Beeboy Chronicles
Chapter 1
I don’t know how to ease you into this, so I’m just gonna come out and say it. I just beat King Midas’ ass. King Midas is the number one rap artist on the charts 4 months running. The artist that’s been accused of shooting at his long time rival Mogadishu in a crowded club. King Midas, with the Platinum Touch. And me, Charlie Pitman. Whupped. His. Ass. First lyrically then literally. Only these days people don’t know me as Charlie Pitman, they know me as Beeboy. I’m sort of a super-hero. Well, I don’t know that I’m a hero. I don’t help little kids get their cats out of trees or patrol the streets looking to stop purse-snatchers. However, if I see something off, I do something about it. But that’s not my mission; my mission is to take down Anderson Voss, the CEO of Sound Off Records and his team. It’s not vengeance. I’m not an angry rapper that he wouldn’t sign. I’m an angry rapper that he wanted to sign. He wanted to make me rich and famous, all I had to do was sell-out. Not just making catchy pop tunes and shilling my own brand of premium vodka. He wanted me to encode messages over my music at a subliminal level. He wanted to actively make all of you dumber. And he wanted me to take a check and be cool with it.
Chapter 2
The day started out so well. All the trains arrived just as I got to the platform. I passed my pop quiz in finance and finally got Tabby from Intro to Marketing to agree to catch dinner and a movie with me. Things are looking up. Tabby’s not even a business major; she’s in the telecom department. But she’s one of the few students that did better than me on the quiz, and I got a 96. Not only is she smart, she’s really cute. She’s about 5’6” and fit I think she runs track or something. The body fat she does have seems to have found it’s way to the areas that I find really appealing.
She’s mixed; I can’t remember if it’s Dominican and Chinese or Cuban and Korean. Hell you could tell me she was from Jupiter and it wouldn’t stop me from trying to get with her. Anyway, we’re going to see some teenage vampire love story. Which I’m not even a little interested in, but I could sit in a corner with her and watch paint dry for five hours. All this just to say this has been pretty much the perfect day, up until now.
Tonight was the night. The big emcee battle at the Ziggurat. The Ziggurat is the big nightclub that does the emcee battles downtown on Thursday nights. King Midas is supposed to be here hosting and judging. He won the emcee battle a few years ago. Sound Off Records sponsored it. The winner earned a 10-album deal and a two million dollar advance for the first album. When King Midas got the contract his fortune changed over night. He was doing cameos on songs with people in the top 40 charts. He was endorsing some rum and had a restaurant a clothing company and all of this amazing stuff before he dropped his first single. True to his name, everything he touched turned to gold.
I got to the Ziggurat club maybe ten minutes ago. Tonight is the semi-finals for the big Emcee Battle, and somehow I’m up against Mogadishu. Mogadishu is an older cat from Brooklyn. Deep in Brooklyn. The part of Brooklyn where the sun doesn’t shine in August. The part of Brooklyn the Mayor would leave off the map if he could. A corner of East New York that cop cars go into sirens blazing and go out with four flat tires and gasoline leaking from the fuel tank. Mogadishu is the guy standing behind the cop car with an assault rife in one hand and a lit match in the other. That’s the story I’ve heard anyway. They don’t say he’s a one-man army, they say he’s a walking war zone.
Now I’m not sure how he made it this far in the Emcee Battle. I don’t know whether he got by on the merits of his lyrical abilities or bullied his way to his spot; but it looks like I’m about to find out.
Ungowa Soul Power 