Survivor XII Osaka Intro**
My host sister Osaka had a peculiar name. It was not so much that I did not appreciate Chicago as much as it was that I felt obligated to live up to the legacy of my namesake, Huey P. Newton, but I was proud of that city; just, not so much that I would adopt it as my name. I was later fortunate enough to learn her real name, but theres a certain charm to nicknames…especially, applicable nicknames, that make me want to think back to her only as Osaka.
Despite our wide age difference, I was able to find kinship with the Japanese foreign exchange student. Firstly, she went to Woodcrests J. Edgar Hoover High School, as if an elementary school dedicated to that miserable racist wasnt enough of a slap to the face of the American minority. While I am not sure how much US history Osaka was briefed on, if the name of the school wasnt familiar enough to her to send shivers down her spine, then the uncomfortable glaring of ignorant, arrogant Caucasian eyeballs were sufficient in relaying to her just how welcome she was.
Not a single, non-white student had ever set foot into those school hallways before. Woodcrests means of desegregating itself merely to patronize the foolhardy barks of the NAACP were pale insults to my brother and myself, and we were both glad to return the favor. But, as I have studied, Osaka originates from a society where people are almost polite at all costs, trying to prevent any strain of animosity come between any other person. How I pity the Japanese who come to America! Modern day animosity originates from this country! To come here, must be to come to Hell.
I need no further example than the day my grandfather told Riley and I that we were going to become a host family.
Huey…Riley…I called you both down here because we need to have a talk. Granddad spoke to us much in the same way a pregnant mother would break the news to her children. …were getting paid.
Huh? Rileys eyes nearly lit up into tacky platinum dollar signs. Were getting paid?! I didnt know you were ill! I mean, sometimes I imagined wed be selling drugs on the street and pimping the women, knaamean, but…
No, dummy! I just became a host parent for a foreign exchange student! Granddads eyes looked up at the ceiling much like a Disciple would beckon the heavens…and his eyes were similarly laden with dollar signs.
…youve got to be kidding. Isnt being a host parent a paycheck-free job?
Well, they give the kids lots of spending money…and rent aint cheap.
Youre gonna leach off that kid?! The whole point of the foreign exchange program is to experience a more sane, genuine non-American culture, not to bum off another nation! What kind of diplomatic precedent do you think this is setting?! Imagine the audacity! I was fixing to preach the truth to Granddad for at least a couple of hours…I know how much he hates it when Im preaching THE TRUTH. But I shook my head in disgust, but a beautiful idea crossed my mind. Please, please tell me were going to have an authentic AFRICAN in this household, for once!
African? Youve got to be out of your mind, boy! My dream of being able to personally connect with my African brothers was shattered, and I lapsed into slight, manic-depressive territory.
Oh lord, please dont tell me hes from Britain.
…whats wrong with Britain?
At the core of Britain lies the Illuminati! My head fumed like a molten hot teapot, and the sweat of frustration which beaded my face was actually steaming! I would be damned if we were going to allow some blonde haired, blue eyed One World Order agent infiltrate the stronghold of the Revolution!
Just hold it right there. SHES from Japan. Hmm? This curiosity made me perk my head towards Granddad.
Thats crunk. Japans got…PlayStation 2! Just like me! And they got those tight katana swords, like offa Kill Bill. You think shes gonna bring a katana sword? I swung my eyes over to my brother, noticing Riley was still here.
Riley? Shut up.
Hey, herb! You dont tell Riley Yosemite Sam Escobar to shut up! He sent a sloppy open-palmed slap headed in my direction, but naturally, I tilted my head, grabbed his wrist, and countered with a crouching fierce xx dragon punch. Granddad didnt seem to notice, because he went back to his sofa in the living room to watch the Lifetime Movie Network.
So it would be about a month until she would arrive. I was a little worried, being that Japan was one of the worlds more westernized nations; I was afraid that this poor girl would have been brainwashed by the American white mans grasp on the planet. I tried to keep my mind off of the subject until it came to pass, though. It was around this time that we added more content to the Free Huey. I also think we increased our readership perhaps four, or five more truth seekers.
