Below is a revived Yard post I made early in my Chimpin’ career which was unfortunately lost during the Great Chimpout Server Crash of 2012: A Day of InfamyTM episode. What follows is my recollection of the events as they transpired on that idyllic day; I will try to stay as faithful to the original iteration as best I can (with the associated commentary), but time and events since have conspired to deny me clarity in revisiting the story.
I was initially hesitant to post this again, but a conversation in another thread http://www.chimpout.com/forum/showth...OCHonegro-Here convinced me otherwise. So, back by popular demand (which means exactly one singular person asked for it ), I give you: The Jeep and The Hooptee. (Warning: this is 5 minutes of your life you will never, ever get back)
Act I – A perfect coincidence
I’m on my way to work this humid Florida morning when I decide to stop off at a Kangaroo convenience store/gas station to fill up my Jeep. Whenever I fill up, I always like to use the outer filling stations among the fuel islands-- that way I can quickly pull in, fill up, then get the hell outta there without having to dodge pedestrians and drivers vying for the closest parking spots near the store entrance. When I pull into the filling area at the end island, I see this mid 80s purplish hooptee (Nissan/Toyota make two-door, I guess) with dark tinted windows parked very close to the pump I want to use, but fueling from the pump opposite. The vehicle is damn near blocking both spaces and I’m thinking to myself “Who the fuck parks their car like this to fill up?!?!” My question is immediately answered when I pull in closer and notice there is calligraphic writing across the rear windshield which reads R.I.P. D’Shaun 1988-2008 or something like that. What is it with niggers that they have to broadcast their epitaphs bemoaning the loss of their very special nigger to the world in such ludicrous fashion? Fucking spooks…
Anyway, the hooptee is parked so far away from the fuel island that the filling hose is stretched tighter than a rope on a Mississippi Wind Chime. I’m thinking this may be the opportune time to teach a nigger a lesson and get some laughs in the process, so I pull my Jeep Wrangler in very close to the driver’s side of the hooptee, leaving me just enough room to comfortably fill my tank but at the same time preventing the driver’s door of the hooptee from being opened (see sketch below).
jeep vs hooptee.jpg
This is actually the original sketch. An absolute miracle I found it still on my phone SD card. Notice there is less than 1 foot clearance between hooptee driver door and Jeep right rear quarter panel. Store entrance is to the top right of the sketch, about 50 feet away. - not to scale-
My parking scheme is just plausible enough to make it appear that my intention was merely to fill my own tank and not necessarily to prevent the other driver from leaving. Now, I don’t normally go looking for trouble, but am very much prepared in the event it does arise. I have my concealed .45 autoloader on me and if faced with a coonfrontation with some uppity nigger who means me violence, then I am fully prepared to ventilate in self-defense. This is semi-important information later explained in the story.
I shut off my Jeep and exit the driver’s side, being sure to lock the two doors beforehand. I walk back to the fuel fill cap on my Jeep and then swipe my credit card at the gas pump and begin the filling process. As I’m doing this, I can now see through my side rear windows that there is no one in the hooptee, or anyone near the car. I figure the nigger has gone inside to pay with cash, since the only credit cards niggers have are those of the stolen variety. This is perfect for me, since it now allows me to leave my vehicle there for as long as possible while I go inside to “get smokes or something”. I have no real intention of buying anything—I just need to go inside so that I am away from my vehicle. I walk behind my Jeep toward the rear of the hooptee and survey the scene with an evil glee. There is no fucking way that driver’s door is getting opened more than 10 to 12 inches before being stopped by my rear bumper. I walk on behind the hooptee and study the license plate in case I will need to remember it for later. Then I saunter off to the front entrance of the store (about 50 feet away) while my gas is still pumping.
