Monday, October 15, 2012

Crip Walking through the Valley of a Shadow of Death

I'm down for mine when attacked or when a friend is attacked. Other than that though, I'm actually a very chill person. But while I might not be a badass, I have known a few in my day. And even if I don't always agree with how they live life or how they set their priorities, you got to respect their sheer badassness. Here are a few of their tales...

Uncle Ricky

Uncle Ricky was a bad dude. He grew up in East L.A. with his brothers (including my old man Uncle Tats) back in the 50's and 60's where he was involved with the inception of a certain very powerful and notorious Mexican street gang. One day a "friend" of his asked him to come along on a run to pick up some drugs. Ricky agreed to go, but what he didn't know was that he was being set up for a hit.

When they rolled up to the house where the supposed deal was going to take place, his friend said, "Stay in the car; I'll be right back." So he sat in the passenger seat reading a newspaper, when he suddenly noticed someone walking up to the car from the sideview mirror. He got a sense something was up so he pulled out his .45 and hid it under the newspaper.

The cat walked up to his window and reached for his gat, but Ricky was one step ahead and blasted the fool, killing him instantaneously. Such is the power of a .45 shot at point blank range. However, sometimes the solution to one problem opens a can of worms to a whole host of other problems, and that was the case with Ricky's act of self defense.

After having killed his would be killer, Ricky found himself in a hailstorm of bullets coming from multiple angles. Shots were being fired from a number of vehicles that were parked on the opposite side of the street. Rickey had no idea what was going on, but there was no time to think about that. He took cover behind the hood of the car he had been sitting in and returned fire with his .45.

It turns out that undercover cops happened to be staking out another house on the block for something unrelated to Ricky and his dealings. A lively neighborhood wouldn't you say? When the cops heard a gun shot they went into fight-or-flight and started firing in the direction that the initial shot came from.

Fortunately, no one was injured, and once they identified themselves as police officers, Ricky stopped shooting and they arrested him. While it could be said that the day you survive a hit, is a good day; he was now being charged with attempted murder of police officers and murder of the hitman he just killed.

However, he managed to get off on both charges since the guy he killed was in self defense, and his lawyer made the point that the cops who he shot at were in plain clothes and did not identify themselves as officers until later. Once they did, he ceased fire and complied with them. What a lucky SOB; to think, I can't even get out of a speeding ticket.

"But officer, I'm telling you! I have friends in low places!"                                     


My homie Moe Joe is a bit of a badass himself. He is full of funny tales of stupid hijinks including the time he was hit by a squad car and rolled over the hood of the cruiser that was busting up a drug party he was at.

All the other druggies stopped to stare in disbelief thereby giving Moe Joe the chance to dust himself off and run away while the cop proceeded to arrest the other fiends who were just standing and watching. However his pops was infinitely more badass then Moe Joe and I put together.

I still remember the first time I went to Moe Joe's house and met his dad, Old Man Joe, who was chilling in the basement with all his venomous snakes that he sold. He was a big, burly, white dude with a thick, grey beard and a deep, gruff voice to match his physique.

"Hey Pops, this is Brick," Moe Joe said introducing me to his father.
"What's up Brick. You want a hit of the bong?" his dad asked holding a bong up and tilting it in my direction.
Moe Joe saw the look of hezitation on my face. The "is this a test?" look.
"It's OK dude, take a hit," Moe Joe reassured me.

So we sat there getting high with Moe Joe's dad who told us stories of his days as a biker in Philly. His initiation into the bike gang he joined consisted of popping and maintaining a wheelie on his bike while ridding through a line of the other members - who hit him with bats and chains. He managed to keep the wheelie going and thus made the gang.

But this story isn't about Old Man Joe. This story is about his fellow gang member (co-gangster?) Rocco. Rocco was the baddest of the bad. Death came for him once, but Rocco simply ripped out Death's spine and used it as a jumprope. OK maybe that was a bit too graphic; and why would a biker want to jump rope?

Anyways one day Rocco was sitting at the bar downing a beer, when the guy on the stool next to him said, "Dude you're bleeding." Rocco looked down at his shirt and indeed blood stains were forming in front of his eyes. It turns out he was being shot at by a guy with a .22. Rocco looked up and saw his assailant who was still popping off shots into his gut.

He then chased the shooter into the street where he caught up with him, wrestled his gun out of his hands, and proceeded to beat the ever loving shit out of this fool with his own gat. I'd hate to see what Rocco would do to someone who shot him with a bazooka.


Art was another badass that I met through my friend JT. He's had the most interesting life. Though he was born on an Indian reservation in South Dakota, his family had to flee the reservation when his dad was accused of participating in a gangbang raping of young girl. His brother got heavily involved in drugs and was murdered by the Russian Mafia. They broke into his hotel room in Vegas and blasted him with a shotgun.

Art himself has many tales of badassery, including the time he was rushed at by a clown bear (if you don't know what that is look it up, it's pretty trippy) which he managed to shoot just in time to have it slide right up to him from momentum of it's run. He says it's his birthday present since it was his birthday when it happened.

However, this isn't a story about a badass deed of his; this is a story that kind of differentiates his days from ours (Art is over 70 years old now). Art's dad used to be a DJ who worked the night shift at a Los Angeles radio station.

Art was hanging out with his pops at the station one night when he was 13 years old. His dad told him, "son go get us some sandwiches," tossing him the car keys. Art obeyed and drove his dad's car to wherever it was they sold sandwiches at night in those days. He didn't reach his destination however as a cop pulled him over along the way.

The cop asked him, "Do you have a driver's license?"
"No," Art replied.
"Why not!?" the cop retorted.
"I'm only thirteen."
At that point the cop's face became red with anger. "Now you listen here young man! You turn this car right around, and drive straight home, you hear me?"
"Yes sir," Art responded.

He did as he was told and drove the car home. Can you imagine a 13 year old kid being pulled over today, being told to drive himself back home? Maybe if things like that still happened, this generation would be as badass as the previous....

 I also got to meet this man while shooting Thee Mr Duran Show. If you don't know Danny Trejo's story I definitely recommend you look it up.
Danny Trejo by cmjcool, on Flickr
Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License  by  cmjcool 

*Don't forget to check out my book!


  1. Holy crapolee! Crazy stories and I can't believe you got to meet Danny Trejo! In other news, I nominated you for the Laine Blogger Award. Hahaha, and yes, I will nominate you for every silly girly blog thingy I get because I think it's hilarious.

    1. Curse you rival!!!! lol If you're a DT fan I recommend you check out "champion" the documentary on his life.

      Oh and I might just fill out that survey of yours...


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