First, I had to thank Riley of all people for setting this all up. Since I tend to…not follow the progress of international illegal arms and drugs smuggling circles, I wouldnt have known without him that Shadaloo announced their first black C.E.O. in the form of Mike Balrog, former heavyweight boxer. Im actually shocked and chagrined that Mr. Balrog accepted a request for an interview from a profane elementary school thug like Riley, for a little known radical newspaper like mine. Despite his immoral line of work, Mr. Balrog was at least showing that secret underground societies which meant to conquer the world was no longer closed to black folk. Mr. Balrog, who arrived at my home, at least dressed like a respectable fellow, with a sleeveless red suit and slick black sunglasses. Would I surprise you if I told you that he descended from his own giant airship? An impressive, ebony beast she was.
Are you Huey Freeman? Mr. Balrog asked my brother when he opened the front door, with an utmost sternness.
You mean the nerd? Hell no. Im Riley. Hueys in the kitchen with that Brooklyn fool. Brooklyn what?! All that dumb shit.
I see. Mr. Balrog proceeded to walk through the living room and into our kitchen, where Caesar and I were discussing some odd continuity issues with Star Wars Extended Universe, and addressed me with a respect I had never seen before. Huey Freeman? Ive heard of you before from the CIAs records.
Im … flattered. But I thought we were going to be conducting our interview at the Barnes & Noble.
The Barnes & Noble didnt open this morning. All of the employees mustve gotten a case of that flu. I nodded, making sure to put extra orange juice on the grocery list next time. The only other place I can think of to conduct our interview is at Dennys.
…Dennys? Caesars eyes widened, while I winced at the mention of that restaurant. Isnt that the place with the racist management?
You can handle that, can you Huey? Let me drop you a hint of what well be discussing; I have recently come across a giant fortune in the form of Master Bisons former assets in Shadaloo, and I will be distributing it amongst the impoverished blacks of Americas urban ghettos. I have other arrangements to engage in today, so please be at Dennys Thursday night at 8PM. It was a pleasure. Mr. Balrog shook my hand, and Caesars, and left the way he came in.
He chose to pick Dennys so he could test me; so I could prove to him that I and the Free Huey will stand tall against the bastion of racism to become a voice in the Revolution he is about to usher in!
So hes gonna give away all his cash? Hes gonna be the first boxer since Ali we can be proud of! Caesar started waving his hands in the air with a jovial grin on his face. Hey, you think hes gonna get to work on Brooklyn first? I knew some crackheads in there. … Hey, wait a second. Huey, theres something…about your face.
Huh? What? I didnt notice it until Caesar told me.
You dont look angry. You look…excited!
I do, dont I?! It was true! I had gotten Shadaloo wrong! This organization was going to be the black mans hope! I could feel the liberation in my bones! I felt as if the chains were freed from my enslaved ankles! I could have sung the victorious songs of our ancestors as they found freedom from their masters!
Aw, damn. Shadaloo sucks. Riley had sauntered into the kitchen, sulking. I thought I was gonna experience some REALNESS in this house, not coming from me, FOR ONCE.
Whatre you angry about now? I was asked my brother, smiling, feeling muscles on my face I never knew existed.
…whoa. Whatever cool points you had when you had on that thug mug, are now gone. I have only one speck of hope left, and thats that Japanese Kill Bill girl thats coming home with Granddad. She BETTER have one of those katanas. Riley walked out of kitchen and out of the house, while Caesar jumped at my sweaters collar.
Waitaminute! A Japanese girl? Whats this all about?!
A foreign exchange student. A high schooler. Shell also be among the few, the proud, non-white faces in this unholy suburb.
Hmm…you think shes into anime?
Maybe. Maybe not. Hey, is the new site design up? I wanted to quickly change the topic because I felt rather uncomfortable thinking about that girl again. While I did want to accept her as a part of our family because she was another lost minority in this very WHITE suburb called Woodcrest, something about this older girl coming to live with us…and the fact that Granddad was going to immorally jack most of her cash…bothered me.
Later that night, Granddad did come home, with our host sister in tow. She dressed in a pink, standard sailor uniform, and her large, glassy eyeballs were a welcome change from the standard variety Ive seen surrounding me for the past couple of years. She was also visibly nervous, probably suffering from the social anxiety I hear that normal, polite Japanese people endure. She carried with her one bag of her possessions, and gripped it to her stomach tightly.
