Jamaican Fugitives My name is Bijabugle Kwangintoo. Call me Bijjy. I'm going to tell you about my wonderful life. Just a month ago my life got very interesting. I turned on the radio to Hot 97 and heard a trivia question being asked. The question was very easy; it was "What year was Biggy Smalls born in?" They said that the prize was four tickets to an Icecube concert. I despise west coast rap, so I was about to not call. The concellation prize, however, was that the animal right activists got to have a meeting in your house. Hmmm. That had possibilities. If I could borrow a few poached heads from Ricardo Cruz, one of my good friends, and buy a fur coat, and maybe serve them double bacon cheeseburgers, then I could have the time of my life. Everybody that knows me well knows that I love doing things like that. One of my finest moments was when Z100 said that if you could guess what year Celine Dion was born in, you got a ticket and backstage passes to her concert. I called up and said, "Whenever it was, it was next to the devil. He sent her down to Earth to torment me with her terrible music." That certainly made the few psychotic Celine Dion fans very upset. Anyway, I called up Hot 97 and said "Hi, my name is Bijabugle Kwangintoo. Biggy was born in 1971."
"Yo, sorry, that's wrong. Biggy was born in '72. Better get your self ready for the animal rights activists." The animal rights activists were coming to my house.
"Hey, Ricky, can you spare me a couple of those animal heads of yours? You know, the stuffed ones you got hung on your wall?" I asked my friend Ricardo Cruz.
"Every time you ask to borrow something, Bijjy, you’re planning something… what have you gotten your self into, man?"
"Oh, I won a concellation prize on Hot 97. Animal rights activists are coming to my house. Figure I should redecorate… make an impression upon them, you know?"
"Bijjy, are you always gonna be this way?" "Probably. You see, I love stirring people up. This’ll do just that."
"Can't say you're wrong there. Okay, you can take a few of them. The bear, kangaroo, and moose's heads are by my TV. Bring 'em back tomorrow."
My next stop was my mother's apartment. I knocked on the door and yelled, "Hi! It's Bijjy!"
"Come on in! It's unlocked!" I walked into the apartment. "What do you want?" She demanded.
"Well, you know that fur coat of yours?"
"Yeah. What's it to you?"
"I need to borrow it."
"What?!!! Why you wanna wear a fur coat?”
"No. I won't explain my reasons to you. You'd get pissed… call me a goddamn anarchist or whatever you always do."
"I'm not giving it to you! I won’t let my son be a crossdresser!!"
"Crossdresser? That’s not why I want the coat! Here, I'll tell you what, I'll give you this week's paycheck from Cafe Francais." Much to my dismay, I'm a waiter at the most expensive French restaurant in town. It's fun sometimes, though, because I love being rude to all the pompous rich pricks who dine there. I know that within a few weeks I'll get fired.
"If you put it that way, here you go, but I’m not going to see you when you’re giving drag performances in Provincetown!” I gave her the money, and then my next stop was McDonalds.
"Ya orda' please." Said the cashier.
"I'd like 50 double bacon cheeseburgers."
"50? That’s a lot of work. What kind of a party you havin’ you need so many cheeseburgers?"
"Animal rights activists are coming to my house… I figure about 50 of them."
"What??? They’re animal rights activists? They don’t eat meat, stupid!”
"Well if they’re gonna eat at my house they’ll eat what I feed them!?"
"I can’t serve ya. I ain’t gonna let ya do that."
"Please transfer me to another cashier."
"All right. Joe!!! Get over here!"
"Yo, cool it, don't gotta yell! I ain't a 90 year old woman! I got ears, bro!" said Joe in a loud, high-pitched voice. He came over to the cash register to serve me.
"Yo, this is Joe Mamma, the agen- I mean cashier Joe Mamma."
"Okay. I'd like 50 double-"
"HOLD IT!!!" He yelled. Everybody in the whole restaurant was staring at him, "Yo, get back to your pathetic lives! No need to stare! Anyway, your name is Bijabugle Kwangintoo. I heard you on Hot 97 yesterday. You have the animal rights activists over at your house. You not gonna feed 'em double bacon cheeseburgas!"
"Yes, I am. Listen, you’re a McDonald’s cashier, not a political activist, just give me the fucking hamburgers!" He took a pen out of his pocket and gave me an incredulous look as he pushed a button with a red light on the cap.
"Okay. 50 double bacon cheeseburgers. Have yourself a good time."
"Thank you.”
