Post by stonedraiders on Jul 11, 2007 4:56:00 GMT -6
The camera fades in on Stoned Raiders’ beat-up van, with the night sky above them. The camera is unable to see inside the windows, as it’s smoked out. What possibly can smoke out the windows!? Well, it’s soon revealed as Blake Ryder steps out of the driver’s seat. He coughs and backs up. He puts his hands on his hips and looks at the van.
Blake Ryder: “Damn R, you’ve been hittin’ dis shit nuts fo awhile homie. Why don’t yo skinny ass put dat shit down and take a break or sumthin’ foo?”
Rex Vinkle suddenly appears out of the passenger seat. He flings the door open and steps out. He falls to the ground, face-first. The camera gets closer, and notices he’s knocked out. His partner slowly walks over and crouches down next to him. He simply shakes his head.
Blake Ryder: “You a weak busta! Boyz n da 'hood wouldn't like yo rep.”
At that moment, a Cypress Hill ring tone is heard. Blake takes out a small black cell phone from his pocket and flips it open, answering the call.
Scott Lanegan: “Blake?”
Blake Ryder: “Yo yo, homie Scott! Wut’s good mayne?”
Scott Lanegan: “How are you and Rex doing?”
Blake Ryder: “Pretty good mayne. Rex is rollin’ it right now, ya see. We got our match wit da CIA n sum Royal Muthaf**kas n sum other random bitchez. We got dis thang.”
Scott Lanegan: “That’s good. Hey, about that after party in Kansas City, cancel it.”
Blake Ryder: “Aww, mayne, why dat?”
Scott Lanegan: “I’m on my way towards Enid for Americana.”
Blake Ryder: “Where da hell iz dat?”
Scott Lanegan: “Somewhere in north Oklahoma. Middle of nowhere.”
Blake Ryder: “Ha, you a farm boi now. Aight we gotta head out befo Rex smokes all dis shit. Plus people say they caught us buyin’ sum shit and takin’ out dat busta cop. We gotta get da move on, cuz we ganstas. Word homie.”
He flips the phone off and puts it back inside his pocket. He looks around, as does the camera. The area is a desolate highway, with no other cars around. The van is parked on the side of the road, simply there. Blake kicks Rex in his leg.
Blake Ryder: “Aight homie, get yo ass up.”
His partner coughs and slowly brings himself to his feet. He sighs and brushes off his clothes. He looks around, attempting to find out where he is.
Rex Vinkle: “I feel f**ked up. Did we get our asses kicked at POW already or sum shit?
Blake Ryder: “Yea yea, forget bout dat last time, we weren't ready. But naw, we haven’t gotten there yet. We gotta take out sum bustas, CIA n da Prez? And we be teamin’ up wit another beast from da east, T-Brown. Mayne, ain’t yo bitch ass ever paying attention? It’s a 6-mayne tag team, mayne. Wut gives?”
Rex scratches his head.
Rex Vinkle: “Uhh…chyea. Let’s go, then.
Blake Ryder: “Damn R, you’ve been hittin’ dis shit nuts fo awhile homie. Why don’t yo skinny ass put dat shit down and take a break or sumthin’ foo?”
Rex Vinkle suddenly appears out of the passenger seat. He flings the door open and steps out. He falls to the ground, face-first. The camera gets closer, and notices he’s knocked out. His partner slowly walks over and crouches down next to him. He simply shakes his head.
Blake Ryder: “You a weak busta! Boyz n da 'hood wouldn't like yo rep.”
At that moment, a Cypress Hill ring tone is heard. Blake takes out a small black cell phone from his pocket and flips it open, answering the call.
Scott Lanegan: “Blake?”
Blake Ryder: “Yo yo, homie Scott! Wut’s good mayne?”
Scott Lanegan: “How are you and Rex doing?”
Blake Ryder: “Pretty good mayne. Rex is rollin’ it right now, ya see. We got our match wit da CIA n sum Royal Muthaf**kas n sum other random bitchez. We got dis thang.”
Scott Lanegan: “That’s good. Hey, about that after party in Kansas City, cancel it.”
Blake Ryder: “Aww, mayne, why dat?”
Scott Lanegan: “I’m on my way towards Enid for Americana.”
Blake Ryder: “Where da hell iz dat?”
Scott Lanegan: “Somewhere in north Oklahoma. Middle of nowhere.”
Blake Ryder: “Ha, you a farm boi now. Aight we gotta head out befo Rex smokes all dis shit. Plus people say they caught us buyin’ sum shit and takin’ out dat busta cop. We gotta get da move on, cuz we ganstas. Word homie.”
He flips the phone off and puts it back inside his pocket. He looks around, as does the camera. The area is a desolate highway, with no other cars around. The van is parked on the side of the road, simply there. Blake kicks Rex in his leg.
Blake Ryder: “Aight homie, get yo ass up.”
His partner coughs and slowly brings himself to his feet. He sighs and brushes off his clothes. He looks around, attempting to find out where he is.
Rex Vinkle: “I feel f**ked up. Did we get our asses kicked at POW already or sum shit?
Blake Ryder: “Yea yea, forget bout dat last time, we weren't ready. But naw, we haven’t gotten there yet. We gotta take out sum bustas, CIA n da Prez? And we be teamin’ up wit another beast from da east, T-Brown. Mayne, ain’t yo bitch ass ever paying attention? It’s a 6-mayne tag team, mayne. Wut gives?”
Rex scratches his head.
Rex Vinkle: “Uhh…chyea. Let’s go, then.