Suddenly, something hits you.
These black kings were just talking about.. white women.
Their preference for white women.
How they want to BLACK snowbunnies.
Snowbunnies like your wife.
Overcome by soy ecstasy, you stop all train of thought and begin farting violently to the thought of nigger dicks.
…Or that’s what you would do, if you didn’t have self control, and more importantly, shame.
Instead, you do your best to banish the urge from your mind.
All at once, you are interrupted from your inner war by something whizzing past your head.
A bullet.
A heckin’ bullet.
You cower in terror, clutching the AK like a liferaft.
^GET BLASTIN’ NIGGAS!
Big Samson bellows, grabbing a rifle with both his hands, a third hand coming up from under his shirt to grip the steering wheel. Wait, what? A third hand? How did you not notice that before?
Tyrone stares at the arm. He isn’t shocked, so you can assume he’s familiar with it, but still intrigued.
I’s been wondering, why you got those extra arms anyway?
Big Samson pauses for a moment before responding.
^My momma drank when she wuz havin’ me.
Nigga… You ain’t get no extra arms from booze.
^Whuteva mane. I jus’ tellin’ it how it be.
Jamal glances at Samson, blinking uncomprehendingly.
I… aight mane.
He quickly whips his head around to peek out the window, surveying the scene, and begins firing indiscriminately towards the police vehicles.
Lil Doorknob does similarly, but taking more leveled, precise shots. You’re surprised at just how steady he manages to be considering he’s holding the rifle in only one hand, clinging to the car with the other.