I turned around for a second while I waited for my order. That's a habit I have. Whenever I have to wait for a while I just automatically turn around. Bad habit to have for some things.... It proved to be a bad habit this time. Joe Mamma slapped my back to my back. I turned around, and he explained, “Sorry, just a fly on your back. It’s gone. Anyway, that’s $47.56…”
“I don’t get a discount for ordering in bulk?”
“Ordering in bulk? The fuck? This is McDonald’s, yo! Just be glad I served you… to stay or to go?”
“What do you think?”
“You gonna take all them hamburgers home yourself? Don’t need delivery?”
“Just put em in a big bag… hamburgers can’t be too heavy. I’ve ran myself broke preparing for these people… can’t pay for delivery. I have five dollars to my name. Least I won’t starve, right?”
“You crazy fool… your order will take a few more minutes.”
“Oh, come to think of it, I’ll have one more hamburger for myself.”
“Coming right up.”
Joe Mamma fetched me a hamburger, and asked, “this doesn’t have anything on it, you want ketchup? Pickles?”
“Pickles, sure.”
He turned his back and messed around with my hamburger, and presented it to me with a grin. “Have a nice day. You know how we here at McDonald’s love to see you smile…”
“I’m sure you do… it means we haven't realized you fucked up our order yet.”
The animal rights activists had just arrived. Their leader, upon entering, began to harangue.
“I am glad to see that you are interested in fighting for animal’s rights. People are doing horrible things to animals… scientists are running tests on them, people are hunting them for the sport of it. We are glad that you have agreed to host our meeting, and we hope that you will consider making a contribution…”
"Yes, I’d love to make a contribution to your wonderful organization. But first, let me give you a tour of my house. Here is my living room… Do you see this poached bear head? I got this back in '94. It was a brutal battle. And this moose, I got that same day. The kangaroo over here… now, I know there’s no real reason to shoot a kangaroo, but it looked kinda funny, so I said hell with ethics, and shot it. Anyway, you were saying about your organization?" The look on their faces was the look that I live to see, "or should we get right down to business? Just a second… whenever I hold a meeting I like to wear my mink fur coat, let me put it on… oh yeah, for dinner we have double bacon cheeseburgers, and if you would like a vegetarian alternative then you can eat my shit. And if that’s too meaty for you…"
"That's it! We shall not take this abuse! It is an insult to our beliefs! What kind of a sick person are you! We have devoted our lives to better the lives of animals and you are mocking us? We will leave right now!”
"Pleased to make your acquaintance… catch you round, sometime? Maybe you’d like to accompany me on my hunting safari to Africa this summer?”
They stormed out. Now, I don’t have anything against animal rights, or people who advocate their rights. But I do have a problem with people who can’t take a joke… and I just love to see them display their coldness and lack of humor. I brought the poached heads back to Ricardo Cruz, and when I got back home I discovered the pen that Joe Mamma had at the McDonald’s was stuck to my shirt. A closer look showed it to be a recorder… I remembered Joe Mamma pretending to slap a fly off the back of my shirt. The motherfucker was bugging me!
I went to my friend Jamal Bunghole’s house. Jamal lived in Jamaica most of his life, but after he got in some trouble with the law after he almost accidentally triggered a war he decided to stay in the USA. I was freaked out about this Joe Mamma dude… it was like he was with the CIA or something and they were trying to assassinate me… as if my antics had me marked for an anarchist with terrorist tendencies. Figured Jamal might know something about dealing with the pigs after his experience.
When I walked in Jamal was working on his dreadlocks. Jamal has very long, usually multi-colored dreadlocks, and everyday he does something different with them. Today they were red and black. I asked, "Hey, Jamal, can you do something for me?"
"Alright, bunghole, who do you want to piss off today?"
"This guy pinned a bug to my shirt yesterday… I’m just wondering if maybe I should worry about being under surveillance by the CIA for something?” "Well tell me about the bunghole, I can probably tell you if he’s a pig…What's the bunghole's name? Do you know?"
"I dunno… if he’s an agent it’s probably a pseudonym… His name is supposedly Joe Mamma " The look on his face showed me that this Joe Mamma person meant trouble.
"That is not good." Jamal stuttered, his face seemingly paler than before. “You are in deep shit… what did he do?”
"All he did was stick a sound recorder on my back, and- oh shit, I forgot to take the bug off my shirt! He's listening in on us right now!" Jamal's look on his face got even more scared. He motioned frantically for me to take it off. We both tried to pull the bug off my shirt, but it wouldn’t come off.
