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Thursday, 4 February 2010

image for Life At Moorview Institute - Chapter 20 The Spoof In An Early Incarnation.

Look, I already tole ya's. I can't hang aroun here witch yous. Dis is my coffee and cigarette break, alright? Jeeze! Frickin' reporters...

What you want wit me anyways? Why don'tcha go talk to some a de udder guys? Da big shots? Da names? Go talk ta da frickin' hotshots. I'm juss wunner da liddle guys. Litewally.

What? Ya don't tink life's a bitch when you's a coupla inches shy of four feet tall? An' bein a brother ain't no frickin help either. All's I can say is tank kerrist we don't got da frickin Aryan Bastardhood here at Moorview.

WhattamI doin' here. I'm talkin ta you joiks. I never talk to nobody. S'how I woik see. Keep yer eyes down an yer yap shut. See all, hear all, say shit. S'wad I do. An I do it real good too. I survived here for near thoity guddam years. An I'll survive anudder thoity.

Back the fuck away from me ya prick! I done tole you I'll bite da fuckin eyeballs right outcha stupid head if ya fuck wit me!

How much?

Cash or check?

Pussy too?

Hey, I tink we can do bidniss bro.

(The tape stops, then restarts.)

Hi, my name is Goliath. I'm a dwarf - don't ever call me a midget or you're in for one fucken bad day. Oh, an I's black too. I wuz born in Chi-town - a regulah South Side Johnny - exceptin mah name's Goliath. That wuz mah Daddy's idea, dat Goliath shit. Goliath was a big mothafuckah from da bible. I's juss a runt from Illinois, where dudes don't wear shoes and chicks get noivous real easy. Noivous as in spookified.

Da Goliath ting wuz mah daddie's idea of a joke. It wuz his way of tellin it ta da woild how it really is, an dat he had a sense a humor. Da sumbitch may ver well've bin a womaniser, a pimp, a drug dealer, a ho shepherd, an ass bandit, a wife beater, a liquor swillin, bad ass sumbitch mothafuckin A-one G Man jailbird dick swingin junkie, but he was real proud of his sense of humor.

Po ole Daddy. He daid now a course. He wuz fuckin one o' his hoes up da ass on da rooftop when he musta pushed too hard. Him an da ho fell offa da roof into da alley. Dey found da bodies da nex day an pieced togidder what happen dat night. Cop done tole me dey looked contentified - apart from da chunks da hobo cannibals sliced off fo supper. Dey nevvah did find Daddie's Johnson. Pity, dat. Daddy ain't goin be no happy bunny down dere in dat Hell joint, wit alla dem hornified hoes shakin' ass an him wit only a fingah ta do da bidniss.

Momma got kilt too. She died on da bus. I done tole da dumbassed bitch when she stole da mothafuckin bus ta lookit for roadblocks. She wuz one hard-headed blowhard woman. A cop who wuz dere tole me it wuz jess like Bonnie an fuckin Clive - or whatever da dude's name wuz. Dem good ole boys done shot my momma tree hunnert times. An den some more fo da fun ah watchin whit wuz left a her body doin' da spastic dance.

S'how I finished up on da street. Da streets in Chi town is unfogivin man. Dey don't fogive sheeit. Anyways, it's kinda hard bein a career criminal when you a couple inches shy o four foot tall. People jess don't take youse serious. I stuck some dude up an shot da fucker seven times - an dat Mothahfuchah dint stop laughin like a fuckin drain till he expiriated. Da prick.

So I felled in wit da wrong crowd. In my neighborhood, ya couldn't find da right crowd. Dey musta bin hidin or some such shit. Weren't no good though. Ma homies were pretty fuckin shitty crooks. Da cops got em one by one, one way or anudder till dey wuz jess me left. I knowed I couldn'of made it solo, so I played the Loony Card. And here I is. A inmate of da craziest fuckin loop da loop farm in North America...

GOLIATH ON THE MOORVIEW INSTITUTE

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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