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Episode 87 — Whitmer Thomas and Clay Tatum, Our Close Friend

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you guys I forgot my original GGBZ name isn't there a wiki or some shit for this now wtf

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I am not familiar with the gangland rulz here.

- Who does GGBZ beef wit?

- Do you have colors?

- Are you an organized crew that offers a safe space to vulnerable forumers and promote an ideal of family/loyalty only to exploit that loyalty into making them pawns in criminal enterprises with the profits disproportionally skewed towards the OGs (original gargoyles) and forcing young gargoyles to live with their moms?

- Is it blood in blood out?

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what are the qualifications for induction. if it's killing a guy i've got that

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@Houston

 

I'm also not familiar with the specified information. I think it'd be helpful if the gangz was compared to another gang I've heard of, either real or fictional, like MS13, the Barksdale crew from The Wire, or Mad Drama, one of the gangs in my hometown.

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The clock struck 9:53, setting off the chimes of a new day. The moon shone down on a city rooftop, where Cobra Pentecost admired his reflection in the mirror. From his aviators, to his bape sweatshirt, down to his worn leather combat boots, he knew he looked good. Tonight was the night, he thought. Summer Jam 2006. It's really happening. Busta, Mobb Deep, Three Six Mafia, Sean Paul, Chris Brown, all at one show. He checked his swiss army backpack for all of the essentials.

"Yup, they're all here."

He had everything that was needed, Black and Milds, Cotton Candy Tru Blunt blunt wraps, and a bottle of Strawberry Kiwi MD 20/20. He felt alive for the first time in months. Shaking off the dust of his 9-5 job at Tuesday Morning, he was ready to unwind with his fellow Gargoyle Boyz.

 

The door swung open, revealing the most handsome face he had ever seen. It was his partner-n-crime, Gremlack Prunk. His handsomeness stunned Cobra for a second, as it did every time he looked into those deep blues.

"Tonight's the night, Coby. Summer Jam 06 is finally here. Busta, Mobb Deep, Three Six--",

"They know," interrupted Cobra.

Cobra reached into his pocket and pulled out a Black and Mild. The smoke curled around his face he opened his mouth and shaped it into an O before puffing out a shapeless cloud of smoke.

"I did it earlier, I swear." He tried to save face as he embarrassed himself in front of Gremlack, like he always had. Gremlack knew his looks were intimidating, so he always admired Cobra's attempts to prove himself.

"I believe you bud." Gremlack smiled before he gave Cobra a pat on the back. "Now let's get out of here, Summer ain't gonna Jam itself!"

The pair gave each other a nod of understanding and headed towards the fire escape. What they saw stopped them dead in their tracks. Over by the ladder stood a man who could only be described as recklessly handsome. From his flip-flops, to his board shorts, and higher yet to his puka shell necklace, he looked out of place in the rustic landscape. The Boyz looked at him, then to each other. A sigh was let out by Gremlack, only then did Cobra realize the trouble they were in. The Swamp Baby Surfers had found their hideout, and they wanted vengeance.

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Yeah good stories guys. So...I'm in the gargoyle boys now, right? Seems like a good fit for me. I can send you a copy of my resume or whatever. Just let me know. Cool.

 

Full disclosure: I do have offers from the goblin guys, the van buren boys, Sasquatch squad, friends of Frankingsteins, the skelington crew, mummy mafia, children of the corn boyz, the Polter-guys,,and the babadooks of hazard

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Shit holands I havent seen moves like that since the Tony Hawk Boom Boom Mini-Huck Jam in '04. I think you have some serious talent and if I were still in the game I'd offer anything to sign you. You might have what it takes to put Tech Decking back on the map.

 

 

edit: As for this gargoyles thing going on, I was much more a fan of dark wing duck, but i guess gargoyles was cool too.

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Lets see.. Guys, are you looking at this kids scouting report?

 

6'9 with a 7' wingspan. His ball handling is superb for his size and he's definitely a 2-way player with a defensive mindset. He can shoot the lights out if he's hot. I really think his length will make up for what he doesnt have in lateral quickness and vertical. He's still a young guy. He's a good guy overall... But he's not perfect. He's got some African in him. And I dont say that in a bad way.