Upon entering the store, I notice an obese nigger sow at the front counter speaking to the clerk, a human female in her late thirties/early forties. She (YT clerk) has an unpleasant look upon her face, like most any sane human would have when forced to extend customer service to a subhuman rape ape murder monkey. We make brief eye contact in a southern acknowledgment kinda way before I turn and begin walking toward one of the closer merchandise aisles. I stop close enough that I will be able to hear any conversation at the cash register and keep an eye on the nigger. There are two other older YT males near the back of the store at the refrigerated drinks section, with no one else in sight. I correctly assumed that the hooptee must belong to the nigger sow. So while I’m feigning interest in an item on the shelf, I turn my head slightly so that I can see the register clearly. The sow is fumbling in her pocket before pulling out a crumpled up wad of bills. The clerk has just placed a pack of Marlboro Reds on the counter for her. I thought niggers always smoked menthols, gnomesane? Anyway, the sow also has a 72 ounce fountain drink with her, and she’s slurping on that straw pretty loudly. The sow hands the clerk the wad of cash and the clerk’s facial expression turns into that of slight disgust because she has to now separate the bills to count them. I look over the aisle racks and see through the large floor-to-ceiling exterior windows that two more vehicles have pulled into the filling area at the near end of the store entrance. Glancing further sideways, I can still see my Jeep and the hooptee at the far end of the pumps. I then approach the counter as the sow collects her goods and begins exiting the store.
Meanwhile, the two YT gentlemen at the back of the store have now moved closer to where I originally waited when monitoring the sow at the counter. I can see the clerk is still somewhat agitated and so I want to break the ice and make her feel comfortable so that I get good service, as a human always should. “Hello,” I politely say. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were having a hard time with your last customer. Here’s some good news that should cheer you up. Just watch outside.” That last part I said loud enough for everyone in the store to hear. At this same time, two more YT men enter the store from the parking lot and they are some rough-looking farmers who I immediately recognize as raycists (my raydar is especially acute, btw), and they clearly heard my statement to the clerk. As is southern custom, we purposefully make eye contact and give a slight nod of the head to one another. Only when I did it, I also motioned my neck and head toward the far gas pumps and raised my eyebrows. Their natural inclination was to look at what I was pointing out. Now the fun begins…
Intermission (this would be a good time to finish your coffee and clear your desk/lap of any items that may be damaged)
Act II – Does OCH have a conscience?
The sow is now waddling slowly back to her hooptee, fumbling with her smokes and sail foam in her purse with one hand and holding her hefty drink with the other. The time is approximately 7:30am and, this being Florida, it’s already 85 degrees outside and fucking humid as a jungle.
I turn back to the clerk and notify her as well to firmly affix her attention on the storefront window. The two YT men who just entered walk near the other two YT men and I move near them now, into a position that allows us all an unencumbered view of the scene about to unfold outside. From our vantage point, we can clearly see everything. But there are some stacked unopened boxes of merchandise right near the main wide window which obscure our presence when viewed from outside. The smile on my face is starting to become noticeable at this point, as I am well aware of what’s about to go down. The other YTs are now asking “What’s going on? What are we looking at?” The sow is about half way to the hooptee (I told you this bitch was walking slow…it’s fucking hot outside and she weighs close to 250) when I tell the fellow humans what I did. They all chuckle a bit and then I implore them to “Just keep watching. This should be good.” So now there are 6 YTs in the store laughing among themselves at this gangly beast waddling back to her hooptee. A full fucking minute of slow nigger shuffle has passed when she finally places her 72 ouncer on the passenger side roof of her car. She removes the fuel handle from her car and places it back in the pump, then walks around to the driver’s side and opens the door. Sorry, Nigger!!! This fat-ass bitch ain’t gettin’ in this car from this route, that’s for damn sure! She immediately looks around with that simian confusion we all recognize as if to find someone to complain to so that her situation is resolved without her being required to submit effort. Not gonna happen this time, nigger. The sow then slams her door shut in a rage and waddles around to the driver’s side of my Jeep, I guess in the hopes that I will magically appear there and politely move it for her. When that routine fails, we hear this beast then roar “muddahfucken crackuh!!!” clearly, even with her being behind my Jeep… from 50 feet away… and through a large glass window. This bitch was some kinda pissed!
