Da Witch Emerges

heh heh heh heh. I found another good republish for the Gizoogle.net filter. And this time it’s my work. I’m delighted at the result.

I’ll post the original at the bottom.

Da Witch Emerges

Da witch sat hunkered down in her hoopty up in a seedy Fred Meyer parkin lot in tha shittiest part of tha hood. Biatch was pissed. Thankfully, dat freaky biatch had a solution ta resolve her off tha hook irritation.

Tha witch decided it may be betta fo’ all concerned dat dis thugged-out biiiatch could only invoke one spell. Realistically – thangs could git skanky fast if dat biiiiatch was a all-powerful witch. Biatch knew dat shit.

Da witch was fond of her funky-ass 1960’s Ford Mustang. Biatch loved tha roomy interior, gigantic white steerin wheel, throbbin stereo grooves, n’ tha cherry red exterior dat brought her pleasure just lookin at it up in tha driveway at night.

But there was a problem wit takin dis hoopty on tha road: other drivers.

As tha witch entered tha Fred Meyer parkin lot on dis day, her big-ass booty steered her funky-ass hoopty slowly n’ methodically, takin care ta stop fo’ pedestrians n’ respect other drivers.

Yo, suddenly, dat biiiiatch witnessed another driver speedin all up in tha parkin lot at a rate straight-up wack fo’ a funky-ass busy parkin lot. Biatch was immediately incensed. Her nozzle opened up in rage.
Yo, she tried ta control her impulses – but dat shiznit was too late. All her senses prepared fo’ battle.

She kept a keen eye on dis driver n’ his crazy-ass modern yellow game car. Biatch looped round n’ followed his muthafuckin ass, kept her eyes fixed on his cold-ass tail lights. Biatch followed his ass until he approached a stop sign.

Yo, she waited until da thug was at a gangbangin’ full stop. She didn’t wanna hurt him, she just wanted ta seriously fuck wit his fuckin lil’ day.
It be necessary fo’ drivers ta be at a full n’ complete stop if a witch is straight-up determined ta pull dis evil shiznit on dem wild-ass muthafuckas. It’s too messed up otherwise. So tha witch followed her own lil protocol.

Dude slowed down n’ stopped.
Yo, she waited fo’ a moment n’ smiled.
Yo, she blinked her eyes three times up in rapid succession ta invoke tha spell.

BAM! <<<<

All four of his cold-ass tires blew up all up at tha same time biaatch!
She smiled n’ let up a cold-ass lil cackle. Biatch couldn’t peep his ass, but she knew exactly what tha fuck was goin’ down inside his car.

Dude was bobbin – overwhelmed by tha split-second adrenaline release. Dude looked round rapidly, sweatin n’ beatboxin expletives.
Pure, straight-up dope fear.
Dude didn’t KNOW what tha fuck had happened. Y’all KNOW dat shit! Not yet.
Has his thugged-out lil’ punk-ass been shot?! What was dat sound? That bang, biatch? Why was it so loud?

Finally, he leaped outta tha hoopty n’ quickly discovered tha blown tires. His grill chizzled. Now da thug was trippin n’ mad salty. Dude circled round tha back of tha car, eyes scannin tha asphalt as da perved-out muthafucka struggled ta locate tha source of tha blowout.
Dude placed his handz on tha top of his head n’ paced, eyes still wildly dartin round tha pavement. His grill contorted, n’ his thugged-out lil’ punk-ass started beatboxin tha fuck into tha air:

“Yo… what tha fuck tha FUCK did I run over, yo?!”

Dude screamed dis nuff muthafuckin times.
Da witch hunkered down n’ kept her distance, watchin tha scene wit amusement n’ pleasure.
She placed her sunglasses over her eyes wit a sigh. This is tha part where she knew she must enforce Witch Ethics.

Witches must maintain self-control. They’ve been given a gift; tha juice itself is tha reward. No gloatin be allowed. Y’all KNOW dat shit. But she’s only human. Afta all.

Her first instinct was ta roll up next ta him, while da thug was still sufferin dis dire stress, roll down her window n’ yell:
“HaaHAAA, oh peep dat son! LOOK at dat son! Yo ass betta call triple AAA, biiiatch!”

Da witch resisted dis straight-up phat impulse.

Yo, such behavior is beneath tha dignitizzle of a witch.

And tha witch considered her muthafuckin ass Highly Dignified.

It would also arouse suspicion. I aint talkin’ bout chicken n’ gravy biatch. Dude wouldn’t know dat she’s a witch, mind you, but he’d quickly assume dat she’d somehow been involved.
An enraged mind don’t require facts or details ta arrive at rapid conclusions.