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Honlads you could put literally anything in that video and my nostalgia would force me to like your post for that song alone. Skaters rule!

 

EAdBJgA.gifVK0oR3P.gif

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"...I was stoned. That's the last thing that I remember." Gremlack Prunk said to the officers in the alley out back of the police station.

 

"You sunnuvabitch, Prunk, you're high right now?!" Officer McNally delivered a swift kick to Gremlack's ribs and it hurt like the dickens but Prunk was known for his tenacity and would never let on that he was in pain.

 

"Easy, McNally. Don't rough him up too much" said Officer Crowder, "this asshole is our only shot of taking down the rest of the Gargoyle Boyz. Now we need to know, Prunk, are you high?" Gremlack grimaced and spit some blood out onto the ground taking care to make sure some got on McNally's loafers.

 

"Nah. Being stoned is what happens when the boyz go into recon mode you stupid fukkin pig ass scum." McNally looked over at Crowder for the go-ahead sign. Crowder returned the glance than brought his eyes down to Prunk. He was staring right back at him from the ground. His eyes were steely and icy blue. It was like looking into a glacier and goddamnit it if Crowder didn't feel a shiver fall down his spine. Crowder couldn't help but shudder and look back at McNally giving him a small nod of approval. McNally cracked his knuckles and took to beating the everliving fuck out of Gremlack. Officer McNally was shouting "WHERE ARE THE REST OF THE BOYZ?! WE KNOW YOU WERE WITH PENTECOST AND BAGGINZ?!? WHERE IS HARDALL?? HOW DID YOU ESCAPE THE EXPLOSION IN CENTRE CITY?!" Crowder had to pull McNally off of the bruised and bloodied thug before he killed the man. Gremlak looked like Jared Leto after Brad Pitt beat the shit out of him in Fight Club.

 

There was silence for a few seconds and then the two Officers heard a few hideous laughs escape from Prunk's mouth. Crowder looked down at the man in confusion as his laughing got louder and more intense. "What the fuck is so funny?" McNally asked. Prunk stopped laughing and looked up at the officers. Flashing a toothy grin he said, "I just couldn't help but admire the architecture of your police station, gentleman." Prunk continued to laugh and Crowder looked back at the building quizzically. As his eyes moved upward he couldn't help but notice that adorning the top of the station were 5 gargoyles that, as he could recall, were never there before. Crowder turned back around to find the Gremlak Prunk was no longer laying on the ground and in his place was McNally. His throat had been slit. Crowder felt a sharp pain in his side and his whole body had gone numb. He felt a hand cover his mouth and hot breath on his neck as he heard the words whispered into his ears, "The Boyz are back in town."

 

Crowder slowly fell to the ground and looked up at the building that he devoted 27 years of his life working in. As his eyes slowly closed to begin the sweet sleep of death, he observed that the five gargoyles were no longer on the roof. Six shadows now fell over his limp body as the blood poured out...the boyz were indeed back in town.

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Damn I didn't know we were murdering cops, that's dope.

 

Karlor Kimble

The Gargoyle Boyz

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"Aw c'mon, I told ya he wouldn't come!" lowercase g whined, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

 

"He'll show." Cobra Pentecost said gruffly, flipping a tech deck half-mindendly between his deft fingers. The two were only lit by the light from a flickering street light diffusing through the thick midnight fog, and lowercase g's Samsung Galaxy Note screen. The screen is so large yet still such a high resolution. It buzzed intermittingly as the two's patience continued to wane. They were group texts from most of the other gang members: Gremlack Prunk, Bozo Baggins, Hardall Knight, Stone Face/Entire Body Killa. The notifications increased; the gang was eager for this rendezvous.

 

I didn't know all their names. I had only signed up for the forums like a few episodes ago so I was really trying to piece this all together. Also, would my overuse of adverbs in that second paragraph cost me some likes? I was just trying to set a fuckin scene. Editing the wiki didn't have this much pressure...

