Boobalicious.

Jun 12, 2001
The possee assembled early, and dressed to kill. A-lo in a 70's style go-go dress with a tasteful scarf, and K-rims (the getaway driver) in a low cut, short sleave number and a hoochie skirt. Both boobalicious. I wore black pants, black leather shoes and a striking black and white Hawaiian shirt. We mounted K-rims' Sweet-ride and headed down Lamar Blvd.

Law abiding and justice loving gangstas that we are, we stopped at a red traffic light. Biggity-bam! Suddenly a blue Cadillac slammed into the back of a Mitsubishi in front of us! Our initial shock at witnessing the collision was quickly overcome by the realization that the Cadillac didn't stop, but took a hard right and headed down the road. A hit-and-run!

K-rims pulled out in hot pursuit. She didn't drive very fast, but we was HOT, and in pursuit. He pulled off the main road to avoid the heat. We kept on pursuing to the next stop, we bust a left and headed to the next block. A-lo in the back seat ringed up the local fuzz and reported our coordinates. Police on the scene, you know what I mean. The lowered, chrome-rimmed, pimped-out Cadillac's filthy American engine spirited it far ahead of us, gaining much ground at the stop signs that dotted the escape route. As the taillights disappeared into the horizon our spirits sunk a bit, but we flowed like a harpoon, daily and nightly, and maintained pursuit.

The road came to a sharp right turn. As we made the turn the perp pulled out from the left side of the road. He had apparently stopped to appraise the damage to his front bumper. This was his fatal mistake. His second one of the evening, and one that would cost him dearly. I quickly jotted down the license plate number and we withdrew from the chase.

We met up with the disoriented victims of the hit-and-run back at the intersection, gave them the plate #, and disappeared in a puff of Smoothe-ride's exhaust.

Although sixth street was unworthy of our pimpness, A-lo was worthy of several cat calls and solicitations of prostitution. Thats the kind of bitches we is. The block was dead yo, so we continued to 818 A-lo Avenue. Another day, another adventure.

T-ball