04-30-2020, 02:33 PM
Jamaican Jimmy is sitting on a nice beach with a steel drum between his knees. His hair has finally begun to dread, which has filled him with happiness.
As he tinkers with the drum, a man appears and walks up to Jimmy, extending his hand for a shake.
Mon: "Jimmy! Weh yuh deh pon? Wah gwaan?"
Jimmy smiles wide and stands up, grabbing the man in a hug instead.
JJ: "Mi deh yah, yuh know!"
They embrace. Jimmy then breaks away and sits back down, producing a well-wrapped blunt from his pocket and lighting it up, offering it to his friend.
JJ :"Every little ting be real irie, mon! I got dis motch agin' a guy from Russia, yuh know. He tink he de big strong boy, but he don' know what Jimmy be like. Jimmy filled wit' the strength JAH give him, yuh know."
Mon :"Ya mon, small up yuhself."
The friend gestures for Jimmy to scoot over, and Jimmy obliges. The blunt is passed back and forth as the two friends sit and stare out at the clear blue sea.
JJ :"Ya know, mon, dese wrestler types, dey don't be knowin' de struggle of de black mon. You feel me, mon? I been growned up on dis island, I be seein' de people an' dey struggles now e'erday an' e'ernight. We got to fight all de day long when we talk to the land ownahs, when we talk wit' de colonizahs. I know it in me heart dat ain't nobody from no Russia can take down a bruddah from Jamaica."
Mon :"Jimmy wot de fuck, mon? You white as hell. You smokin' too much of dis reefah."
JJ :"Ay, now, we been tru all dis before. Jimmy white on de outside, sure, can't nobody be helpin' it if dey was born in Wisconsin, mon, but Jimmy got de soul of a black mon. Jimmy's heart right heah in Jamaica. Me soul in dis sand, in dis watah. I represent de country, de island, bettah den anyone since dem boys from Cool Runnins. People respect me, mon, I been in de XWF a good while now, been in de ring wit some bad muddahfuckahs. But none o' dem able to keep ol' Jimmy down, yuh know."
Mon : "You ever even won a match, Jim?"
JJ: "Shut de fuck up, mon. I be workin' on it, okay? I be gettin' just a step or two closer each time, an' 'dis right 'eah is me big break. Only got to beat one uddah mon, he ain't beat nobody else neidah. No problems, mon. Only de sweet sweet taste o' opportunities to make more money for de ol' bank account."
Mon: "You ain't got no money, Jimmy, dat's why you always sleepin' out 'eah on de beach."
JJ: "What I tell you, mon, dat'a a choice I dun made to be close to JAH."
Mon: "Ya, Jimmy, okay, okay..."
They pass the blunt back and forth again in silence. Jimmy's friend looks ready to get going, but as he begins to stand up Jimmy puts a hand on his knee.
JJ: "Where ya goin', mon? Ain't ya gon' wan' ta hear me new song?"
The man looks like the question physically hurt him. He sighs and sits back down in the sand, though.
Mon: "I ain't got all night, Jimmy, I got to go fuck me ol' lady Gina before I go 'ome to me wife."
JJ: "You be fuckin' Gina too, mon? Dat girl be suckin' me dick just dis past weekend!"
Mon: "You always got to lie Jimmy why you dis way all de time. You know me an' Gina was togeddah dis weekend."
JJ: "Maybe was ya wife, den."
The man's eyes widen with anger, but Jimmy begins plonking away at the steel drum and singing. No Jamaican can strike a man while he is singing.
JJ: "🎶 Long time gone since de debbil been to Jamiacaaaa... he been to de streets down Kingston wayyy... 🎶 Ol' Jimmy gon' to fight de Russians den he be one to saaaay... 🎶"
Mon: "Dis be terrible, mon."
JJ: "🎶 No Ghost Tank buttholes to be yankin' out no numbahs from, no worries can I seeeeee... 🎶 Jus' cash an' opportunity, waitin' dere for meeeeee... 🎶"
"🎶 an' when de ol' man come an' put ol' Jimmy in de graaaaave... 🎶 Dey gon' tell de people gaddered deah, dat Jimmy ain't died no slaaaaaave... 🎶"
"🎶 Dem plantations long time gone now, got no sugah caaaaaaaane... 🎶 Only got me little drum, an' a delivery of paaaaaaaaaaaaaain... 🎶"
"🎶 Dey wasted all de good times on Gilmours an' Ghost Taaaaaaaaaaanks... 🎶 Now dey on dey knees at night, givin' ol' Jimmy taaaaaaaaaaaaanks... 🎶"
"🎶 So now me sing me song all day, an' get pussy e'ery niiiiiiiiiiiiight... 🎶 When Jimmy gon' to Anarchy, he gave dat Russian a fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight... 🎶"
Jimmy then goes to town on his drum, really getting into the rhythm as his sticks turn into a blur in his hands. He works his drum so hard he begins to sweat through his Hawaiian shirt and his backward-facing baseball cap falls into the sand.
JJ: "BUH! BUH! Dis de right rhythm, mon, I feel it in me black bones!"
Mon: "I got to get de fuck outta here before I drown meself, Jimmy. Good luck out at de XWF now. You gon' need it me assume."
JJ: "BUH! BUH!"
