Buckshot

First gun I bought was a 12-gauge shotgun. I didn’t want the gun. Remember, though, I’d moved to a farm and I was sittin’ on the porch, and I see a white dude walking across my property, entitled, like he’s supposed to be there. He had a rifle over his shoulder, too. Ain’t that a bitch? I said, “What the fuck is this guy doing on my property?” I was mad as shit, but I was unarmed. So, I ended up just waving to this motherfucker like a bitch. I was just, like… And as soon as he got far enough away, I ran to my car and sped to Kmart. This is in a rural white area. And remember, I was nervous, ’cause the guy was on my property, I’m black, and I was sweating. You know what I mean? And I ran to the gun counter. Black and sweaty, sweating and black, and I looked up and I was like… I looked like a slave or something. I said, “I need a gun. Immediately.” Like that. Just like that. The guy didn’t ask no questions, he just… grabbed a 12-gauge shotgun, handed it to me. I’d never even held a gun before. I’m like… “Well, I need… I need some bullets, too.” And the guy reached under the counter, put two boxes of shells on the counter. He said, “All right, buddy. Which box do you want?” I didn’t know. One box had a picture of some ducks on it. The other box had a picture of some deer. I said, “Well, what’s that box with them ducks?” He said, “Oh, that there’s bird shot.” And then he goes just like this, I’m not exaggerating, he goes, “That won’t kill a man.” He said, “It’ll just pepper him up nicely.” I said, “What the fuck? Pepper?” You know what it means to pepper a motherfucker up? It means that when the shell explodes, hot BBs will shoot out of the barrel of the gun, not killing a motherfucker, but penetrating their skin and shallow flesh. Boy, that’s gotta hurt. Hot BBs? “Aah! Aaaah!” Remember when Dick Cheney shot a motherfucker in the face and he lived? That was bird shot. I said, “Well, what’s that box with the deer on it?” He goes, “Oh, that there is buckshot. That’ll put a hole in a goddamn truck if you wanted to. So, which box do you want?” And he picked the one with the deer up and shook it. I thought he was trying to trick me. I was like, “Do you have a box, uh, with a picture of a white dude trespassing on it? ‘Cause… ….that’s exactly the strength I’m looking for. But I didn’t know that if you’re defending your home with a shotgun, the formula dictates that you’re supposed to buy both boxes. This was not a formula that I was familiar with. It goes like this: there’s six shots in a 12-gauge shotgun. So when you load the gun, you load it like this. First shot, bird shot. Next shot, buckshot. Bird shot, and then after that, gun’s Jamaican. Buckshot, buckshot, buckshot. But you gotta picture it.

Okay, like, say I’m in bed and I’m sleepin’, and suddenly, my wife wakes me up. “David. David, wake up!” And I’m like, “Uh, oh. Look who’s come around.” And I pull my dick over the top of my pajamas. And she’s says, “No, I hear somethin’.” I go, “Oh, this bitch.” So I get up out of bed… Uh, grab the gun. I say, “Wait here, baby. I’ll go check it out. Just lock the door behind me.” Oh, my God, she’s right. Right there in the kitchen is a heroin-addicted white and… he’s digging through the change jar by the door. “I work really hard for that change. I gotta do something.” So, first, I rack the shotgun. “Hey, motherfucker!” Click-clack. That’s a test. That click-clack sound will stop a rational human being in their tracks. But, sure enough, this person is not rational. They’re sick on drugs. They’re digging in the change. I gotta act fast. This n i g g a’s almost got $1.50. “I warned you.” Bird shot! And there it goes. Hot BB’s will permeate his yellow heroin skin. Remember, I’m not killing him, I’m just “peppering him up nice.” He lets out a heroin scream. No! And that should be the end of it. But… Uh-oh. I miscalculated. While he’s on the ground screaming, I notice that his teeth are horribly miscolored. That’s not heroin at all, is it? That’s crystal meth. He pops right back up, unscathed. Time for the heavy stuff. Clack-clack. Buckshot! And then, if he got a friend with him, I got one more bird shot left. And I repeat the cycle. After that n i g g a, it’s slugs for everybody. And I’ll be in a kitchen full of dying heroin addicts, saying stupid heroin last words. “You shot me, bro.” “Oh, it hurts, man. It hurts. Ah.” Their last words are always the dumbest words, like… “Why is your dick out?”