“You’re gonna have to go shirtless, bunghole. And we have to get out of here, fast, the bunghole knows where I live… and I am not in good standing with him at all. Long story…”
“I can’t go shirtless outside! It’s fucking, like, 10 degrees! This ain’t Jamaica, Jamal!”
“Here, not to sound weird or anything, but take your shirt off, leave it here, and we’ll go into my room where the bunghole can’t hear us and I’ll brief you, I guess.”
In his room, he said to me he said to me "I'll call Snort. He can probably rip the bug off without ripping up your shirt..." Snort is a friend of Jamal's. He's very big, but not exactly the smartest person around.
Jamal dialed Snort’s number. “Yo, Snort… hope that bunghole hasn’t bugged my phone too, but Bijjy has some sort of an incident with Joe Mamma. I think we have come over to your house and sort things out… alright, we’ll be right over.” He hung up the phone, and said, “Bunghole, I’m gonna borrow the neighbor’s car for a second… you can borrow one of my shirts if you want, though you probably won’t even be able to fit it over your head… you’ll be out in the cold just a few seconds though and then we’ll be in the car, so I guess you’ll be fine.”
“Whatever, I’m fine.”
Jamal broke the window of a car in front of his house and stuck a wire of some sort into it to start it. In the car I had time to ask about Joe Mamma. "So, how do you know this Joe Mamma guy?" I asked..
"Well, it all started in the bar. You see, I had inadvertently delayed Fidel Castro in his trip to the USA, and nearly started a war. Joe Mamma was on the job to find out who the bunghole was who caused all the turmoil, and he was working undercover as a bartender. He found me out right away. He's a felon's worst nightmare. Like, this bunghole is fucking supernatural. Where did you run into him?"
"At McDonalds. He was a cashier."
"He's probably on a case already then. That's good, if he’s after you, he’ll be distracted by whatever other bunghole he’s chasing."
No sooner did he say that than I saw a car right next to us. I stared at the driver, and realized that it was Joe Mamma. I screamed at Jamal in shock, "That's Joe Mamma! In that Rolls Royce!"
"Are you kidding? Holy shit it is! Either you’re gonna see right now what I mean when I say supernatural… or this is one hell of a coincidence."
Then we heard from the Rolls Royce, "Pull over, motherfuckers!"
"Fuck! I can’t get caught with a stolen car with this bunghole… he’s busted me so many times already… I don’t need this! I’m gonna speed up. I’m gonna take him.”
“If you think you can…” “I don’t think I can either. But with this bunghole, I can’t risk getting caught.” Jamal made a sharp turn at the corner, and my head banged into the window. Joe Mamma made the turn just as quickly, and as Jamal sped up driving along West End Avenue we saw a police car with its siren on coming at us from the other direction.
“Pull over now, man. Can’t fuck with the police like this…” We pulled over.
"So, Jamal, we meet again. You just gotta keep on getting busted, huh? And this time there's no jolt to save you. Mr. Bijabugle Kwantingtoo, I’m sorry for anyone that gets mixed up with someone unlucky like Jamal… I gotta say yo, forgetting to take off that bug and going to see Jamal ain’t good news—for either of you. And Jamal, this time there ain’t no jolt to save you…"
"Jolt?" I asked.
"First time I met up with him I called Snort, Fracola and Excelstan over to his house to get obtain some evidence he had on me. He was beating us all up, even Snort, and the jolt saved us. You know, woke us from the unconscious."
“Even Snort?”
“Bunghole, you heard me say supernatural didn’t you?”
“Damn…” Then I got an idea. I'd try to get Joe Mamma in trouble for pinning the sound recorder to me, voicing some rights of privacy or something. Maybe I could get a civil rights lawyer to stir some shit up for me…
"Mr. Police Officer, this man pinned this sound recorder to me."
"I know! I'm working with him. My name is Bo Mamma. The NYPD officer Bo Mamma."
"And I'm Joe Mamma, the agent Joe Mamma. I'm not the cashier Joe Mamma. I hate working under aliases. A brother needs his dignity!"
Bo Mamma started to interrogate us.
"Mr. Bunghole you realize you were going at a speed dangerous to the other drivers of the city?”
"Well, yeah, Mr. 'Joe Mamma, the agent Joe Mamma,' was on chasing me. I’m supposed to slow down?”
"Well, yeah, when an officer motions you to pull over, you pull over. For speeding and refusing to pull over, you're going to be fined $500."
