Category Archives: beeboy

Beeboy Art and Comics

Here are some comic strips and character designs for Beeboy and some assorted cast members.

Beeboy and Tabi Tha Tigress © created by Baqi Abdush-Shaheed
Mogadishu and King Midas © Created by Baqi Abdush-Shaheed and Glenn E. Bryant


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The Stunning Adventures of Beeboy pt. 3

Chapter 5

I locked eyes with Mogadishu despite the chills I felt seeing how furious he was. I could hear his breathing becoming more shallow and rapid. It was a symptom of his anxiousness. His mind was moving just as rapidly. Suddenly he glanced to his right, then turned to look back at me and lunged toward me with a howl. I was sprawled on the stage before I knew what hit me. Then I heard the gunshots. Moga got off me and asked if I was alright. He told me I owed him one.

King Midas and his street team, the 14 Karats ran up in the club guns blazing. I don’t know how I didn’t notice. I must have been too focused on what Mogadishu was going to do. I felt a buzzing in my head, but I just figured the danger was coming from Moga. King Midas had it in for both of us and he wasn’t taking any chances this time. He was supposed to be here to judge the battle and it completely slipped my mind entirely once I saw what Mogadishu looked like in person, all six and a half feet and near three hundred pounds of him. I kicked Midas’ ass last week and beat him in the battle. Mogadishu and King Midas had a long-standing beef. That’s when it hit me that this battle was a set up. Midas was going to up his rep by eliminating two of his enemies at once. But Mogadishu saw it coming and I’m pretty sure he just saved my life. I did owe him one, and it was mere seconds later when I would come to repay that debt.

One of the 14 Karats jumped up to the stage with a golden knife and slashed at Moga. I kicked that fools fronts in, grabbed his arms and threw him at two of his partners that were approaching the stage. Moga nodded his head at me and cracked his knuckles. ”It’s a problem in here now, fam.” That’s all he said then he rushed at some of the remaining Karats, dispatching them quickly with world shattering punches to their faces. He was making a beeline for King Midas, who was still firing shots wildly in the club. It was surreal, some of the Karats were still coming for me and I was so ready for the ruckus.

I was a blur, my pop and lock jabs and windmill kicks were making short work of these henchmen? His crew? Other than canon fodder I really don’t know what to call them. One came at me swinging a golden pipe, trying for the back of my head. I dropped back and bent my knees like I was doing the limbo and his swing landed wide off the mark. Then I rested my hands on the ground and kicked him in the jaw. Another leaped at me with a katana. I rolled to my left picked up a microphone stand and used it to deflect the sword which got stuck in the middle of the pole. As he was struggling to remove it I tossed the stand to the side got him in an arm bar then slammed his face on the ground with more force than was probably necessary.

Mogadishu didn’t seem to be having as hard a time with these goons as I was. There were about 10 of Midas’ flunkies scattered around the dance floor of the Ziggurat club. One was lodged inside of a turned over speaker, another was shoved headfirst into the drywall. His legs were all you could see. Moga ripped this spot up and now he was lumbering toward King Midas who was trying to reload his Gloc before Mogadishu could get to him. Moga reached into the back of his pants and pulled out what I swear was a cannon. At the sight of that gun Midas dropped his gun and ran for the exit. Moga stood still raised his gun and took aim. I heard a loud crack like thunder as Mogadishu let off one shot, missing Midas but obliterating the window and blowing the passenger side door off of an SUV parked in front of the club. Midas was still running and Moga yelled out, ”You’re a dead man walking Midas. Gunning for me twice. Twice? But your bitch ass can’t shoot for shit.”

I was like, ”Yo Moga, ease up man. There are still people out there; you might hit one of them. I’ll go after Midas and, I don’t know, drag him to a precinct or something.” Moga gave me a mean scowl and said, ”Jail, nah man anything less than the emergency room is better than he deserves. Personally I’m trying to toe tag this cock gobblin’ boxer streak sun of a bitch.”

We were arguing about it long enough for Midas to get away and for us to hear sirens approaching. I said, ”I understand if you want to shake the scene man, but I’m going to give the cops my statement and try to help out here with the clean up.” Mogadishu looked at me with a doubtful smirk on his lips.

“Man, just when I was starting to respect you, you say some old punk shit like that. I respect your skills though.” Looking over his shoulder at the wreckage of the bar and the broken remnants of King Midas’ crew, Mogadishu says, “Yeah, I guess I’d better get out of here. If the cops ask, I bounced as soon as mo’ foes started shooting.”

He gives me a pound then walks up to the shot up SUV, hotwires the engine and drives off with the passenger door slamming open and shut as he heads back to Brooklyn, turning the corner to avoid the oncoming police cars. The bartender and host crawled out from behind the basement door, and seeing as I was the only rapper still there, he gave me the prize money. I take some plastic handcuff strips out of my pouches and start locking up the unconscious 14 Karat Gang before the police arrive.

