Turning Stone Casino - The Temptations Concert

Me and the Queen

Sacked: A Short Story

You can't play with the heart of a woman-any woman. The heart is the core of the Earth. The root of civilization is in Arabia at the Holy city of Mecca, and for those who have never noticed 'Arabia' is shaped similar to the shape of a human heart. Saturday Steve McNair was shot twice in the chest and twice in the head by his 20 year old mistress Sahel Kezemi. The 36 year old, ex-NFL star drew up the young wiz, and did something to cause a helluva Earthquake. Over the weekend me and Da God Supreme Victory kicked a variety of scenarios back and forth as to what could have caused the wiz to snap to the point of 'murder-suicide'. What pushes a wiz to the edge that she is prepared to end your world and her world?

Me and Da God came up with a variety of scenarios as to what went down in that condominum that night. I'm sure many have speculated, and I am no better than the others who have guessed, but this is how I cee the series of events that took place.

"We need to chill for a while." Said Steve taking a sip of Grey Goose.
"Chill? Chill how?" Sahel retorted.
"This 'thing' we doing. We need to rethink somethings." Steve answered.
"Rethink-fucking what Steve? What the fuck is it to 'rethink'?"
"The whole DUI thing, publicity, and shit like that. We got to lay low. You know I'm married."
"And you told me when you first met me that you weren't happy and that you were gonna divorce her. Was that a lie just to fuck me Steve? Was that a fucking lie Steve?!!!!"

Steve didn't answer, he rolled his eyes, and had a look in his eye that said, 'You don't 'get it' do you bitch.' It was a patronizing look-a look that angered Sahel.

Sahel had sensed that her Prince Charming was getting bored with her, the sexual fireworks were starting to subside, he had recently started to become distant, she could feel it. The DUI would cancel her license, he would take the Escalade, put her out the condo, and her dreams of one day becoming Mrs. Steve McNair would come crashing down. Sahel's worst fears were coming true, she was going to be another 'fuck', another one of the 'groupies' who fucked and sucked from state to state chasing a pro player. Steve had taught her things sexually that she never knew existed, he opened up something deep and hidden in her. He used her sexually like she had never been used before and on some level it felt good. She was completely and utterly in to him, he took her from a 95 Kia to an '07 Escalade. He bought her jewelry, clothes, gave her a key to the condo and now he wanted to 'Chill'. The weather in their relationship was becoming quiet chilly. Sahel did not want to 'Chill'. He had become everything, he picked up tabs in restaurants, snuck away on vacations and shot videos of her doing 'things' to him-triple x porno things-degrading things, things his wife Mechelle no longer did in the bedroom. Tears began to stream down her face. She was now a 20 year old kept whore, who was about to be cut from his team. Quickly she got the hint, and ran into the bathroom of the condo and started throwing up, he used her like toilet paper, and now he was flushing her down the toilet like shit. 'Sahel McNair', the towels in her dream home would be monogrammed with the initials 'SM'. That big dream home in heaven was evaporating as she threw up.

Steve sat on the couch coming to his senses, he would buy another bitch- bitches were a dime a dozen in his world-his world of money and fame. Bitches in Vegas, New York, Hawaii, LA, he had 'em all over the place, but it was time to chill with Sahel. This young bitch was getting sloppy, getting pulled over by the cops, and getting that DUI. Any one of them cops at the station that night could go to the press. That was the last thing Steve needed is his wife Mechelle in an Attorney's office filing for half his shit, and child support. With all his millions and four children child support would be a major bundle every month. 'Fuck it.' he thought, it's cheaper to keep her (Mechelle). He needed to cut ties with the crazy young, Iranian bitch, the pussy was good while it lasted but he had to cut ties before divorce attorneys and Mechelle fucked him with no grease. Yeah he heard her throwing up in the bathroom. 'Bitches always play the 'drama' card' he thought, he didn't give a fuck.

Sahel had made him his world, and loosing Steve meant the end of the world. She raised her face from the toilet bowl, stood up, and looked at herself in the mirror, all the glamour was gone, the life drained from her big beautiful eyes as her mascara ran down her cheeks. She opened her purse, and pulled out the 380 semi-automatic handgun she purchased a few days earlier. She put it to her head and thought about it. If she killed herself Steve would finally see that she loved him, finally he would feel the emotional pain she felt. She was about to pull the trigger, and paused.

"We go together!" She murmured in the mirror, taking the gun from her temple. Sahel opened the bathroom door, walked into the living room as Steve sipped on the Grey Goose. He looked at her-her eyes were dead. Then he saw the gun in her right hand.

"Bitch what da fuck is wrong wit chu?!!! Put that shit down!" Steve yelled, his eyes wide.

"Bye Steve. See you on the other side!" Sahel raised the gun calmly, and squeezed twice, hitting him in the chest, and squeezed again hitting him in the head once. Sahel squeezed again hitting him in the cheek it was that shot that took the life from his eyes. It wasn't real, she just didn't do what she thought she did. She was about to wake up in his arms, but it was real. This was no dream, it was very real. Sahel ran to Steve's corpse. "Baby wake up! Steve wake up! Your strong Steve-wake up." Crazily she kissed his bloody face, telling his lifeless corpse how much she loved him. Realizing he was dead, Sahel understood that she had to go be with him, so both of their souls could float together in the universe. She sat next to him, put the gun to her temple and said, "Here I come Steve!" and squeezed.

