Oldschool Johnson

The most formative episode of my young life was way back in the shit-stained day. I was with the DOJ Red Flag Task Force, assigned with taking Guns “off them sheets” as we used to say. No government man ever gave no never mind about guns on the streets, being mostly handguns held by dope-slinging hoppers, but they all wanted them long guns held by the sheets. It’s all about the body armor. No hopper is taking an officer down with a pea-shooter while he cutting and running around. But some ole boy setting up in his window with a rifle, well that shit has always put worries into the empty heart of The Man.

So, there I was, serving this Red Flag Warrant on, get this, I know they don’t serve these shits out no more, on a known handgun owner who had been accused of “Inferring the N-Word.”

[laughter]

I kid you not my righteous niggas, “Inferring the N-Word” was really a thing back in the day. If some white faɡɡot don’t look down at his feet, or meet you eye-to-eye and don’t say “Sir,” or at least give a nod of respect, it was on—you’d whoop that pale ass! This got to be such a thing that the white folks in charge decided to make “Inferring the N-word” a felony, a felony that really just absolved a brother of assault, battery or manslaughter charges, and otherwise gave us in the DOJ, before we was partnered with the Justice Service, the go ahead to take them guns from them sheets.

Well, this motherfucker was a kind of greasy Greek or Italian, not even a proper kind of white man, who owned himself a diner on U.S. Route Forty…

To read more, well, you’ll have to read more, by clicking the Ghost Snatcher tag above and to your white—I mean right…