He’d sense dat dis sneerin lil biiiatch sportin a red pixie cut had somehow, up in some way, seriously fucked wit all four of his cold-ass tires at once.

And then tha cops would be on ta her, she figured.
They’d finally gotz a lead.

This wasn’t her first episode of tire destruction.
Tires had already blown up in stopped vehiclez all over town. Every time a asshole driver stumbled upon tha pimped out misfortune of Ms. Pumpkin – tha Mighty Tire Witch – blew up tires n’ mad drama followed. Everywhere.
Da hood already had a hell of a problem on they hands.
Da problem emerged over time, n’ hood officials was slow ta come ta grips wit tha strange shiznit up in they midst.

Eventually, word spread. Drivers fuckin started contactin insurizzle g-units, n’ tha insurizzle g-units called tha tire manufacturers. Companies fuckin started investigations. First, they suspected a problem wit tha actual tires.
They feared a freaky freaky design issue. They figured tha worst-case scenario facin motorists n’ tha automotizzle industry was likely pendin lawsuits n’ a massive recall on tires.
Yo, soon enough, they discovered it wasn’t just one brand of tires.
Every brand of tire up in existence was blowin out, n’ all 4 simultaneously up in every last muthafuckin incident of dis kind.

Now thangs gots Real.

Da five-o was contacted; it became apparent dat a cold-ass lil criminal was afoot. But how?!

All four tires at once , always at stop lights, stop signs or up in tha driveway of motorist home residences. Always when other drivers was a safe distizzle away.
They scratched they headz fo’ months. No evidence of bombs. No fingerprints, n’ you can put dat on yo’ toast. No meaningful witnizz statements.
There was witnizz statements all right, but all statements consisted of tha witnesses observin spontaneous tire combustion without a suspect nearby.
Zero evidence of foul play.

One day, they brought up a savvy investigator from outta town. Dude uncovered tha pattern n’ pinpointed tha motizzle yo, but maddeningly so, cuz it didn’t brang his ass any closer ta solvin tha case.
There was still a cold-ass lil complete absence of evidence n’ no suspects. Dude sat up in his crib readin five-o reports n’ sucka statements, leanin forward a lil wit rolled up sleeves n’ a gangbangin’ furrowed brow.

Yo, suddenly, he gasped n’ looked up.
“TOM!”, da perved-out muthafucka shouted, “Tom, git yo’ ass over here, I be thinkin I gots dat shiznit son!”
Tomothy circled tha corner wit a cold-ass lil cup of fruity-ass malt liquor up in his hand.
“I’ve found a…. commonality, I think fo’ realz. A trend among tha suckas.”
Da investigator stood up n’ paced back n’ forth, touchin his chin up in thought. Dude strutted over ta tha window, pulled down tha blindz n’ grabbed a marker from his fuckin lil’ desk yo. Dude paused fo’ a moment, then strutted over ta tha white board.
Dude fuckin started freestylin driver names on tha white board up in a neat column. Dude freestyled rollin infractions across from each name, separated by commas.
“HA!”, he yelled, “Do you see it?”

Tomothy squinted fo’ a moment, then his wild lil’ grill chillaxed. Dude slowly smiled.
“Yes muthafucka! Oh, hell fo’sho, why didn’t we peep dis before!, biatch? Speedin tickets, movin violations, noise infractions from dem god-awful subwoofers. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some of these playas even parked up in a handicapped unit biaaatch! These drivers is all assholez! That’s tha key!”

“Right!”, tha detectizzle yelled, “and these is just tha ones dat we know bout son! Da remainin suckas is probably just assholez whoz ass drive wild-ass all over hood but manage ta fly under tha radar!”

Tomothy sipped his wild lil’ fruity-ass malt liquor n’ sighed.

“Well, I’ll be damned. Someone is targetin asshole drivers indiscriminately, all over town, n’ takin up all four tires at once on they hoopties…”

“Yeah,” tha investigator cut in, “and whoever it is, I mean, dis is unprecedented. This type’a shiznit happens all tha time. We’re dealin wit a straight-up professionizzle here, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin’ thru fo’sho fo’ realz. A real sophisticate.”
Meanwhile, tha witch stood beside her funky-ass Mustang on top of a hill overlookin tha ocean, leanin against tha parked car.
She wore stylish sunglasses n’ a long-ass red shawl draped over her shoulders, gently blowin up in tha wind.

Witch work is exhaustin sometimes. Castin spells, even minor ones, can seriously tax her juice levels.
She decided dat shiznit was time fo’ a lil chillaxation. There’s not a damn thang like a cold-ass lil cup of black chronic n’ a phat book ta unwind up in moments like all dis bullshit.


Hahaaaa the part about how she’s mufuckin Highly Dignified is the best.

Thanks for reading.

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