Now, you go make yourself at home, Ayamoe. Riley! Take her bag to your room! And boys, shes sleeping THERE from now on! Youre just gonna have to make due with the living room!
Thats jacked Granddad! Riley evil eyed everyone in sight and lifted the bag from our sisters burden, carrying it to her new room.
Just lovely. I decided to at least make a good first impression on the behalf of this nations afro-ed Negroes, and extended my hand cordially. Greetings mamn. Im Huey Freeman. I will act as both your younger brother and your guide to the…American…way of life. If you need anything, please ask. She slowly extended her hand and grasped mine.
Im Ayumu Kasuga…but everyone just calls me Osaka.
Osaka? After the city?
Lord have mercy if you start changing your name to Chicago, boy. Granddad chimed in, just after placing himself on his sofa again for Comedy Central.
Lord have mercy if your start calling yourself Woodcrest, you old coot. I muttered those words under my breath, of course. Anyway, Osaka is a fine nickname. Your English seems well. A byproduct of our centuries-old imperialist ambition, no doubt.
Huh? She seemed to be fixated on something at that moment.
Allow me to apologize profusely for that…or rather, are you so angry at the American white man, that you would join me and force him to apologize and make reparations with the entire world for the great evils theyve unleashed upon our fragile planet? At this point, I noticed that she was shocked, scared; I wasnt surprised, since everyone who is introduced to the Revolution is afraid of the radical change that it offers to the world, at first. But then, she looked into my face and quickly jerked her eyes at my head.
Oh…my…god…theres a tiny person living in your gigantic hair!!!
Um, what? Osaka started pointing violently at my afro fist pick.
Hes trying to break free!!! This was the exact moment I realized that Osaka wasnt going to be an ordinary person…she probably wasnt even an ordinary Japanese schoolgirl.
Oh, this? I grabbed the fist and pulled it out of my hair, revealing it to be a pick. Its an afro pick.
…wow. Youre black. Like Bob Sapp. I didnt know who Bob Sapp was, and I hope to god that he was some famous black warrior in Japanese folklore, instead of some Japanese Eddie Griffin clone. But I was about to inquire some more pressing questions regarding her stance on the Revolution when Riley poked out of the hallway and went back to mean mugging Osaka and I.
Hey. They call you Osaka? You a thug in Japan?
Um…um…excuse me sir…but what is…a…thug…
No, no girl! This aint no Bravo network! This aint no inside of an actors studio! We live on Notorious B.I.G. avenue! Were the realest peeps in Woodcrest! Stop talking like an herb and talk like youre REAL! Riley went hollering immediately after that, going into spasms of what what?! while I groaned.
…uh…okay…You hear dat new G-Unit track? It was dope as fuck. Ima get a big O engraved on my PIECE, nigga! Representing Osaka, where peoples pick you UP!
Damn! Just damn! In just one minute, your realness was able to punk out everyone, except me, in a five mile radius! Just… just too good girl. I think Im gonna like you. Riley grinned, waving pretend guns into the air, but Osaka looked very nervous; that ignorant blackspeak she just had to utter wasnt a part of her true personality. Otherwise, she would have appeared to be at least as at ease as she was when she was looking at my fro pick.
I called up Caesar on the phone, and told him to come over right away because Osaka had just arrived. When he did, he was pretty excited to meet her, and was surprised to note that despite her being a high school student, she seemed not much taller than him or I.
Hey, Osaka. You watch a lot of anime back home? Osaka looked blankly back at him, and took out a pair of chopsticks. She cracked them, placed one of Caesars dreads in between, and started chewing on his hair like cud. Ima…take that as a no. Osaka gagged Caesars hair out of her mouth, while I just stared, speechless, in disbelief.
I thought… this was licorice. ;_;
She sobbed a little bit, while I tried to convince myself that Granddad couldve given us a worse host sibling. I tried telling myself that while I stared at the ceiling that night in the living room; I tried telling myself that, at the very least, she wasnt a gawking white kid. But she weirded me out; she was disconnected with the known universe as far as I was concerned. She literally tried to count the number of dust filaments in the air before Granddad dragged her to her bedroom! But for the first time in my life, I learned to be afraid, not of the American plot to strangle the world into submission, or of the incessant ignorance of the American black man, but rather…of females with mental conditions.