"You bungholes think I can spare that kind of money?"
"Your other option is to be sent to jail."
I butted in, “Awesome, man! Let’s shake up the jail!”
"Yeah, bunghole, I’ll take jail before I give any money to you," said Jamal. Before we knew it, we were in jail.
"So, how did you get here?" I asked the guy in the cell next to us. To respond, he pulled an action figure out of his pocket, and tore it in half. "AAAAAH! FEEL MY WRATH!" He howled at the action figure. Then he tossed him on the ground, and stomped on him. He stomped so hard that the head flew out the 7th story window, while the legs flew into the guard's mouth. He was eating a hero sandwich, and ate the legs along with it. Numerous titters came from the other prisoners. I whispered into Jamal's ear, "Jamal, we're here to annoy. Let's sing."
"Let's yodel!"
"Let's yodel to 'My heart will go on!'"
"Yeah!" We began to yodel together. All of the prisoners started to groan. The man next to us put his hands on his ears, and tried to rip them off. He did rip his right ear off, and tossed it out the window. It hit somebody trying to escape, and knocked him unconscious. The left ear, however, stayed put.
"Hey, Jamal, they didn't frisk us. You have your cellular phone! Let's call up Snort. Maybe we can get him to come over here and take the sound recorder off." I said in sign language.
"Great idea!" He dialed Snort's number. The guard didn't notice our cellular phone, he had left the room to get a few more hero sandwiches when we started yodeling. Jamal said to Snort, "Hey, bunghole! Yeah, it's me. Where am I? In jail. It's great. They forgot to frisk us, so we're calling you to tell us that- oops, I forgot, I still have the sound recorder on me. Sorry, I can't say anymore. Bye bye bunghole."
"Hey! Let me have that! I have to call my brother and tell him that I'm gonna get back at him for snitching on me! Why'd the asshole have to tell that I was the one that killed Tupac? It's not my fault I hate west coast rap!" Said the man next to us. Before we could hand it to him the guard walked in.
"Hey, give me that cellaphone! I'll want to call Duncan Doughnuts!" he said. He had just come back from the cafeteria.
"NO!" I said. I had an idea.
"Give it to me! I'll come into your cell, kill you, shove a plunger up your ass like I did Abner Louima, and pry it from your dead fingers!"
"I'll throw it out the window!"
"YOU WILL NOT!"
"I won't throw it out the window if you let this guy next to us out of his cell, and get him to pull this sound recorder off of me."
"Sure." He opened the man next to us's cell, and he easily ripped off the sound recorder. The guard ordered Duncan Doughnuts, and, in thanks, I let the man next to us call his brother.
"YOU'RE GONNA DIE!!! YOU HAD TO TELL, DIDN'T YOU!!! YOU SHALL PAY!!! Oh, it's you Mary. Well, tell what I just said to my brother, okay? Good. Bye."
After that Jamal called Snort, and said "Hey, bunghole, yeah, it's me. Joe Mamma's on Bijjy's back. Yeah, that's right, Joe Mamma. Can you call Fracola and Excelstan? Thanks, bunghole." After that, nothing noteable happened. We went to sleep, and in the morning we got ready to get Joe Mamma off of my back.
"Hi Fracola, glad you could make it. Have you seen Excelstan?" Jamal asked.
"Yeah. Don't worry, he's coming soon. Is Snort here?"
"Yeah. Just walked in." We were at Jamal's house. When everybody came I spoke.
"Just to update you, I want you all to know that Joe Mamma wants something from me. He stuck a sound recorder on me when I was in McDonalds. I've never run into him, so I need your help. What do you think we should do?"
"I think that we should corner him in his house and kill him like we did last time! We'll all run in and shriek 'KILL!!!'" Said Snort.
"No way! He's a great fighter! When he hits you it really hurts!" Said Fracola.
"He's right, bunghole. It was the jolt that saved us, and who knows if the bunghole still has that jolt." Said Jamal.
"Do you even know why he's after you?" Asked Excelstan.
"That's the whole mystery." I replied.
"Why don't we arrange an appointment with him and ask him why?"
"Don't know his phone number, and if we see him in public he'll sneak sound recorders on all of us before we have the chance to speak with him." Fracola said.
"Why don't we catch a flight back to Jamaica? Remember our friend, Jiggly Goo? He has more data than the FBI! We could learn all about Joe Mamma, and then be prepared to face him."
"Good idea!" I said. We were going to Jamaica.
