.

“Now, look, I got this movie about these alien bitches that come from another planet and they got three titties. Two up top and one right above the navel. And everyone is trying to freak with these alien bitches but what they don’t know is that that third tittie is poisonous. It got poison tittie juice that kills you in three days. And everybody’s dying all around the world.
Over in Russia they’re dying. Over in China their little dicks are falling off. Looks like somebody spilled a bag of rice over there. So the president of the United States sleeps with one of these alien bitches and he’s only got seventy-two hours to live. So he calls a meeting at the White House.

“‘What to do? What to do?’” the president asks.

“Then Colin Powell stands up and says, ‘We need a pimp up in this motherfucker.’

“So the president says, ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. Don’t you have one in your family?’

“Anyway, they go out to Washington, D.C., and find the baddest pimp they can find. His name is Silky Smooth. That’s who you gonna play, Damonson. Silky struts up in the White House stairs. He got on a lime green jumpsuit with bright orange shoes and a big leopard skin hat. Just like the shit I got on right now. He walk up to the president and says, ‘What’s the deal motherfucker, I’m losing money being here. What you want with me?’

“The president says, ‘Mr. Silky, please sit down. May I get you something to drink?’

“Silky says, ‘I don’t want nothing to drink, this is the White House. Bring me some cocaine.’ So they go out and get the best cocaine they can find. They get him some shit out of Marion Barry’s personal stash. While Silky’s sitting there, getting his freeze on he says, ‘I’m gonna help you out, Mr. President, ‘cause I know you like niggers. But, I’m gonna want something in return.’

“The president says, ‘Anything, Silky. We’ll make every Tuesday Big Hat Day just for you.’

“Silky says, ‘I don’t want that shit. I want your daughter in my stable.’

“Well, the President’s wife jumps up and says, ‘Oh no, you ain’t taking my baby, no no no.’

“And Silky walks over and slaps the shit out of her.
BAM!
He uses one of your lines, Damonson: ‘Silky don’t play that shit.’ He picked her up and said, ‘I’m taking you, too. You’re my first lady now. Get your ass up and go get that little bitch and wait in the car for me.’

“The president comes over and says, ‘Silky, thank goodness you took them. Between Whitewater and my ugly daughter I almost didn’t get reelected!’

“So now Silky got to find the antidote to save the President. He goes out and has to talk to them alien bitches to find out where their leader’s at. He walks up to them and he says, ‘Hey, ho, who’s your pimp?’ The aliens don’t speak no English, though. They start speaking all of that gibberish. See Silky knows they don’t speak English but everybody understands an ass whupping. So Silky gets to kicking them bitches’ asses pimp style.
POW, POW, POW!
He takes his hanger out and heats that shit up with a lighter.
WHAM, WHAM, WHAM!
Them bitches started speaking English better than Margaret Thatcher.

“She says, ‘Bob Dole is my pimp daddy.’

“So here’s the surprise, Damonson. You find out that Bob Dole is really Bob Dolomite, a pimp from another planet called Tittoris. He failed at becoming the president of the United States, but that’s not going to stop him from pimping the world! You find out that this motherfucker didn’t get his arm blown up in the war. He slammed it in his spaceship door!

“Silky goes to his house in the middle of the night to get the antidote for the poison titty juice. He unlocks the
door with his hanger and tiptoes in. He looks around and sees Bob Dolomite sleeping, but he don’t got his arm on. Bob Dolomite takes the shit off at night and puts it in a glass case like that motherfucker from that movie
Enter the Dragon.
Silky sees the arm in the case on the dresser with the antidote laying inside the hand.

“When he tries to remove the antidote, Bob Dolomite jumps out of the bed and says, ‘Hey, nigger, put my arm down!’

“And then Bob Dolomite starts twisting his leg around. See, this motherfucker comes apart like Mr. Potatohead. He twists his whole leg off and uses it as a weapon.
WHAM, WHAM, WHAM!
Silky goes down. Bob Dolomite hops over to him and is about to drop the nub on his head to finish him off. Silky sees him coming and kicks his other leg out and it breaks off. Now Bob Dolomite starts crawling toward him like the Terminator.

“Silky grabs the antidote and starts running for the window. Bob Dolomite twists his dick off and it turns into dynamite. He then bites off the tip and throws it at Silky. Silky sees the dynamite coming and he kicks it back and it goes up Bob Dolomite’s ass and he explodes. So, what do you think?”

Actually, it did sound better than
Blankman.

