“Holly dog shit!”
“Must be 4/20. National pot day. Guys celebrate all over the world!” said sarcastic drug peddling shade 7-11, lighting up a blunt and holding the breath.
“Looks as another hard-hat hullabaloo!” I said. “Dude, pass it….. You twisted the blunt tighter than those bitches in Havana!”
“Yeah! This is gooooood weeeeed…..”
“And it seems they’re getting a billy overdose” said 7-11 smiling. “Not bad!”
“Heck, I can smell the bacon and the cans of sorrow from here … Let’s go into the alleyway”.
“Those chicken-pop from the looks seem bricklayers” he said.
“Dunno… Black and Chinese workers I don’t give a shit. They all look alike to me … Fuck! Here come two gushing ketchup!”
“Hey chums, where’re you running so aghast?” asked 7-11.
“Cause the muppets have charged against us cruel and mercilessly!” said the slim one.
“Uy! Uy!” added the fat and most defalcated one.
“A true slaughter! You see…” the slim pointing his comrade.
“And you don’t think other thing than flying as rabbits?” my colleague asked.
“And what else can we do faced with professionals of violence?”
“Holly shit! You organize yourselves rational and scientifically as urban guerrilla”.
“I can’t believe it!” said 7-11, winking to me, his state of enlightenment, achieved by the green air of happiness, going full throttle. “Is that you know nothing of the principles of selective harassment tactics according to that Ho Chi Minh?”
“Well, I know some football tactics, the quarterback sneak…” said fatty.
“7-11 … don’t fool yourself” I said, trying to do something with his ongoing creative process.
“That’s brave of you… this is why you look as a bloody shit! Look, the first thing to do in the revolutionary action is never ever accept the formal approach of the fight presented by the opposing force… The second is making constant harassment, but superficial and selective, to divide the enemy core into molecular fractions… Third, once split the opposing force, entice it into a known and advantageous ground, propitious to your interests… And fourth … systematic suppression of the enemy, in the most ostentatious possible manner, so that it serves the interests of your own propaganda. You copy?”
“So so” said dubious the one who was already forming a bloody puddle on the soil.
“Well, no matter. You now go back there and provoke an enemy unit, I mean a pig, and lure him here.
“That is we return to the mess and bring a porker here?” said the thin pal.
“Exactly … Then when he’s here, alone and isolated from the core of his main force, all together, grab him and thump him until we melt down his fuses!” said 7-11 satisfied.
“So nice!” agreed slimy.
“OK, OK” said fatty, wiping the blood from his face to be able to see before start running back to the battlefield.
“The bad thing is that the working class has no historical memory…” …I was able to understand from 7-11, while having my own cosmic epiphanies, in which our whole solar system could be one tiny atom in the fingernail of some other giant being … “…and therefore unable to accumulate the experiences of their ancient struggle”.
“Well, they have enough work paying the installments of the flat and make ends meet …” I said. “Look, here they come again!”
“What ye got?” asked 7-11cold-livered.
“Yes mistah! One is coming behind” said fatty, recovering his wheeze after breaking the 400 record.
Trumpp Trumpp Trumpp … “Grrrr!”
“Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick!!!” cried out 7-11, freaking with the vision of that full gear interbreeding of King Kong and Hulk, with a ready nightstick up.
“Hasn’t been easy, but…” pointed slimy.
“See u later 7-11…” I said.
“This one and this one, both, said they are going to bonk my mom” said the monster with a very obvious “police voice”, you know the one.
“Really?” asked a sweaty 7-11, loosening the collar with a finger.
“Yes sir, and I’m very bereaved…” he said as he pounded one hand with the baton.
“Are we attacking him?” asked silly fat ass.
“Are you leaving?” asked me silly slimy ass.
“No, just going to buy some cigarettes and back right away” stupid asshole!
“Is it true what this gentleman is saying, that ye insulted his mother?” asked 7-11 to the two jerks.
“Well… we just did it to bring him to the trap, as you told us” protested fatty.
“That is you have been the instigator of the verbal violence…” said the full in black nightmare.
“Me? But what are you saying? I don’t know these jerks at all!” cried 7-11.
“Furthermore, look Sir, look at my hands, no callosity, you see, nothing, I haven’t worked in my whole life, you see, what I’m going to have to do with those two unruly workers?” reasoned 7-11.
POM … PLAF … “Uy!” … CROC… “Aggggg!!” …
“Well, basically…” commented 7-11, at the time we swiftly moved away unscathed from the slaughter that was in full swing with the two hands behind… “…this will serve them as a valuable experience as they’d understand that the working class shouldn’t trust anyone, much less the theorists of revolution, who are all crooks”.
“Is that what you learned in the Little Red Book from Mao?” I asked.
“No, this I learned it in the Red Light district! And light a damn joint cause the “spacing out” had crashed abruptly! Holly shit, have you ever seen a guy so big?”
Rolling stoned – Dugutigui
In the “Diula” language in Mali, the term « dugutigui » (chief of the village), literally translated, means: «owner of the village»; «dugu» means village and «tigui», owner. Probably the term is the result of the contraction of «dugu kuntigui» (literally: chief of the village).