Once we were in Jamaica we went straight to Jiggly Goo's house. Inside of his house he had the most data I had ever seen in one place. Everywhere I looked computers, computers, and computers, all doing something hi-tech. I said to him, "Hey, Jiggly Goo," He turned around from his computer. Apparently he hadn't even heard us walk in, "Can you look something up for us?"
"Oh, yes, uh, sure, what do you covet?"
"What do you know about Joe Mamma?" Asked Jamal.
"All I apprehend is that the creep is endeavoring to discommode me. Just due to the fact that I possess great quantities of data he assumes my actions are illegal. I had departed to the USA for a vacation, and he pursued me all about the nation. I gave him the slip and he has not a conception of where I am. The last time he saw me was at a McDonalds of New York City. I still can't apprahend why he supposes I'm illegal."
"Are your computers illegal?"
"Well, yes, but he does not contain any right to assume it. Well, I'll provide you with all of the information I've retrieved so far. All I can utter about myself is that my future looks murky."
"Why don't you join us? We're trying to get him off my back. We'll help you get him off yours." I said.
"Why, that would be most desireable! But first, just wait a jiffy, do I know you?" He was trying to figure out who I was. He thought that I was one of his old friends or something.
"No, I'm not Jamaican. I was born on a- hey, that's a great idea. I was born and raised on this tiny little Indonesian island in the Pacific Ocean. Ten people live on it. Check if you have it in your computers. It's name is Kwakaha. My thought is that we could hide out over there and discourage Joe Mamma. Then he'd start a new case, and forget all about us."
"All right. I'll examinate it," Jiggly Goo said. He hit a few keys and then remarked, "here's what it remarks of it."
"Kwakaha is a small island affiliated with Indonesia. On a recent poll taken, only 0.0021346 percent of the world's population had heard about it. 76% of those were lying. Only 3 percent of Indonesians know about it. Currently eleven people live on it," the computer screen informed us.
"It sounds great." Everyobody said in unison. We were going to Kwakaha.
Jiggly Goo brought his hi-tech equipment with us on the plane ride to Jakarta. Then we waited two weeks until the ferry came back to take us there. Once we were there, we all started to get bored. Jiggly Goo hadn't brought along his computer with all of the software. That meant that he was bored, being that there was nothing to do on the island. I can't believe I survived through five years of it, even if I was young and wasted all of my time taking naps. Jamal had gone into town and called everybody a bunghole. The one person that understood English told the people what he thought it meant, and the mayor said that if he said it one more time they'd kill him and have a cannibalistic feast. Actually, the real definition of bunghole is a hole in a keg or a cask. Jamal wasn't taking it good, unless going 13 hours nonstop banging your head up against a wall is taking it good. It's a Buddhist island, and being that Buddhists believe in non-violence Snort was doing the same as Jamal. A few years ago Snort went on the Barry Springer show, a Jamaican make fun of the Jerry Springer show and stated that his religion was Killism. The other person on the show charged him, and is still in the hospital. Fracola was bored purely because of lack of technology. True, Jiggly Goo had very advanced technology, the problem was that it was too advanced for Fracola. It made him feel stupid. Excelstan had almost died because the villagers were hooked on the Celine Dion "My Heart Will Go On" Song. We all hated it, but Excelstan hated it enough to die. He had threatened to kill himself earlier in the day if he heard it one more time. The next time he heard it, he didn't. I was bored because in the first 10 minutes of my life I had done everything there was to do on the island. In the next 27 years it only got even more boring. We are all suffering, but if Joe Mamma caught us, we'd be suffering even more. We would be in jail and the policemen would be doing the Abner Louima on us.
The next day I woke up to a whoop from Jiggly Goo. "OH, GOODY!!!" Was the cry, "At the moment I may supervise Joe Mamma's every move!"
"You could do that before, couldn't you?"
"Well, I could tell in what place he was and perceive his sounds, but I unearthed a method to view him on the computer screen!"
"Awesome! I'll go wake up the others!" I said. That was easier said than done. Nobody wanted to get up and face the horrors of Kwakaha. I finally had to call my childhood friend, Watsuki, to wake them up. When Watsuki was born he weighed 50 lbs. When he was five he was six feet tall. At that moment, he was twice that. That's right, he was 12 feet tall. He picked Fracola up, smacked him, and Fracola was up. He hammer threw Jamal up against the wall, and he was up, he banged Excelstan on the ceiling, and he was up, and then he shot-put Snort out the door. Snort was up. I gathered Jamal, Snort and Fracola up, and we watched Joe Mamma on the computer screen. He was on an airplane. We looked at the location. It said four degrees lattitude, 104 longitude. Jiggly Goo pressed a button to identify where that was. The plane was a couple miles away from Jakarta.
