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- -Dr. G
“Unleash the Ratchet!”
“Damn! Man this club is dead tonight,” complained the half naked Hershey as she lazily walked back into the locker room covered in colorful sprinkles and baby oil.
“Yeah…it ain’t how it used to be,” Pyro sighed as she sauntered in her painfully high heels and plopped her once supple ass down on a chair in front of a huge mirror.
She starred at her image blankly, while reapplying her lipstick and thinking of the days when she didn’t have to dance alongside some taut young thang just to get attention.
“Back in the day, we had ballers to come in every night and they came to see me…just me,” Pyro, the house mom and OG, continued as Hershey dumped the half empty trash bag of money on the table and began to sort.
“Well Bitch, they coming to see me now and this is less than eight-hundred dollars…I think I should get the most of it…I got tuition to pay,” Hershey replied with a flick of her platinum blonde wig with a heir of importance in her voice.
“Bitch please, you better give me my money…didn’t you graduate in May? And I thought you were quitting anyway?” Pyro, spat at the recent college grad with a glare that could pierce the giant mirror she was staring into.
“I am quitting, but…but I don’t know, I just hate the thought of starting over, you know? I worked too hard here just to start over as a bottom bitch on the corporate ladder getting less money,” Hershey rationalized aloud as she peered at the mosaic of dollar bills scattered in front of her.
“Maybe you’ll what? You’ll waste your education and eventually take my place. End up like me? Huh? You don’t even like stripping like that!” Pyro yelled as she stood to face the dark chocolate dancer whom she towered over with her massive platform heels. Hershey and Pyro continued to argue nose-to-nose, shouting obscenities that filled the room until “Ratchet” Rochelle entered the room, slamming the door shut behind her to get their attention. Attention was something that Rochelle always managed to garner no matter where she went.
“What’s up bitches! Damn…why all the long faces up in this motherfucka? I hope there is some ballers in the house tonight cause I’m ready to shake this motherfuckin’ boooottttaaayy!!!” Rochelle screamed as she bent over in front of the fighting women to clap her fat ass in their faces.
“Now, she loves to strip!” Pyro squealed as the three women burst into laughter cackling away their disagreement and their bad mood.
“Ain’t nothing like a fat ass to cheer you up, baby! I can’t wait to shake my ass and get this paper tonight!” Rochelle said with a grin the size of Texas in a deep southern drawl that revealed that she was indeed a native ATLien.
And “alien” is a word in the English lexicon that doesn’t come close to describing the bizarre energy of the stripper that everyone south of the Mason-Dixon knows as “Ratchet Rochelle.” NO ONE knows where she came from, her real name or her true identity. I’m sure the girls at the club would flip if they knew that “Ratchet Rochelle” is actually the alter ego of the uber-religious accountant Christine Richards.
All they know is that she is now a feature performer at Magic City in Atlanta who shows up from time to time to do her thing. None of the other girls can fuck with Rochelle on or off the stage when it comes to gettin that cheddar. On stage, Rochelle is the most dynamic dancer anyone has ever seen and she is willing to do anything for a tip…or so it seems. And off the stage she is seemingly magnetic as the customers are always begging for a private dance or just a chance to talk and be in her presence. No one knows when she will show up to grace the club with her presence, but when she shows up, she shows out.
“I wouldn’t expect much tonight, girl,” warned Pyro.
“It is DEAD out there,” Hershey groaned.
“Just watch me!” Ratchet said through a toothy grin as she ran out of the locker room and onto the stage.
Little did she know, this “ATLien’s” life was about to get a little bit weirder as her next, and final, customer burst through the door. This customer was a very tall and shapely woman that seemed to radiate a ghastly green aura as she sauntered to sit near the front of the stage. She was accompanied by two buff dudes walking on each side of her carrying open duffle bags filled with cash. Ratchet didn’t notice and proceeded to dance like her life depended on it.
The Migos “Fight Night” blared in the background as Ratchet’s booty popping, pole sliding and floor grinding gripped the crowd. Rochelle made sure to let everyone know why she is nicknamed “Ratchet” by having every man drooling and every woman cheering while making it rain on her energizer-bunny, bouncing ass. Although, she felt a chilling shiver of dread as the woman’s eyes danced upon her silicone curves, Rochelle continued to dance as if she was possessed. What happens next will change everything, as the Shade recruited her next specimen for research.
*PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE OUR STORY*
“Asa the Enlightened”
Sometimes remembering the hell you lived through is much worse than when you were living it. And no one knows this better than former sex therapist Felicia aka “Dr. Goode.” She’d been through hell and back this past year and with the help of her new friend Megan, she was able to recall every gory detail that had been swirling in her brain. With new knowledge of the past, present emotions of anger and vengeance consume the Doc as she search for answers.
Immediately after the plane touched down from Jamaica, the Doc went to the one place her Haitian instincts told her to go when reality didn’t seem real: a Voodoo Queen. Felicia knew that she was dealing with some otherworldly shit and needed advice from someone with connections on the other side. Megan recommended a woman who’d helped her discover and cultivate her own talents of the mind: the beautiful Voodoo Priestess, Asa the Enlightened. Asa is a truly enlightened being who exudes the aura of sunshine and warmth with the mental sharpness of a samurai sword. What she tells Felicia will set in motion the chain of events that will put an end to the Doc’s suffering and bring a fitting conclusion to this seemingly endless nightmare with The Shade.
*Please Do Not Remove Our Story*
In 1860, 99% of all black people worked for whites. Today, 98% of all black people work for whites. You are enjoying a social illusion because you go to someone else’s restaurant, but you don’t own a restaurant yourself.
Oh, my mistake.
Luke Woodham, 16, WHITE. Murdered two students at his school AND his own mother. Now in prison.
Kip Kinkel, 15, WHITE. Murdered two students at his school AND both of his parents. Now in prison.
Eric Hainstock, 15, WHITE. Murdered one student at his school. Now in prison.
TJ Lane, 17, WHITE. Murdered three students and told their parents that he masturbates to the memory at his trial. Now in prison.
James Holmes, 24, WHITE. Murdered twelve people at a premier of Batman. Now in prison.
Timothy McVeigh, 27, WHITE. Murdered 168 people and injured 600 more when he blew up a building in Oklahoma. Was executed in 2001, but only after a fair trial and appeals.
Not to mention all of the serial killers, school shooters and spree killers who are touted as being “misunderstood” and were given the basic liberty of a fair trial even though the majority of them committed crimes so abhorrent that I won’t write about them on this blog.
But you’re a right. A black, unarmed 18 year old boy who ALLEGEDLY held up a store deserved to be shot while he was on the ground. And he sure as fuck deserved to be laid in the middle of the street, uncovered for over 4 hours. And maybe because I’m a mother too but my mind automatically goes to his mother, she deserved to see her baby being treated like that right?
speak on it!
This is quickly becoming my catch phrase: Fuck white people. We deserve to get shot over a cigar. Over mistaken identities. Over suspicions. They fucking kill busloads full of people. They get a fair trial. A white motherfucker could blow up a building full of orphans and he’ll at least make it to prison. Black dude? Nah. You’re leaving that scene in a body bag and your family is going to prison. Then the cops will shoot your damn dog. Fuck white people.
The owner called and said he didn’t steal anything.
The timestamp from the videos that white people are using as evidence? June. Two months before he was shot. Cops said the robbery happened on the same day as the shooting. Get the fuck out of here.
^^^^ OH DAMN!!!
The only thing I don’t like about this post is the “fuck white people” part. I am white. I think what is happening in Ferguson is horrible. But what is happening in Ferguson does not mean all white people are bad. There is still prejudice against black people, and that is horrible. I understand that exists. But that doesn’t make all white people bad.
You’re not helping anything or anyone by trying to make this about you and your race.
Of all the things I posted and the point you’re making is that “not all white people” are bad?
Please don’t be that person.
Hold on, don’t get me wrong here. I think what you said was totally right and just. I just mean I don’t think it is right to say “fuck white people”. Otherwise, this post is entirely just and correct. It is just that one comment that bothers me.
But what did your comments about your race add to the social commentary of this post?
Nothing except to perpetuate this rumour that as soon as race is mentioned, a white person pipes up with “but not all white people”.
What everyone fails to realize is that whether he stole or not is irrelevant to the murder case. If I was shopping for produce at Walmart, and shoplifted/sampled a few grapes before I bought the whole bag of said grapes, it would be irrelevant if a crime was committed against me later…
The so called robbery and Mr. Brown’s murder are two different isolated occurrences; this was later confirmed by the local police chief. Even if somehow the acting officer knew that Mr. Brown was a suspect, he should have used proper protocol and arrested and/or detained him and not murdered him in cold blood.
Furthermore, releasing that tape WITH the release of the officers name who is responsible, is a BITCHMADE move to calm down white middle America. But what will they do to calm us down when the truth about the murder at the scene comes out?
Lick it, or Ticket… BABY
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