Easley in, Easley Out!

Man, I'm happy I made the team and all, but it's too cold out there for me to do much more than be a waste of bench space and the occasional start. But them masks we've been wearing to keep warm on the field gave me a killa idea.




Willie's kind of tight with the meal money around here, and Damion Easley and his women's got expensive tastes. Plus with my small salary I need to be able to feed my family. So I gathered up a crew figurin' we could hit a packie I know of, just around the corner from Shea. How they ever gonna pick out which Major League Baseball player wearing a ski mask done it?? Answer: they ain't, especially with the D.C. crew in town. Plus by the time they though gathering up the suspects, I'll probably be in New Orleans, one way or another.



So my crew consisted of me, this baby faced killa named Smith, John or Joe or something, and Paul LoDuca's cousin Vinny. I invited Jose Reyes to join in on the plan, but when he showed up looking like a smilin fool, or like he was headed to a children's birthday party, he was out. I keeps it real y'all.

Reyes can set the table, but he don't know jack about putting food on it!

LoDuca waited look out in the car, and me and Smith went in the store and demanded all the money in the cash register. It was going well when Smith bugged out on the register guy for packing cold beers on top of his hot meatball sub [I forgot to mention, we ordered subs from the place next door]. Then it got ugly, and I'm talking Ramon Castro's domestic life-ugly. That f**er Smith is cold. Ice cold. Shot that muther in the face y'all. I ain't seen a gangsta that hard since I was coming up in the hood with Kevin Mitchell. As for me, I slipped out the back with about $600 in cash and as many 40s as I could carry. It was another smooth caper for me.


the stare of evil, y'all.