I have GOT to stop hanging out with Black People.Submitted by Cracked_out_cali at 2006-09-03 15:30:19 EDT
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*The following took place on August 30th*
Clark, my token black friend, had invited me to a party being put on by a friend of his. Before I even considered it, I asked what I figured to be a valid question…
“So, is this a Black Party?”
“What? What do you mean by that?”
“You know what the Hell I mean by that. I’m not down with being the only white dude at one of your crazy Negroid parties.”
“No, the girl throwing it is, like, Filipino or something. I don’t know. But there will be minimal black.”
“Well, since you put it that way, I’m in.”
Clark, his roommate Andre and I arrived at this house around 10pm. It didn’t take long for me to realize that these people were definitely NOT Filipino, but rather Samoan.
I’m not sure how many of you have had any experience in dealing with Samoans, but I grew up with a slew of them. Samoans are a lot like pit-bulls. They are big, mean, and just when you think they are cool with you, something in their head snaps and they try to bite your face off. And if you get on the bad side of just one, you will end up dealing with all of them.
I made it a point to pretty much mind my own business at the party. I played it safe and made minimal small talk and avoided eye contact with anyone the whole night. At around 2 in the morning, the three of us decide to leave.
As we walk down the street to Clark’s car, we all catch a glimpse at a girl leaning against a light pole, talking on her phone. She was dressed somewhat Hooker-ish, and Andre, being Andre, took it upon himself to ‘spit some game’.
“Hey baby. What’s good?”
She glances at us for about a second, and then turns around.
“Bitch, don’t pretend you didn’t hear me!”
And that’s when it happened. Out of nowhere, this very large, very angry Samoan comes charging up to us. He had to be about 6-foot-8, and over 400 pounds. I’m a pretty big guy, but he made me nearly piss myself. He gets right in Andre’s face, and in horribly broken English says,
“Fucking Niggers leave my cousin alone, or I kill you.”
Clark, fueled up with liquid courage, pushes the man as hard as he can. The Samoan doesn’t even budge. Then Andre opens up his jacket, revealing the pistol shoved down the front of his pants.
“What you gonna do, you pineapple eating mu-fucka?”
That was my cue to keep on walking to the car. The Samoan leaves and walks back to the party. We get in Clark’s car and take off. The whole ride back, I’m telling them how fucking retarded it is to cross a Samoan. We were stopped at a red light when a huge white truck comes to a screeching halt to the right of the car, just outside my window.
“Hey you Niggers! You die now!”
Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed at how funny his choice of words were. But once I saw him point his gun at our car, I knew this wasn’t a normal situation. Quickly, I reached down the side of my seat and lifted the lever, reclining back all the way. That is when he started firing.
The only way to describe the sound within the car is to imagine firecrackers going off in a steel drum. I edged as close to the inside of the door as I could, hoping the sheet metal of a Monte Carlo could stop a bullet at point blank.
I am huddled in the fetal position; Clark had jumped out the driver’s side before the firing had even started .Andre leans on top of me from the back seat and begins to return fire. The weight of his body is grinding the broken window glass into my face, but I ignore it since he would now take any shots that would have hit me.
After what seemed like an eternity, but only about 10 seconds, the truck speeds off down the street. My face is on fire from the cuts, but other than that, the three of us come out unscathed.
Since that night, quite a bit has happened. None of us were charged with anything. The police rightfully claim it was self defense, but since there is no proof of who shot first, they can’t charge the Samoan guy with attempted murder. As far as the police are concerned, I am out of the picture.
The military on the other hand, aren’t going to let me forget about this anytime soon. I have had 7 visits from the Office of Special Investigations. They are trying to twist this to make it look like I am in a gang. I was forced to turn over my permit to carry concealed weapons, “Just in case something like this happens again”, they say.
My commander has also said that it would ‘behoove’ me to no longer hang out with enlisted guys.
Well, maybe the black ones, anyways…
And because everybody likes pretty pictures...here is a brief walkthrough of what happened.
Okay so that last part didnt happen_but it wouldnt had surprised me.jpg