"Oh no! He knows where we are!" Said Jamal.
"That's apparent, but how?" Jiggly Goo asked.
"Uh, maybe he has some way to monitor us." Snort suggested. We looked at the screen.
"Oh, just great!!! My monitor isn't working! Now I have no idea where those guys are," Joe Mamma hollered. All of the other passengers who were sleeping woke up. You could sense that it wasn't the first time. "Lessee, they were at five lattitude, 109 longitude. HEY! Anybody have an Indonesian map ova' here?" The man sitting next to him handed him one. "HEY!!! There are no places at five lattitude, 109 longitude! This thing is wrong! He took the monitor that was monitoring us and threw it. Fortuneately for him, it didn't hit anybody. It just knocked an open Sprite can out of a stewardess' hand. Then we truned it off.
"Now he doesn't know where we are!" Excelstan exclaimed.
"Not so brisk, friend. He'll interrogate Jakarta for a trio of Jamaican men with nonsensical dreadlocks, one severely massive Jamaican with no dreadlocks, and one American." Said Jiggly Goo.
"And the people will say to go to Kwakaha." Continued Fracola.
"Do you comprehend what we must do at this time?" Asked Jiggly Goo.
"Uh, no. Kill him?" Asked Snort.
"No, no. We must depart for somewhere else." He answered.
"Let's go to Australia and drink Fosters!" Suggested Snort.
"No, no. Inferior notion. We'd have to proceed to Jakarta to get to an airport. He'll be in Jakarta. We should travel to Shootwalla, the nearest island. That's a site that we can get to without Jakarta's airport. Then Joe Mamma will be lost. We have to vacate confidentially, though, otherwise he'll interrogate villagers and locate us."
"Uh, sounds good, but I didn't understand it. Too many big words." Snort said.
"Just do what we do, okay?" I asked.
"Fine." We began to form a plan to leave.
"How will we get all of the hi-tech stuff out secretly, bunghole?" Asked Jamal.
"Hear me out. There's a beach on this island, way deep in the jungle. Nobody knows about this beach." I said.
"Bijabugle, I have taken saunters encompassing this island. At no time and in no way have I seen a jungle." Stated Jiggly Goo. I hate it when people call me Bijabugle. That's one of the infinite reasons that I hated that island. The people couldn't pronounce Bijjy.
"Well, it's only a secret beach because it's a secret jungle."
"Oh, I comprehend what you're alleging. Everything is greatly enigmatic. That's just dilly." Said Jiggly Goo.
"Look, please don't use dilly like that. It's fine for Busta Rhymes to say 'What the dilly, yo?' but for someone to say, 'Oh, that's just dilly!' it really pisses me off." Said Excelstan.
"Oh, fine. That's a dazzling thought," He said, and then "Screw you." He grumbled.
"All right, we'll go to that beach with the hi-tech stuff at midnight, so that nobody sees us. Then we'll start building a boat to get to Shootwalla."
"Brilliant exhortation!" said Jiggly Goo.
At midnight, Snort transported the hi-tech equipment. When we got to the island we all went to sleep.
When we woke up in the morning we checked the tv screen. We saw Joe Mamma swimming in an ocean.
"His longitude is 109 and his lattitude five. That would be right on Kwakaha. But don't bother, comrade, you're the only one who knows about this waterfront. He'll never encounter us." Said Jiggly Goo. Don't ask me why Jiggly Goo was suddenly calling me "Comrade." To be honest with you, it freaked me out.
"Actually, one other person does."
"Who?" Asked Fracola.
"You know that giant who woke you up this morning?"
"Oh, that bunghole. He's so stupid, he probably forgets!" Said Jamal.
"THAT GUY!!! I'M GONNA EAT LOTS OF PORK, AND ATTACK HIM!!! HE SNEAKED ME!!! I'M GONNA SNEAK HIM AND KILL HIM!!! I'M GONNA-" Snort was cut off.
"Shut up! You're so exasperating! You know that you aren't destined to kill him! He's twice your mass and four times your weight!" Said Jiggly Goo. I could have sworn that for that Snort put him on his list of people to kill, right under Watsuki.
"But, how does Joe Mamma swim from Jakarta to Kwakaha? That's no average swim!" I asked.