My eyes are filled with tears at this point and it is taking every ounce of energy I have to stop from doubling over on the floor from laughing. The other YTs in the store are laughing out loud now as well. She then reappears from behind my Jeep and tries to open her driver’s door again. Jebus, what a fucking idiot. She half-heartedly attempts to slide in through the comparatively small opening, but it’s no fucking use. She slams the door closed once again, and then makes her way back around the back of her car and peers quizzically toward us YTs in the store. We all instinctively duck back at that moment though (I’d realize this a little later) there was no way she could see us through the window from her position. She wipes the sweat which is dripping from her fat ugly face and proceeds to collapse on her ass on the hood of her car. The beast is spent and that 3 minutes has really taken its toll. Only one thing to do now: get on the sail foam and call her Boo to come kick some YT ass. At least, that’s what I’m hoping she’s doing, because there would be nothing I would like more at this moment than to be put in my place by an unarmed nigger. Whoever she’s talking to is getting an earful, that’s for sure, as her arms are flying every which way with every ook and eek like she’s slinging poo in her cage back home. After another full minute she’s finally done screaming at the phone, but she’s still pushing buttons on it and gazing intently at its screen. She’s getting pretty riled up based on her body language, and when she reaches into her purse for her cigarettes, they fall on the ground into a puddle of nasty water in the asphalt. So now she is not only suffering the indignity of a cruel, heartless (AND racist) YT playing a joke on her, she’s also jonesing hard for a smoke (which she ain’t gonna get) to calm her nerves. I decide then that I will have to leave this store at some point and eventually coonfront the nigger, so now’s as good a time as any. I bid farewell to my new still-laughing friends and exit the front door.
Act III - Checkmate
Discretion is the better part of valor, it is often said. And nowhere is that more important than when dealing with a potential raging she-boon. I haven’t really put much thought in to what I will say to this feral nigger when she eventually chimps out on me, but I’m not terribly worried, since I am armed. I take a few steps out the door and then I grab my sail foam and put it to my ear, so as to leave the impression that I am in deep conversation with someone. I take my sweet-ass time walking back toward my Jeep, and at about the halfway mark, I “accidentally” drop my keys on the pavement. It takes me absolutely forever to find them , and when I finally do, I have to be deliberately slow in picking them up since I don’t want to pull a muscle in my back. When I stand back up, I glance rearward toward the YTs in the storefront window. They know exactly what I am doing and are laughing even harder than before. God bless their hearts.
Meanwhile, the chimptress is sweating profusely sitting on that hot ass hood. I’m getting closer and closer to her walking with my head down but still observing her when I decide to raise my sail foam voice to where it will be unmistakably clear for her to hear:
“Yes, officer, I’m still at the store right now.”
“Yes, officer, I am willing to make a sworn statement.”
“Yes, officer, I will be waiting here at the gas pumps when you arrive shortly.”
The nigger sow gets the message: there is a police officer on his way over to the store. At. This. Very. Moment. Speculating that she might have warrants was a good decision on my part, because in the time it took me to walk the last 15 feet toward her hooptee, she hopped off that hood, opened the passenger door, climbed in, and made her way over to the driver’s seat. That was a particularly impressive for feat for a nasty fat-ass sow, I must admit. She cranked up the car and left tire marks on the pavement as she tore like a bat out of hell out of the gas station. The best part? She forgot her Big Slurp 72 ounce fountain drink on the roof of her car and it spilled everywhere when she took off.
Some days it’s just great to be alive.
-Dr. Octavius Charles Honegro IV, CRC
Afro-Centric Incarceration Studies,
NU, North Florida Campus
NOT Sent from my Sail Foam using TapaNigga2