In June Seamus was walking away from Golden Ring mall, heading over to Route 40, when a juvenile Dindu approached him on the sidewalk and lifted his T-shirt, showing an automatic handgun in the waistband of his lime green shorts.
At this time Seamus noticed that a Dindu adult in a car was shadowing him at a walking pace. The youth with the un-deployed firearm said, “Give it up, yo,” as he puffed out his scrawny chest.
Seamus responded by stepping off into the street, walking down the center line and dialing 911 on his cell, while asking the twerp on the sidewalk, “What caliber is that?”
To that, as Seamus executed the best strategy for avoiding a gunman in Dinduurbia, there was no answer other than the squealing of the car tires and the, “Oh shit, yo!” of the fleeing, pint-sized gunman, who was not picked up by his accomplice as he fled the other way.
So, my Dindu bruthas, when you tool up and pack-out to go collect reparations, please preserve our dignity by not fleeing and screaming like a bitch, from an un-armed cracker at that!
Thriving in Bad Places