"Joe Mamma is not your average bunghole. He is a supernatural bunghole. He is a special bunghole. He is the bunghole that is out to bust our bunghole." Said Jamal, who, for some reason or another's last name is Bunghole. We sat back and watched the monitor for a while. Then we noticed a beach on the monitor.
"A beach! Now once he swims a little further we'll know where on the island he is!" Excelstan said. He swimmed a little further, and we saw ourselves on the monitor. Joe Mamma was swimming onto the beach that we were on.
"Oh no! God emancipate our spirits! I'll get tossed into the penitentiary, and I'll have to share a chamber with a gangster! Oh no!" Yelled Jiggly Goo.
"Bungholes! Think! Hide in the trees!" Said Jamal. We turned around, and who did we see but Watsuki.
"Hello! Sorry about this morning." Said Watsuki in the native language. I translated it. Snort charged him. Watsuki stuck his massive hand out at Snort, and Snort was knocked down. "Gee, you're not too nice." Said Watsuki. I translated it.
"Snort! What are you doing? He can help us get Joe Mamma off of our backs!" Said Fracola.
"Hulpa ku dastriwa Joe Mamma, kapishkaka?" I asked him. He nodded yes. When Joe Mamma came on shore we were hiding in the bushes. The fight of the century began.
Joe Mamma said, "Holy Mamma!" When he saw Watsuki's massive body. Watsuki threw a punch but Joe Mamma stepped to the side, and hammered in three in the time that it took Watsuki to notice that Joe Mamma wasn't flying across the Pacific Ocean. Then he picked Joe Mamma up. Joe Mamma spit in his face, and while he was wiping it out Joe Mamma was down on the ground, wacking Watsuki. Then Watsuki heard a helicopter flying above. He looked at it, and Joe Mamma showed no mercy. He knocked him out. The helicopter landed on the beach, and Bo Mamma stepped out.
"Hi, Joe, how are you doing?" Asked Bo.
"Don't call me Joe. Always call me Joe Mamma. Oh, and I'm doing just dandy. Where were you when that giant attacked me?"
"Uh, up in the air."
"Up in the air? You're off the case. I'm firing you."
"What?"
"That's right, I'm firing you. And if you follow me around any more I'll be firing you in a different way, with a gun." Bo Mamma got back into the helicopter and flew away.
"HEY! BUNGHOLE!" Jamal yelled, for reasons I can't comprehend.
"JAMAL BUNGHOLE!!!" Joe Mamma yelled. We started to run away.
"My data! I must proceed back!" Jiggly Goo said. He turned back, but in a different rout than Joe Mamma was taking to follow us. Jamal, Fracola, and Excelstan weren't very fast in the jungle because their dreadlocks would always get caught, and Snort wanted to turn back and kill Joe Mamma, so Joe Mamma caught up with us. When he did, he smacked Snort and sent him sprawling, and then knocked Fracola, Excelstan, Jamal and I out and went back to the beach to get Jiggly Goo as well. When we woke up we were in jail.
"Look, Joe Mamma, what did I do?" I asked.
"Well, Bijjy, you, my friend, killed Biggy Smalls." He answered.
"What?" Everybody asked in unison, except for Jiggly Goo who didn't know who Biggy was. I hadn't killed him, but I know who did.
"That's right. We traced it down to you. And you, Jiggly Goo, obtained yo' data illegally."
"What?" Jiggly Goo asked.
"That's right. You would deal drugs to a Jamaican man named Kiksky, and he would give you computers with some mad data on 'em."
"Well, bunghole, what did we do?" Asked Jamal.
"Why, you helped two criminals escape." He replied.
"Bijjy, you'll be on trial tomorrow, Jiggly Goo the day after and all of yo' otha's the day after." He stated.
"Hey, guys, we each get one phone call, let's ask for it," Fracola said once we were in prison.
"BUNGHOLE! Give us our one phone call!" Jamal demanded to the guard.
"Oh, sure, uh, here's a phone right here." Jamal's shout had woken him from his daily nap.
I used the phone first. I called Ricardo Cruz, the person who really killed Biggy. "Hey, Ricar, I mean Ricky, you've gotta come to the jail soon."
"What?"
"I can't say it, well, Iggy-bay Alls-smay, okay-ay?" I said in Pig Latin.
"Oh. I'll be over right away."
When he came over I said, "Eak-spay in-ay Ig-ay Atin-lay."
"Ure-say. At-whay about-way Iggy-bay?"
