O.T.L.

i think some readers need some clarification
on a singularly old school notion
of the hardest of hard styles,
and the most hamden, connecticut-based curses
in the arsenal of really real worthy warrior poets.
now,
before some of you guys assume i'm talkin' about YOU.
i'm not.
i promise.
but if you weren't sure,
that sort of says something, doesn't it?
y'all need to get right, kids.
y'heard?
-
now,
on to today's main action item:
i'm hearin'/reading about some folks being off the List.
off the List?
ohhhhh, man.
that's not something battle-beasts take lightly.
i mean it.
don't even assume everybody starts out ON the List.
you've got to just be dope enough to get listed in the first place.
recognize, son.
don't take people off of what they can't ever hope to be on.
on the ones, my ninjas,
removal of the name from the List
is so much more than just striking letters from the roster,
erasing from the rolls,
of crossing off of the credits an' that.
off the List means OFF THE F*n' LIST.
as in:
no more chances.
as in:
get gone and stay gone, or be gone.
as in:
if we see each other in public,
you'd better mutha-flippin' cross the street
and start pep-steppin' in the opposite direction.
as in:
you'd have to take a bullet for me;
large-bore hollowpoint into the braincase like,
.....fatally,
to even be considered for posthumous stand-by status,
as an optional worst-case alternate
should another 'nother neighbor get bumped
for failing to live up to the List's viking virtues.
fact.
folks,
you can't just toss that term around lightly.
it's not for casual bandying.
it's a mighty curse, friends...
as such,
you've got to rep that 'never forgive' sh!t,
that hardest-heart-of-stone-type jauns,
the kind of jammie-jam where if somebody
unknowingly even momentarily mentions
the name of a mutha-licker who has been removed,
you say: who? real hard-and mean like-
over and over and over until suckas get the point.
Off The List renders weak-sauce waterbabies
as non-entities, and enemies of the hottness,
in perpetuity, forever and ever after.
wooooooooooooord.
so,
what i'm tellin' you is that you'd better be sure
before you issue the edict.
because that jauns is molto permanent.
and if you can't commit to a style that hard?
you can't have a List.
that's the rules.
decreed, duders.
*
now, of course,
when it comes to those no call/no show b!tches?
c'mon.
there'd better have been a life-threatening, horrific accident,
or a biblical-type natural disaster,
or a giant radiation-soaked monster/alien invasion-abduction,
or else we can't hang out ever again, either.
that's obvious.
i want to see scars, missing limbs, death certificates,
smoldering holes in the earth where your house was,
or a stretched out u.f.o. probed butthole,
with 'daddy's house' in laser-etched hieroglyphs,
or else you've lost tattbomb privileges.
permanently.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
and that's the treatment for diapery nancypantses
who wouldn't ever ever ever be considered
as List-worthy candidates, y'all.
september seems to have sparked some
seriously reawakened old world viking fury
up here in the woodsly goodness, i guess.
the spirits and memories are unearthed, ninjas.
that flood must have washed 'em out,
and woke 'em up.
it's all really happening;
never quiet, never soft.....