Jimmy keeps playing, oblivious to the fact that his friend has departed. The rhythm has consumed him. The rhythm of Jamaican drums.
As he tinkers with the drum, a man appears and walks up to Jimmy, extending his hand for a shake.
Mon: "Jimmy! Weh yuh deh pon? Wah gwaan?"
Jimmy smiles wide and stands up, grabbing the man in a hug instead.
JJ: "Mi deh yah, yuh know!"
They embrace. Jimmy then breaks away and sits back down, producing a well-wrapped blunt from his pocket and lighting it up, offering it to his friend.
JJ :"Every little ting be real irie, mon! I got dis motch agin' a guy from Russia, yuh know. He tink he de big strong boy, but he don' know what Jimmy be like. Jimmy filled wit' the strength JAH give him, yuh know."
Mon :"Ya mon, small up yuhself."
The friend gestures for Jimmy to scoot over, and Jimmy obliges. The blunt is passed back and forth as the two friends sit and stare out at the clear blue sea.
JJ :"Ya know, mon, dese wrestler types, dey don't be knowin' de struggle of de black mon. You feel me, mon? I been growned up on dis island, I be seein' de people an' dey struggles now e'erday an' e'ernight. We got to fight all de day long when we talk to the land ownahs, when we talk wit' de colonizahs. I know it in me heart dat ain't nobody from no Russia can take down a bruddah from Jamaica."
Mon :"Jimmy wot de fuck, mon? You white as hell. You smokin' too much of dis reefah."
JJ :"Ay, now, we been tru all dis before. Jimmy white on de outside, sure, can't nobody be helpin' it if dey was born in Wisconsin, mon, but Jimmy got de soul of a black mon. Jimmy's heart right heah in Jamaica. Me soul in dis sand, in dis watah. I represent de country, de island, bettah den anyone since dem boys from Cool Runnins. People respect me, mon, I been in de XWF a good while now, been in de ring wit some bad muddahfuckahs. But none o' dem able to keep ol' Jimmy down, yuh know."
Mon : "You ever even won a match, Jim?"
JJ: "Shut de fuck up, mon. I be workin' on it, okay? I be gettin' just a step or two closer each time, an' 'dis right 'eah is me big break. Only got to beat one uddah mon, he ain't beat nobody else neidah. No problems, mon. Only de sweet sweet taste o' opportunities to make more money for de ol' bank account."
Mon: "You ain't got no money, Jimmy, dat's why you always sleepin' out 'eah on de beach."
JJ: "What I tell you, mon, dat'a a choice I dun made to be close to JAH."
Mon: "Ya, Jimmy, okay, okay..."
They pass the blunt back and forth again in silence. Jimmy's friend looks ready to get going, but as he begins to stand up Jimmy puts a hand on his knee.
JJ: "Where ya goin', mon? Ain't ya gon' wan' ta hear me new song?"
The man looks like the question physically hurt him. He sighs and sits back down in the sand, though.
Mon: "I ain't got all night, Jimmy, I got to go fuck me ol' lady Gina before I go 'ome to me wife."
JJ: "You be fuckin' Gina too, mon? Dat girl be suckin' me dick just dis past weekend!"
Mon: "You always got to lie Jimmy why you dis way all de time. You know me an' Gina was togeddah dis weekend."
JJ: "Maybe was ya wife, den."
The man's eyes widen with anger, but Jimmy begins plonking away at the steel drum and singing. No Jamaican can strike a man while he is singing.
JJ: "🎶 Long time gone since de debbil been to Jamiacaaaa... he been to de streets down Kingston wayyy... 🎶 Ol' Jimmy gon' to fight de Russians den he be one to saaaay... 🎶"
Mon: "Dis be terrible, mon."
JJ: "🎶 No Ghost Tank buttholes to be yankin' out no numbahs from, no worries can I seeeeee... 🎶 Jus' cash an' opportunity, waitin' dere for meeeeee... 🎶"
"🎶 an' when de ol' man come an' put ol' Jimmy in de graaaaave... 🎶 Dey gon' tell de people gaddered deah, dat Jimmy ain't died no slaaaaaave... 🎶"
"🎶 Dem plantations long time gone now, got no sugah caaaaaaaane... 🎶 Only got me little drum, an' a delivery of paaaaaaaaaaaaaain... 🎶"
"🎶 Dey wasted all de good times on Gilmours an' Ghost Taaaaaaaaaaanks... 🎶 Now dey on dey knees at night, givin' ol' Jimmy taaaaaaaaaaaaanks... 🎶"
"🎶 So now me sing me song all day, an' get pussy e'ery niiiiiiiiiiiiight... 🎶 When Jimmy gon' to Anarchy, he gave dat Russian a fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight... 🎶"
Jimmy then goes to town on his drum, really getting into the rhythm as his sticks turn into a blur in his hands. He works his drum so hard he begins to sweat through his Hawaiian shirt and his backward-facing baseball cap falls into the sand.
JJ: "BUH! BUH! Dis de right rhythm, mon, I feel it in me black bones!"
Mon: "I got to get de fuck outta here before I drown meself, Jimmy. Good luck out at de XWF now. You gon' need it me assume."
JJ: "BUH! BUH!"
Jimmy keeps playing, oblivious to the fact that his friend has departed. The rhythm has consumed him. The rhythm of Jamaican drums.