"Oe-jay Amma-may inks-thay at-thay I-ay illed-kay im-hay."
"Awesome-ay. Ow-nay ey-they on't-way accuse-ay e-may."
"Ew-scray ou-yay. Ome-cay on-way, Ou-yay ave-hay o-tay elp-hay e-may."
"Okay-ay. I'll-ay upport-say ou-yay and-ay accuse-ay omebody-say else-ay."
"Okay-ay. E-way an-cay op-stay eaking-spay Ig-pay Atin-lay."
"All right. Did you hear that I got a new job?"
"I was just in Indonesia. What do you think?"
"Well, I write for The New York Times."
I hit myself on the head, and whisepered, "Think! Write an article accusing somebody else. Accuse Celine Dion, or somebody who deserves the death penalty like her. What about OJ?"
"OJ deserved a death penalty, but this is a lie, and when he was accused it was the truth, but he got away free. We shouldn't accuse a celebrity that anybody likes. Otherwise we'll never get away with it."
"Let's accuse one that nobody likes. And do you know who that is? MC Hammer."
"Great idea. Catch this headline. 'If we can't touch this, why can Hammer touch Biggy -- with a knife.'"
"That's too long. What about 'Good news. MC Hammer will soon get death penalty.'"
"I like it. What should our evidence be?"
"Don't you get it? Everybody hates MC Hammer. We don't need evidence."
"All right."
By morning everybody in New York had learned Ricardo Cruz's story. I was listening to the portable tv that the guard was carrying, and heard it on the news. A reporter was saying, "For all of you people who hate MC Hammer, which means pretty much everybody, this MTV News is for you," I realized that it was Robin Dorian, "In the New York Times today A newly hired writer named Ricardo Cruz wrote an article accusing MC Hammer of killing The Notorious BIG. Bija- Bija-" She was trying to pronounce my name. She kept on looking down at her script. "I'm not sure how to pronounce it. Bi-ja-boo-gull Kwan-ting-too. I hope that's right, was accused of killing him right before this article came out. More on this ten to the hour, every hour on MTV News."
"Why did MC Hammer kill BIG?" Asked the guy in the cell next to us, the one who had ripped off my sound recorder last time we had spent the night.
"Well, MC Hammer got tired of not being popular, so he took out all of his hatred on someone who was popular." I wondered to myself, "Why did Ricardo kill BIG?"
"YO! Stop dreamin'! Wake up! This is Joe Mamma. As much as I hate do say it, yo being let out of jail. So are yo friends. Jiggly Goo has sold his computa's and bailed out of jail."
"Awesome." I said half heartedly. I went to sleep that night wondering to myself why Ricardo killed BIG.
The next day I went to the court wher MC Hammer was being tried.
"MC Hammer killed Christopher Wallace because he wanted the recognitiont for himself." Said the attourney.
"Do you have any evidence to support that theory?" Asked the judge.
"Hmmm. No." Said the attourney.
"Wait, wait. He did kill Biggy. But even if you don't think so, just for his music he deserves the death penalty." Said Ricardo. The jury started cheering. The Judge had tried to get some jurors who didn't hate MC Hammer, but people like that are in the insane assylum, and there's a law saying that no insane people can be jurors. So, all of the jurors hated MC Hammer.
"Do you have any witnesses?"
"No. But I do have this old "U Can't Touch This" CD. Ya wanna hear it?" The jury started begging for mercy, but nevertheless the attourney put on the CD. Fortuneately, I always bring along earplugs just in case I hear Celine Dion on the radio, so I didn't have to suffer through it. It was quite obvious that MC hadn't committed the crime, but he was MC Hammer so the people didn't care. Finally, my conscience started calling. I actually felt sorry for MC Hammer. Right when the judge was about to sentence him to a death penalty, I burst out and said, "He didn't do the crime! Ricky did it!" The judge believed me, and the jury had no choice on their verdict other than guilty. When MC Hammer was proclaimed innocent, everybody in the courtroom turned on me. They all ran up to me and tried to kill me. One person got a hit in before I ran away. He hit me very hard. When I woke up the next morning, I found that I had gone insane.
I went to the doctor and he said that the hit from the guy had sent me batty. He didn't prescribe to me any medicine, just a permanent trip to the insane assylum. I agreed, because in the insane assylum I didn't think that the inmates would have found out about MC Hammer's trial. They had, though, and I became an outcast. To this day I am still rotting away in the insane assylum. When I die it should say on my grave that I was a pathetic waste of a life.