Post by Young Kiz on May 28, 2012 19:16:33 GMT -4
Smash! The sounds of glass shattering all over the place, mirrors busted and cracked. Papers flying out of drawers and clothes tubs being blown around the apartment from a draft seeping through a cracked open window. Chaos inside the room, chairs flipped over and on their sides. There, out from the darkness within the dim lit apartment, the only light shining being a old beater of an antique lamp with a shade over it and a bulb barely gleaming, flicker on some instance, as if it were to go out; two men wearing dark sunglasses in a dark room, draped in ties and trenchcoats, rummage through the whole of the house.
"There's nothing here!" screeched one of them in frustation, mustering upward with his arms, holding a journal with almost nothing incriminating written inside of it, flinging it to the ground next to a laid over chair.
"GODDAMNIT!" echoed the other one, hearing commotion from outside the doorway into the hall of the apartment complex, "Mildrid, there's nothing here..." worried people are getting curious from outside. "Let's roll."
"Yes sir."
The two agents exit the apartment, both grasping their weapons and holding up badges as they guide themselves out through the hall toward the elevators. A few residents watching in awe infront of their doors, most probably wondering why FBI was in there complex, searching room 204. Could their be a "terrorist" haboring himself within the confines of their home? The agents exit the scene as the elevator door opens and they walk onto the platform.
Two hours later, with the door wide open, Young Kiz comes walking up the stairs leading straight way to his apartment doorway (room 204).
"What the..." He enters into the mess of the apartment, eyebrow flexed up, his jaw dropped in astonishment, as he drops his groceries. "...FUCK!"
Quickly, he snaps out his glock 20 from behind, tucked in the back of his sagging shorts, aiming as he moved from room to room. Rushing to the bedroom, simple and crummy looking in nature, with nothingmore than a mattress and a blanket lying over top of it. No one was there, checking the small closet, still no sight of anybody. He sets the gun onto his bed and slams himself down onto the edge.
"Who... " Kiz began pondering upon himself, upset from the mess he had just walked into, "...would do such a thing..."
"Feds, bra." a voice rang out from Kiz's friend Luni as he made his way into the room. "Dogg, I check everything out once I first saw this mess. Nothing taken, apartments fuckin' trashed; this has FBI written all over it."
Kiz still bamboozled of what he had just walked into, clamps ahold of his burner once more, stretching over to his lap. "They took something, bra, I know they did." Motioning upward back onto his feet, still slouching a bit in an anxious manner.... "My laptop bro, it ain't here."
Luni raises a brow, leaning back a bit as Kiz holds up his gun.
"They think I did something, or at least know I'm a felon and are checking to see if I ain't in the game no mo' bro," he implied, "...I got anti government writings and letters on that harddrive. They see those, I'll be rushed down to Cuba faster than Jay-Z taken a cumshot to his mouth."
"What's with you and Jay-Z, man... oh my stories ha ha..." laughed Luni, "but yeah, that be true, they shipped you off no doubt about it."
"We gotta do something bro, get that computer back." Kiz responded with a huffing of breath as he took in a drag of a cigarette he had just lit.
"Nah dude, you sit tight I know something niggas, I got ya back." Luni toned in trying to keep his old friend calm, "You just concentrate on what's more important, that match you have with... with that wrestling, shit, whatever its called..."
"APW." answered Kiz, tucking his glock back into his pants.
"Yeah, I'll call some niggas. Got a dude I know that may have some cop buddies of his, former Feds, either FBI or ATF some shit like that. See if he can fill me in on some information, possibly figure out where these guys are posted at."
Kiz, taking a final drag of his cigarette, passing the remaining hits off the butt to Luni, whom grabs it, nods in agreement.
"Aiight, bra, aiight..."
The scene fades as Luni blows smoke into the air.
--------------------
Mind of a Maniac Rant #1 Voiceover
"They often say, if you have never been in this buisness of professional wrestling before, you may never make it. Well I say to that, watch me. Never have I step foot in a ring or even on a mat, yet still I hold no fear. I'll treat any opponent like a snitch or a cop, a rival or a backstabbing prick. I'll merc your ass anywhere, any place no matter the situation. With weapons or my fists. So Mr. Dangerous, if ya think you're so dangerous, what how a true thug fights bringing the streets to the ring with a couple a tricks up his sleeve. But as for you, "dangerous", you ain't my prime target, more like an embelished story someone just plain made up.
The person I'm seeking in authorizing an ass kicking to, is you Cameron. You think you know me, eh? Think I'm just some uneducated young "hick", playing "gangsta", busted by the cops 'cause I was "partying" too hard? I'm a "right wing, conspiracy nut" because I'm hating on the government from the books I read, the information I research. Hate on the police, because I've been harassed since I was a 10 years old due to the color of my skin. I'm have Latino, and I'm Gringo dogg, I ain't know punk hick angry 'cause his lazy ass got his welfare check was delayed for the month. I am the real deal. Yeah, I've made my mistakes, I could went to college, would have my degree right now, my intelligence extends yours, that's for sure. You know why? Because I know your little promo you did, you were acting in despite of fear. You're scared of me; of my intellence, and of the fact you know you're getting you're ass beat. Hey, that rhymes ha... I'm a poet and didn't even Know it.