I woke up the next morning from a beautiful dream. Al Sharpton, President of the United States, had recently declared a ban on tacky black brand fashions like Fubu and had declared BET to be unconstitutional, as well as forcing each ignorant gangster rapper into mandatory, government funded universities for the education of the people. Its a disappointing fact of life that I had to wake up from it, especially if it was because Riley had pumped the TVs volume to its deafening maximum, courtesy of Eminems touching production of the Tupac & Biggie Runnin collaboration.
Dying to live is for suckas, huh? Riley asked rhetorically of Osaka.
Its better than living to die. Osaka seemed cheerful, this, her first morning as an American.
Huey, you up yet? Go help Granddad by fixing up the Kool-Aid. We THIRSTY. Riley waved his wrist towards the direction of the kitchen. Come on now, GET! I grudgingly accepted, with an audible groan. I found Granddad already pouring water into a two-liter pitcher.
Huey, get that wooden spoon and come over here. We need to have a talk. I did as I was told and looked at Granddad, expecting to hear another of his lectures. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Look, Huey…let me tell you a little bit about life. See, this water in this here pitcher; this water represents the most important things in life. Like, a house to live in, a job to work for, and your family. Look at this Kool-Aid packet. He ripped it open, pouring the cherry powder into the water. This Kool-Aid represents the little things in life that make us who we are. These are your favorite movies and TV shows, your favorite video games and sports, and so forth. But these are also the things we dont like in life, the things that bother us. Now, stir it in. I did so, counter-clockwise. This Kool-Aid is a lot like a person who is whole and complete. Its the combination of the important things in life and the non-essentials.
…um…okay…whats your point?
The point is, you aint as smart as you think! Granddad ineptly started to pour spoonfuls of pure sugar into the pitcher.
Hey, can you cool it with that? None of us want to develop diabetes.
You know, Im smarter than you think too! I wont let you run along before you ask me for my wisdom!
…fine. Okay. I surprised myself when I didnt have to think to respond to him. Women.
Well, are women Kool-Aid or water?
The answer…well…a woman is the only thing in life that can go from Kool-Aid, to water.
Gee. Thanks. I still dont know how this is supposed to help me out with important things. Like the Revolution.
…do you wanna join the Nation of Islam, boy?
For a couple days, we acquainted Osaka with Woodcrest; whiteness, and all. While I wondered where Osaka got a couple thousand dollars as adequate spending money for the duration of her stay here, Granddad used Osaka as a one way ticket to familiarize himself with the shopping mall. Now, let me tell you about why I hate malls; the shopping mall has replaced the public park as the scenic view the American takes in when he chooses to merely walk. When an American wants ample time to meditate and brood on his days experiences, he prefers to window shop as opposed to indulge in the glow of a parks autumn trees. There is a reason the word consumer is applied so easily to the American spender. To consume is in his blood! For four hundred years, the American has thoughtlessly decimated what is around him! And my grandfather is doing just that! He is consuming this innocent, naive foreign exchange student, for all she is worth! Dear lord, imagine what he would be doing to her if he were a white protestant conservative, aged 18-35!
I digress. Granddad did at least have the decency to bring Osaka along with him to the Woodcrest Mall as opposed to jacking her cash like he was Huckleberry Finns daddy. I accompanied him, just to make sure his crass manipulation of her foreign ideology wouldnt go too far. We were walking by a Suncoast, and Granddad spotted some Tae-bo tapes…on sale.
Hey, Ahyoomu. These Billy Blanks tapes are real American! Why dont you pick some up and learn more about us! At this point, I slapped my face. Hard.
Gramps…you cannot be serious. Osaka didnt seem to dignify that with any response, but she did wander into that store and navigate her way through the movies.
OMG! Its ten!
Ten? Naw girl, Tae-bo tapes are on sale for fifteen dollars each!
Granddad, this is almost statutory rape. But I wondered what Osaka was referring to, when she said ten. So I went to where she was at - the drama section - and noticed that, in her hands, was a copy of Spike Lees Malcolm X, X logo and all. Malcolm X? Why dont you pick that up? Its not ten, but its a classic. Far worthier of your money than tacky kung fu aerobics.