  I
don’t know what the big deal is with the president getting a little head. I think the president needs some every now and then to help relax him. Imagine what it’s like running a country. A little head would take the edge off and make him more generous in his decision making.

President
: Ahhh, ohhh yeah! What a great idea, let’s put a little more money in welfare reform. That’s it for today, I need a nap. Zzzzzzzz
.

I have a problem with the face that gave the head. Come on Bill, Monica Lewinsky? You could do better than that. Kennedy had Marilyn Monroe. You could have had the
Baywatch
girls,
Playboy
bunnies, Cindy Crawford, Elle Macpherson. All of them would have given the president head if they thought it was a matter of national security. But Monica? Yuck. I wouldn’t trust that big fat girl around my dick. She might think it’s a frank and try to eat it. Monica Lewinsky didn’t need any more protein in her diet, what she needed was some fiber. Mr. Clinton should have let her toss his salad.

  M
any people aren’t aware that the Clintons’ visit to Africa was really Hillary’s idea. The president didn’t really want to go, but Hillary said, “You want to fuck around, I’m fucking around, too. Now, you take me where the dick is so long that they can’t wear drawers!”

So, there they were standing around all those Africans. And Bill was uncomfortable and didn’t know what to say. Then he thought he could try make things right.

President
: I just want to apologize for your ancestors’ being taken over to our country and forced into the degradation of slavery.

African Leader
: Hey, redface white man! Shut the hell up. We don’t want to hear that sorry bullshit. Go apologize to the niggers in America. We are happy here. They are the ones that need your sympathy. We are here for white pussy. Now, back up, motherfucka, you are standing on my dick!

  I
found out that one of my partners, Larry, is in jail now. He got twenty five years for something that he didn’t do—he didn’t run fast enough. I always knew this brother was going to jail ‘cause he’s one of them dudes that wanted to make it in life but he wanted to get over. He was a con artist. Always had a plan. I called him the “street business man.” I saw him when he got out of jail the last time.

“What’s up, D?” he said. “Yo, it’s good to see you, man. I heard you was out there in California, man. You doin’ comedy now, right? You funny? Go ahead—say something funny. Aw, man, you need an audience and shit…. Look, you keep doing it, man. You might be like the next Bugs Bunny or something. Yeah, but I ain’t got time for no Three Stooges type silliness. I’m trying to get me some income coming in. Word! Yo, this what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna get me a full-time job at McDonald’s, then I’m gonna work my way up to manager, and let my boys come and rob the place. Mo’ money, mo’ money! See, I take all that stolen money and throw it in the bank. I won’t touch that. I’ll just step off, ya know. Let the interest fuck with that. It will be like
boom
… Mo’ money, mo’ money.

“See, I’m gonna do this every other day. So they don’t catch on, ‘cause I don’t want to go to Mcjail or
nothing, you know. Word. I’d be in the cell with that Hamburglar he be bugging me out with that head and shit.

“Yo, then clock this—I’m gonna let my lady forge checks, right? ‘Cause she works in the bank. Then I’m gonna let her prostitute on the side. You know, just in case the bank thing don’t work out—she can have something to fall back on. Now this is only part-time, see? ‘Cause I can’t have no full-time ho living in my house.

“Then dig this, I’m gonna adopt me a kid. One of them foster childs. ‘Cause they pay you to take their ass. And I’m gonna let him sell joints in school. Mo’ money, mo’ money! See, this is good for the kid, too. ‘Cause it teaches him responsibility, right? ‘Cause if he messes up my money, I’m gonna hurt him. Now I figure every day before he goes to school, I throw a hundred joints in his lunch box—get him one of those Fred Flintstone lunch boxes ‘cause kids need that type of thing, you know. And then I send him on out the door. Go make that money, son. Now if he gets busted, I just come to school and play the father role.

‘“What’s up, teachers? No, tell me what happened. I don’t wanna know your name, I don’t want to shake your hand, I just want the facts. Fuck that. Tell me, what was my little white son doing?’

“Then I’ll play all surprised. ‘Oh snap, he was doing what? I am so surprised!’

“And since this is a teacher, right, I’ll start throwing my big words on ‘em. ‘Circumcise me. Flatulate
the information, ‘cause the whole constipation got my scrotum detached. No, no, no, let me shed my foreskin on the issue. You retain your liquids while I masturbate my ambeonic fluids. So this whole thing is super-calafragalistic expealladocious.’

“See, when the teachers see how smart I am, they’ll probably put me in charge of the PTA. Then I’ll start selling crack to the parents. Mo’ money, mo’ money, mo’ money!”