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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Damn bad reputation counts 500 plus paw whet tick stints The following fictitious poetic vignette attempts a feeble tale of one ordinary day in life of anonymous miscreant. "I don't give a damn about my bad reputation." I haint never done nobody no harm, nor did any animals (code word for other gang members) get injured or killed in the making of a video (our lingo for done deal). A decoy police officer (one named Sergeant Smart) pretended to be a drug dealer. Turf wars made clear the domain each mini kingpin oversaw. Our base, which included drop outs, whose parents did not give a fig whether their son lived or died (got pitiless date with death) drove motive to act truant or commit a serious violation warranting expulsion generated a buzzing business for social services field attending minors. Thus here we were at our "den", when this officer (dressed in plain clothes) wanted some (even just a dab) smack. One badass dude of this pack nicknamed "Hen Owes" usually tried to "sniff" out trickery when a new bro showed up out of nowhere. Me and the boys could “feel vibes”, and sense an infiltrator, sleuth, or simply traitor, (which last mentioned a real impish whinny ninny), when we immediately see him. Between ourselves, we exchanged specific non verbal signals if someone ratted on us. Thar haint nuttin worse getting duped. A posse member (if found out got pole axed for revenge). Usually the beans already spilled with a caper on our tail, but the ragamuffin who tattled would pay with his life. At this instance, I felt trapped. No doubt flaunting law groupthink and figurative cohesiveness exhibited obvious signs of defeat. Once no escape in the cards, each "coyote" barked, howled, and jabbered like any other teenage punk when outsmarted by authority decorated figure head honcho. A hair brained simultaneous idea lit up all our brains too kill this menacing enforcer of the law. As if on cue, the beefiest beastie boy sucker punched, and pistol whipped, and kicked in the groin this pisser, who lied thru his teeth. They all did! We knew that. The unmarked car the mutilated body mortally wounded with a couple/few token gunshots for good measure got stuffed in the trunk of the vehicle. Already headquarters triggered the slain global positioning satellite to track location of this rookie. We subsequently found out, he attended the same hell hole high school some years before we plugged, plotted, planned to bomb the damn building to kingdom come. Since the moniker "bad company" linkedin to every f**k'n trouble maker and threat to other students in general and homicidal maniacal reputation in particular, thus gave us bragging (cachet damn reputation) rights in this underground world wide web of all gory blood lust and violence. Live to be freely mean and die, or a nasty, short and brutish life found most every day a shooting gallery. A temporary bond meant nothing, (or meeting the barrel of a gun) if a turncoat wielded a loose silky tongue spoiling opportunities to mow down another body.
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