What a heck of a night.

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The Stunning Adventures of Beeboy pt. 2

Chapter 3

The host calls us up to the stage. I walk up when I hear my name.
”Coming up to the center square, BEEBOY!” the announcer proclaims followed by a smattering of applause. I earned some respect here because last week I took down King Midas to get my spot tonight. King Midas is the guy with the five times platinum album and all the radio play. His record label is co-sponsoring this event. The fact that I’m getting all this love tonight is pretty cool. It’s quite a boost of confidence. Then the host calls Mogadishu to the stage. Dead silence. He stomps across the club like I’d imagine a T-Rex would while hunting its prey. The crowd is standing stark still as though he actually were a T-Rex and can only spot them if they move. I gotta admit, shit is pretty tense right now.

In the eternity it takes for him to get to the stage it gets to be that all you hear is the sound of his feet stomping accompanied by the faint drum of the crowd’s heart beat and their shallow breaths. His last footstep leaves him standing four feet away from me staring directly at me. Practically looking through me. He has a deep squint as he examines me, I feel as though he’s picking me apart in his mind. Luckily I’m wearing a mask and dark goggles or he might have seen me blink.

Even if he does have lyrics, I’m sure intimidation was a huge part of him making it this far in the battle. His breath is fogging up my goggles from four feet away. He’s got a strategically ripped black T-shirt with a blood red capital letter M in the center with the military stencil lettering style made to look like splattered and dripping blood. He’s got a camouflage T-shirt wrapped around his head like a turban and is sporting a very grizzled beard. The turban matches his BDU pants. To complete his look of menace he had on some “butter tims” the typical Brooklyn boots. Tan Construction Timberlands laced only half way up with the tongue hanging over the front. They look brand new and yet worn out at the thought of being on Moga’s feet. Like he’s somehow kicking his own shoes ass every time he takes a step. I shouldn’t feel sorry for a person’s shoes, but I tell you, I don’t envy being in their position.

Chapter 4

The Announcer waits for the noise from the crowd to die down after our introductions. When he feels he has control of the audience he explains the rules of the battle. There’ll be a portion of the battle that we go back and forth for 8 bars apiece. After that we Each have to freestyle based off of whatever the host pulls out of a bag and finally we each have to spit our best a capella, up to 48 bars. I’m a little concerned because this wasn’t part of the last battle and I never put any energy into reciting my verses a Capella. I also generally keep my verses to 16 bars. I guess I’ll have to mash a couple of verses together and hope for the best. It turns out that Mogadishu is up first and he’s relentless from the gate.

He begins by staring me down and gesturing in an effort to make me flinch. His efforts do not go unrewarded. The crowd erupts in laughter and begins to taunt and mock me. It’s not a great feeling. I guess the goodwill I believed I had when I came in didn’t amount to much.

Look who they let out the beehive dressed like the queen
Hey Beeboy, you’re looking mighty good in them jeans
Spray that Raid in your grill, A.K. to your grill
Pest control Terminex put grenades to your grill…

Shit! Mogadishu isn’t just threatening me; he’s also thoroughly going in on my gear and general appearance and quoting Eddie Murphy and he’s only getting started. I expected the threats and all, but not punch lines and wit. Wit delivered stone faces and menacing, but I think I know what to do. All I have to d….

“Ooh,” the audience howls in unison. I don’t even know what this bastard just said. I was thinking too hard about what to say. Now I’m up and I don’t even have a solid strategy. This is not where I want to be at all. But the DJ scratches the record, crosses the fader and plays the next beat. It’s the instrumental to “Shook Ones” by Mobb Deep, usually a crowd pleaser. But I think the DJ is trying to play me because I flinched earlier. Damn, I have to stop over thinking shit. I just gotta go in.

Moga, you pack artillery but lack delivery
I spit, and split you down the middle with symmetry
Your mom must have gotten boned by a Howitzer
Or maybe a gorilla fucked the shit out of her
Explains you, looking like an ape in tank top
All that gun talk But I bet you shoot blank shots
How tough are you now, softer than sponge cake
All you can do now is stand around with the dumb face

On the last line I make a slack jawed dumb face, which is lost on the crowd, because I’m wearing a mask that covers my entire face. They get the gist of it though.

“Aw Shit!”

“Get ‘em Bee!”

The Response from the crowd got me open. The two of us were on equal footing now. I was feeling good about this battle again. Then I took a look at his face. It was far from a “dumb” face. It was more of an, “I’m going to thoroughly destroy this Mother Fucker, right here” face, a face that combined hatred, anger, determination and joy. I was the object of this intense emotion. Some people have all the luck.

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The Stunning Adventures of Beeboy part 1

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.

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