Post by Skittlez on Jun 6, 2019 21:41:21 GMT -5
~Skittlez' crib is pretty sweet. Two story house, nice suburban life. The 24 year old aspiring hip hop artist was living real comfortable with his own room in his parent's middle class home. Nice cut lawn, two car garage, white pickett fence and the whole nine. The only eyesore at this house was Skittlez' hoopty that was parked on the street in front of the house cuz his dad would never let him park that shit in the driveway. It was a 1991 Geo Metro convertible......and it was yellow.~
~Up inside the crib Skittlez was up in his room practicing some sick verses to old school beats. His room looked like he made it that way when he was 16 and never changed it. Posters of Tupac and Biggie, Bone Thugs and fold outs from Word Up magazine. Also on his wall were posters of the best of the best in OCW's history. Mike Best, Alice Knight, MJ Bell, Perzag, Bob Grenier and the list goes on. Though in the center of all of these greats was a poster of Skittlez himself looking like it didn't belong. Skittlez stares at the poster that he'd had made up for himself and sighs, pep talking himself.~
Skittlez: One day homie. One day you gon' be there with all of em' fo' rill.
~While Skittlez was psyching himself up there is a knock as his door followed by it being opened by his father. His dad was an accountant in his late forties, balding with glasses and a 70's mustache. He was a thin man and he is wearing a suit and tie.~
Mister Pinklethorn: Martin, come downstairs please. Your mother and I need to speak with you.
~Skittlez freaks out as his dad uses his actual name. He didn't like being called by his real name, which was Martin Pinklethorn. You could see why he doesn't like it, it doesn't sound tough. Neither does Skittlez but you can't tell him that.~
Skittlez: Dad! Don't call me that! My name is Skittlez, yo!
~His dad shakes his head in disappointment and reaffirms that he wants to speak to his son. They go downstairs. Skittlez takes a seat on the couch as he sees his mom there waiting. His dad sighs and has a seat across from him~
Mister Pinklethorn: Son, your mother and I have been doing some thinking and, you need to get a job. You've been staying here with your .....your rap nonsense and that just isn't going to cut it.
Skittlez: I got a job! An' I'm on T.V. That's gettin' me exposure to the labels an' shit.
Mister Pinklethorn: Son, making seventy five dollars every few weeks to ... deliver newspapers is not something that is dependable for your future. What I'm trying to say is ...you can't live here with us forever.
Skittlez: So what, you kickin' me out? Ma?
Misses Pinklethorn: We love you honey. But you're going to have to grow up someday. We're just doing what's best for you.
Skittlez: What best fo' me? How you know what's best fo' me? I is an artist! How you gon' do me like this?
Mister Pinklethorn: Martin! You have until the end of the month to show us some kind of real paycheck or anything that shows us you're trying to better your life, or I'm sorry but you're going to have to move out.
Skittlez: Fine. You wanna see some paper. I got this. Skittlez gon' be a star! You gon' see dad, you gon' see!
~Skittlez storms upstairs in anger and grabs his backpack and a few items with his car keys. He angrily stomps back down the stairs and heads for the front door. He opens it and looks back at his parents once more.~
Skittlez: An' I got a fly ass job offer from a fly ass dime piece! Shawty da bomb diggy! You don' even KNOW! Skittlez gon' be representin'! I gots peeps from da OCW callin'!
~He slams the door shut behind him and takes off in his hoopty, which makes a bunch of noise as he drives off. His mother and father look at each other dumbfounded.~
Misses Pinklethorn: Did you understand any of what he just said?
Mister Pinklethorn: He's probably going to join a gang, dear.
Misses Pinklethorn: Well I do hope they're some nice boys.
~Fade~
~Up inside the crib Skittlez was up in his room practicing some sick verses to old school beats. His room looked like he made it that way when he was 16 and never changed it. Posters of Tupac and Biggie, Bone Thugs and fold outs from Word Up magazine. Also on his wall were posters of the best of the best in OCW's history. Mike Best, Alice Knight, MJ Bell, Perzag, Bob Grenier and the list goes on. Though in the center of all of these greats was a poster of Skittlez himself looking like it didn't belong. Skittlez stares at the poster that he'd had made up for himself and sighs, pep talking himself.~
Skittlez: One day homie. One day you gon' be there with all of em' fo' rill.
~While Skittlez was psyching himself up there is a knock as his door followed by it being opened by his father. His dad was an accountant in his late forties, balding with glasses and a 70's mustache. He was a thin man and he is wearing a suit and tie.~
Mister Pinklethorn: Martin, come downstairs please. Your mother and I need to speak with you.
~Skittlez freaks out as his dad uses his actual name. He didn't like being called by his real name, which was Martin Pinklethorn. You could see why he doesn't like it, it doesn't sound tough. Neither does Skittlez but you can't tell him that.~
Skittlez: Dad! Don't call me that! My name is Skittlez, yo!
~His dad shakes his head in disappointment and reaffirms that he wants to speak to his son. They go downstairs. Skittlez takes a seat on the couch as he sees his mom there waiting. His dad sighs and has a seat across from him~
Mister Pinklethorn: Son, your mother and I have been doing some thinking and, you need to get a job. You've been staying here with your .....your rap nonsense and that just isn't going to cut it.
Skittlez: I got a job! An' I'm on T.V. That's gettin' me exposure to the labels an' shit.
Mister Pinklethorn: Son, making seventy five dollars every few weeks to ... deliver newspapers is not something that is dependable for your future. What I'm trying to say is ...you can't live here with us forever.
Skittlez: So what, you kickin' me out? Ma?
Misses Pinklethorn: We love you honey. But you're going to have to grow up someday. We're just doing what's best for you.
Skittlez: What best fo' me? How you know what's best fo' me? I is an artist! How you gon' do me like this?
Mister Pinklethorn: Martin! You have until the end of the month to show us some kind of real paycheck or anything that shows us you're trying to better your life, or I'm sorry but you're going to have to move out.
Skittlez: Fine. You wanna see some paper. I got this. Skittlez gon' be a star! You gon' see dad, you gon' see!
~Skittlez storms upstairs in anger and grabs his backpack and a few items with his car keys. He angrily stomps back down the stairs and heads for the front door. He opens it and looks back at his parents once more.~
Skittlez: An' I got a fly ass job offer from a fly ass dime piece! Shawty da bomb diggy! You don' even KNOW! Skittlez gon' be representin'! I gots peeps from da OCW callin'!
~He slams the door shut behind him and takes off in his hoopty, which makes a bunch of noise as he drives off. His mother and father look at each other dumbfounded.~
Misses Pinklethorn: Did you understand any of what he just said?
Mister Pinklethorn: He's probably going to join a gang, dear.
Misses Pinklethorn: Well I do hope they're some nice boys.
~Fade~