Anyways, Cameron, just sit tight, stay seated on your couch and don't bother coming to Meltdown on Monday night. 'Cause I ain't gonna just beat you down, sir, I may just kill your ass you fucking racist piece of shit. Have a nice day, and drink some Kool-Aid... if ya know what I mean? Peace."
(This promo rant has been brought to you not by Young Kiz, but the voices inside his head. Mind of a Maniac muthafuckaz!)
"There's nothing here!" screeched one of them in frustation, mustering upward with his arms, holding a journal with almost nothing incriminating written inside of it, flinging it to the ground next to a laid over chair.
"GODDAMNIT!" echoed the other one, hearing commotion from outside the doorway into the hall of the apartment complex, "Mildrid, there's nothing here..." worried people are getting curious from outside. "Let's roll."
"Yes sir."
The two agents exit the apartment, both grasping their weapons and holding up badges as they guide themselves out through the hall toward the elevators. A few residents watching in awe infront of their doors, most probably wondering why FBI was in there complex, searching room 204. Could their be a "terrorist" haboring himself within the confines of their home? The agents exit the scene as the elevator door opens and they walk onto the platform.
Two hours later, with the door wide open, Young Kiz comes walking up the stairs leading straight way to his apartment doorway (room 204).
"What the..." He enters into the mess of the apartment, eyebrow flexed up, his jaw dropped in astonishment, as he drops his groceries. "...FUCK!"
Quickly, he snaps out his glock 20 from behind, tucked in the back of his sagging shorts, aiming as he moved from room to room. Rushing to the bedroom, simple and crummy looking in nature, with nothingmore than a mattress and a blanket lying over top of it. No one was there, checking the small closet, still no sight of anybody. He sets the gun onto his bed and slams himself down onto the edge.
"Who... " Kiz began pondering upon himself, upset from the mess he had just walked into, "...would do such a thing..."
"Feds, bra." a voice rang out from Kiz's friend Luni as he made his way into the room. "Dogg, I check everything out once I first saw this mess. Nothing taken, apartments fuckin' trashed; this has FBI written all over it."
Kiz still bamboozled of what he had just walked into, clamps ahold of his burner once more, stretching over to his lap. "They took something, bra, I know they did." Motioning upward back onto his feet, still slouching a bit in an anxious manner.... "My laptop bro, it ain't here."
Luni raises a brow, leaning back a bit as Kiz holds up his gun.
"They think I did something, or at least know I'm a felon and are checking to see if I ain't in the game no mo' bro," he implied, "...I got anti government writings and letters on that harddrive. They see those, I'll be rushed down to Cuba faster than Jay-Z taken a cumshot to his mouth."
"What's with you and Jay-Z, man... oh my stories ha ha..." laughed Luni, "but yeah, that be true, they shipped you off no doubt about it."
"We gotta do something bro, get that computer back." Kiz responded with a huffing of breath as he took in a drag of a cigarette he had just lit.
"Nah dude, you sit tight I know something niggas, I got ya back." Luni toned in trying to keep his old friend calm, "You just concentrate on what's more important, that match you have with... with that wrestling, shit, whatever its called..."
"APW." answered Kiz, tucking his glock back into his pants.
"Yeah, I'll call some niggas. Got a dude I know that may have some cop buddies of his, former Feds, either FBI or ATF some shit like that. See if he can fill me in on some information, possibly figure out where these guys are posted at."
Kiz, taking a final drag of his cigarette, passing the remaining hits off the butt to Luni, whom grabs it, nods in agreement.
"Aiight, bra, aiight..."
The scene fades as Luni blows smoke into the air.
--------------------
Mind of a Maniac Rant #1 Voiceover
"They often say, if you have never been in this buisness of professional wrestling before, you may never make it. Well I say to that, watch me. Never have I step foot in a ring or even on a mat, yet still I hold no fear. I'll treat any opponent like a snitch or a cop, a rival or a backstabbing prick. I'll merc your ass anywhere, any place no matter the situation. With weapons or my fists. So Mr. Dangerous, if ya think you're so dangerous, what how a true thug fights bringing the streets to the ring with a couple a tricks up his sleeve. But as for you, "dangerous", you ain't my prime target, more like an embelished story someone just plain made up.
The person I'm seeking in authorizing an ass kicking to, is you Cameron. You think you know me, eh? Think I'm just some uneducated young "hick", playing "gangsta", busted by the cops 'cause I was "partying" too hard? I'm a "right wing, conspiracy nut" because I'm hating on the government from the books I read, the information I research. Hate on the police, because I've been harassed since I was a 10 years old due to the color of my skin. I'm have Latino, and I'm Gringo dogg, I ain't know punk hick angry 'cause his lazy ass got his welfare check was delayed for the month. I am the real deal. Yeah, I've made my mistakes, I could went to college, would have my degree right now, my intelligence extends yours, that's for sure. You know why? Because I know your little promo you did, you were acting in despite of fear. You're scared of me; of my intellence, and of the fact you know you're getting you're ass beat. Hey, that rhymes ha... I'm a poet and didn't even Know it.
Anyways, Cameron, just sit tight, stay seated on your couch and don't bother coming to Meltdown on Monday night. 'Cause I ain't gonna just beat you down, sir, I may just kill your ass you fucking racist piece of shit. Have a nice day, and drink some Kool-Aid... if ya know what I mean? Peace."
(This promo rant has been brought to you not by Young Kiz, but the voices inside his head. Mind of a Maniac muthafuckaz!)