 

My gaze shifted from the rearview I had been watching the two in. I took a drag on my rad fuckin vape rig and exhaled. The entire cab of the 1975 Pinto Wagon filled with the sweet vapor. I turned the keys in the ignition and flipped on the lights of the car.

 

lowercase g noticed the red lights from the taillights and elbowed Cobra as they turned. One of the taillights didn't work because I had a hatchet hanging out of it. I had painstakingly restored this ride to match the one Rob Corddry had in episode 24. And yeah, I fucked it.

 

My large heavily modified vape rig hung from my lips.

 

"Nnnaaya kee i werrr" I called to them, leaning on the back bumper now.

 

"The fuck did you just say!?" Cobra growled. As they advanced down the narrow alleyway, lowercase g dragged his claws along the bricks. I steeled myself from cringing. Cobra kicked an aluminum trashcan lid. I hid my flinch by very cooly bumping my fist downards onto the trunk. It rose, dramatically.

 

Big ol puff. Exhale. The gold light emitting from the trunk illuminating my massive rad vapor cloud.

 

"I said," pointing the mouthpiece to the pair as they stopped just inside the ring of light from the trunk. "Nevada keeps his word."

 

"Now I heard you and your little friendos wanted some mods?" I said in the Adam DeVine voice from episode 19. I was new in town, but I've heard their goddamn show. I wrote the lion's share of the fuckin wiki on it.

 

"Oh hell yeah!!" lowercase g cried, excitedly rushing forward to try and get a peek at the wares. Cobra snatched at him, chiding him.

 

"You know commercially available vape pens leave a lot to be desired," Cobra muttered. Flp flp went the tech deck. Flp flp fl. The deck didn't catch in his fingers like normal. Did I have them rattled?

 

"There are two types of mods, regulator mods and mechanical mods. You lot probably want the regulators," I grabbed the blue plastic container from the trunk without turning my back on them. Their reputation preceded them.

 

"These are a lot safer than the mechanical mods, but is probably a big step up from the e-cigarettes--" lowercase g scoffed audibly at the mention "and even vape pens."

 

"No." Cobra scowled.

 

"I-- guys, You can't mean. The mechanical mods. They're not for sale"

 

"Those are the ones we want."

 

***

I explained the difference between an RDA (rebuildable dripping atomizer) and RBA (rebuildable atomizer), the most obvious benefits of an RBA over an RDA being that you can use it all day long without having to constantly add ejuice. RBAs have a tank that you can fill with ejuice so you can vape for longer periods of time between refills. An RDA requires that you drip the ejuice onto the wicks to vape. The biggest benefit of using an RDA is that you can easily switch flavors. This is a big benefit for those that have e-juice “flavor ADD”, or those testing out new flavors. Some say that you can actually get better flavor from an RDA, but most people say that the flavor you get out of an RDA is very similar to an RBA, because they are essentially very similar in functionality. The only difference is that RBAs have tank for ejuice.

 

They nodded knowingly. I've given this talk before, to forum gangs all over the continent. Lurkers. Gang bangers. I knew how to handle myself. Didn't make no difference to me.

 

They bought my whole stock.

 

***

 

"Ya know, Nevada, if we like your product, we mays or may not be recruitin'" lowercase g mentioned as they moved to exit the alley the way they had entered.

 

"Ha. Ya see, a guy like me? I'm a businessman. An independent contractor. Think of me... like the Collector from the end of Guardians of the Galaxy. And uh.. Thor 2 wasn't it? Yeah they gave him Loki's staff or some shit. "

 

I started laughing softly as lowercase g looked up at Cobra, utterly befuddled. Everyone jumps at the chance to go 'goyle. I took a puff off my Advanced Personal Vaporizer or APV.

 

"wha wha wha" they stammered. I kept inhaling. Big ol massive inhale. I was in choir in high school so I knew about breathing with the diaphragm. Feel your chest and stomach expand.

 

I bellowed the massive cloud of vapor. The two dang lightweights started couging as the exhaust from the Pinto mingled with it as I peeled out of the alleyway back onto the streets.

 

I had to go argue with StanSitwell in the Who Charted forums about hip hop.