Game Over

Moral of the story: Never play with a woman's heart.

Peace
Em

Sherlock Holmes: Doing The Knowledge

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is the creator and writer of the fictional character Sherlock Holmes. I discovered Sherlock Holmes in the early 90's, of course I heard about Sherlock before then but I became rather interested in his cases in my early wisdom ciphers. Me and DaGod Rashon did the knowledge real hard on Sherlock Holmes and I eventually put my enlightener on to the fictional detective. I actually purchased the annotated version of all his cases. The book cost me about $80 bucks but it contained nearly 2000 pages all dedicated to the mythical detective. I eventually lost the book in a drug raid but I enjoyed it while I had it. "Why were you so interested in Sherlock Holmes, Em?" Even though he was a fictional character-the light in which Sir Arthur Conan Doyle painted him was that of a brilliant Logician, skilled in the art of observation, deduction and reasoning. It was everything I was looking for at that time in my growth and development. 120 was about three years old in my dome, and I wanted to be proficient in the art of drawing everything I possibly could up into the Math, plus wildin' out on street nonsense required that my mind be as sharp as possible.

A 'Sherlockian' is an individual who studies not only the cases of Sherlock Holmes but he or she is a student of logic, and every other known empirical science-in short a Sherlockian studies what Gods and Earths define as the science of everything in life. There are Sherlockian Societies scattered throughout Europe, North America and the Netherlands, none of which I am a member but I do however consider myself to be a 'Sherlockian' to the highest degree. Am I a trained Sherlockian or a natural Sherlockian? A little bit of both I suppose. My memory is rather detailed, and I study or have studied a great deal of diverse subjects.

If someone was to ask me what does it mean to be a Sherlockian? To Put it in the Mathematical terms of 120-it would be one who is 'All Eye Ceeing'. In street terms a Sherlockian is one who can call things 'like a dice roll' ahead of time. A Sherlockian picks up on the intonation of your voice; detecting anger, happiness, sadness, jealousy, guile, sarcasm. A Sherlockian reads body language, habits, and keeps a running psychological profile on all the individuals he encounters. I'm an Astrological Sherlockian, meaning as soon as I get your exact date of birth-I instantly start to classify and calculate an Astrological profile. No I don't have drawer full of notes but I do have a head full of footnotes. I don't try to do this knowingly-I just do it. Once I asked my mother "Why did you slam my head against the wall when I was four years old?" She said "I never slammed your head against the wall." but she did. Maybe she unconsciously repressed the incident or selectively chose to forget it or just out-right lied, but no matter what: I remember when she slammed my little four year old dome against the wall. When she did she'd just broke up with a dude named Al, we were in the Nation of Islam at the time, she had a tan brand new Grand Am, in which I spilled bean soup on the leather upholstery and when we got in the house she rammed my head in the wall. Such are the trials and frustrations of a single mother I suppose, maybe she thought I forgot, but a natural Sherlockian never forgets. Angrily she barked at me afterwards, "Are you Ok?" she asked me because she knew she was dead wrong for doing that shit. Captain of MGT, Dean of Girls at the University of Islam, slamming a babies head against a wall. 'Civilized' my ass, she got savage on my ass that day. Now its 36 years later and I'm still planning to file charges with child protective services against her ass. When she's in her 90's officers will come remove her ass from the old folks home in handcuffs. A Sherlockian never forgets.

There are some things we all would rather forget, but in all reality as a Sherlockian you don't-you learn to adjust to the info you have in your psyche. The worst thing about not forgetting is that you call people on information that they told you ten years ago, or shit that they did 20 years ago and usually you end up loosing a friend, because you caught them in a lie they told a decade or two ago.

Not only is a good memory required to be a 'Sherlockian' but deductive and inductive reasoning is a necessary part of the package as well. Deductive reasoning is the ability to do the knowledge on the circumstances of a situation, construct a logical train of events that purports a logical consequence gathered from the initial premise. Example: At ten years old I came home from school, the door was open, my 6 month old little sister Naya was in her play pen, no one was in the living room, basement or dining room, kitchen or bathroom but my mom's door was closed, my step father's shoes were in the vestibule and my mother's car was parked on the block. Logical conclusion: Mom and Step pop were upstairs having 'Relations'. Being the natural Sherlockian that I am-I had to confirm my initial hypothesis. I went upstairs, opened the door without knocking of course and there was my mom and step dad-humping like two junkyard dogs, "Close the door!!!" They yelled and of course my little Sherlockian ass smirked an evil grin.

There is a little Sherlockian in all of us, as Gods and Earths we call it doing the knowledge, stop, look, listen and observe. Learning, through constant study is the key to an excellent mind, never stop advancing the prowess of your intellect. Let nothing deter you from the power within, don't let age stop you, don't let the pins that have been placed in your dome stop you. Continue to learn, and study voraciously, pick something weird or odd to study, something out of the way, something no one else knows, something rare, and learn it with the highest of excellence, discipline and focus.

Peace
Em