 

....They'll be back

 

EDIT: o ya lowercase g should be Harv'd Lamb-Poon now. Guess greggy changed his GGBZ name from the episode 45 days

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It was a warm evening. Retirement.... that would be sweet. It's getting close, but he knew the cliches well enough to think about the exact timeframe as that was a known taboo. The ones who make it do so by their wits, luck, or selling their soul to the darkness that descended upon this city. He wanted to believe it was his wits that guided him to a long career on the force, but he was an honest man. Sure, he got an award once. That kind of recognition builds confidence, but in the mean streets a trophy in your hand is only good for crushing skulls. Hell, the presidents even read one of his questions to the pope. It was luck that he had.

 

Last week it looked like it might guide him through to the end. After the deaths of Crowder and McNally he knew..... luck is for children and simpletons. Yet, he knew that luck more than wits would see him through now. McNally's death a relief. He was a monster. Like that dr who made that patchwork scary man. Crowder though.... damn..... that one stings. He just had a kid. Looking through their case files he couldn't find anyone who might have a vendetta against them. It didn't make sense. Two cops. Killed. Witnesses are spouting gibberish about winged demons, but that is just a legend. Those aren't real.

 

JUMP CUT

 

His nose fills with sulfur. It is a smell from hell. He's never smelled it before, but he knew it instantly. The boyz are back. They also signed their name in the brick wall with their acid urine. As an honest man he admitted that helped. Their pen15menship was flawless.

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*clink clink*

 

A couple of coins landed in the filthy, disgusting hobos cup. "thanks asshole" the hobo muttered as he watched the man with the popped jacket collar stride along the dark city streets. He saw him spit a toothpick from his mouth as he passed underneath a streetlight.

 

The hobo knew the streets. He had seen thousands of people walk by, listened to their conversations, smelled their axe body spray. This one was different. He lacked the care-free, happy wanderer vibe that the hobo knew all too well. Something was weighing on this guy. He wasn't living in the same blissful ignorance that most of the morons in the city enjoyed.

 

The hobo reached into his shopping cart and pulled out an iphone 7. "Siri, call Tiny Kev". "are you sure?" asked Siri. "just do what I ask Siri, I'm not having this argument again" replied The Hobo.

 

"who is this?" Tiny Kev answered the phone.

 

"This is the call you've been waiting for" said the voice on the other end of the line.

 

"how did you get this number? this is a burner phone. I just bought it an hour ago".

 

"Good." said the voice, "Unfortunately for you, you're going to have to buy another one immediately after this call."

 

Tiny Kev's breathing became shallow. Sweat formed on his brow. He had heard stories about this back in the clubhouse, but didn't think he would ever get this call.

 

"put on your fanciest wifebeater, you're headed to Chateau Marmont. It's time."

 

CLICK

 

Tiny Kev, hands shaking, fumbled in his pockets to find his trusty blunt lighter and proceeded to burn the sim card on his burner phone.

 

Things were about to change for the Gargoyle Boyz.

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I was recently having a debate with my friend about whether or not Keebler's fudge mint cookies were a complete rip-off of the Girl Scouts thin mints. Now that was a Petty argument.

 

I'd wansn ha VB ing Ana arsubment 2isbt myau friennd abfoht "I won't back down" nownd thakt washt a Petty arguamend

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Sometimes I wonder where in the hell all of this foruming is leading me. Obviously it's not leading me anywhere, but I just wonder whether I'll just get too busy to post here someday or if I'll have to make a conscious choice to stop or if the show or Earwolf itself will meet its demise before I get tired of posting here. All good things must come to an end, I suppose, but it will be a truly sad day when I no longer have the ability or the will to come moor my boat in the Hollywood Handbook harbor. I can't imagine saying goodbye to the friendly harbormasters, Sean and Hayes, or to my fellow captains I've met while in port here over the years. It's become a home for me, this place has. A place to go and make jokes but mostly to brag about my non-accomplishments in hopes of pissing off someone enough to make them comment on it. The idea that someday I will no longer choose or be able to do this saddens me deeply.

 

Love you all,

Chanson

 

This concludes tired moments of deep introspection and convoluted nautical metaphors with Chanson.

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