Did you know Louis Farrakhan threatened Spike Lee into removing all references to him when Malcolm X was in production? This piece of trivia, I had already known. But my jaw dropped. Osaka was connected with reality after all! But howd she know that?
Well, yeah, I knew that, but…how do you?
Its my intuition. Osaka smiled, and nodded. Or maybe I heard it somewhere before on iMDB. That was interesting. I put my hand to my chin, rubbing it in observant, scholarly awe. She reads trivia off of the Internet Movie Database? The claustrophobia of the stores small, narrow aisles was beginning to get into my head. No, seriously. Osaka tried to stuff X-2 into my afro. Maybe theyll never find out if I hide it in here. You dont mind, right?
Granddad never did get to pick up his Tae-bo tapes, but Osaka did get to rob the overpriced establishment of their copy of X-2. We soon left that mall, and on the ride home, announced my intentions to go on a walk around our neighborhood again before dinner so I could meditate.
Hey, Osaka. She was sitting next to me in the back passengers seats of Granddads car, stoically looking at the outside through the window, with her mouth just gaping open. I ripped the DVD out of my afro, which seems to have some sort of magnetic protection against anti-theft devices (a fact that I will consider very important to the Revolution), and handed it to her. But then another idea entered my mind. Perhaps, if she could remember trivia from Spike Lees Malcolm X, maybe…I can plant the seeds of a revolutionary in her!
So, whats it like to have nappy hair? Osaka gently shook her head while addressing me.
What is it like? Its like being an African. Its like being an individual in a world where a melting pot conspires to transform the world into a homogeny! Osaka, you come from a proud nation with a rich culture and illustrious history! You come from a land, with a people to call its own! But the American empire has garnered, in only the course of a few hundred years, the ambition to lay waste to the way of life people have long lived in this world for millennia!
Huey…! Are you talking that Kazaa is moral nonsense again?! Granddad overheard my preaching, but seemingly ignored it if only to interrupt just this once.
I was an African! I was heir to a people of great kings! The progenitors of the Earth itself! But we were robbed by the audacious designs of the American imperialists! And then, the American white man robbed wholesale a great, bountiful continent that rightfully belonged to the red man! To add insult to injury, when fellow white Germans and Irish attempted to settle in this country, the same way the Protestants did, they were robbed of their dignity as well! Even if they were white, they still did not meet the arrogant, self-absorbed standards that the ignorant American had set up for himself! This is why I urge you, Osaka, to spend your time here as a freedom fighter! To fight against the man himself! I will sacrifice the furthest depths of my heart, all for the Revolution!
…wow. Youre really passionate, arent you?
Well, Im flattered that you recognize that my soul still burns.
…are you in love? With the Revolution? How can you make love to a group of freedom fighters at the same time? Hmm… At this time, I realized that she wasnt getting the full scope of my message, but that some amount of progress was made. The war will not be instant, and I had ample time. Oh, I get it now! Youre gonna bukkake the Black Panthers!
Bukka…what? Im not even gonna ask. And its a good thing I didnt.
Wednesday was the first day back to school. I dont feel the need to digress by bringing my first exhausting day back into narrative, or anything. It…sucked that much. Instead of taking the school bus home, I chose to walk and become reacquainted with what little of the natural world remains in this drab suburb. And I brought Riley along.
Thanks, chump! Just because I aint out there to exhaust myself walking a mile home like a fool dont mean you gotta show me otherwise! He crouched, short kicked me in the knee xx standing jab x 2, but it didnt phase me. Whyre you so damn blue even after I beasted your shit down? What, no new black people in your class or somethin?
…no new black people in my class.
…WELL, WHY SHOULD YOU GIVE A FUCK?!
I dunno. Shut up, Im lonely. Caesar took his ride home, while I had to listen to Riley rant like a madman for another forty-five minutes. But just a little while after that, we ran into Osaka, on her own path home.
Osaka! Word the fuck up! Riley raised his chin, and Osaka did so accordingly.
After I told them I was living with you, they all thought I was ghetto or something! She seemed depressed. I sneered, knowing that ignorance is not unexpected of these Caucasian adolescents.
Just what did they tell you, anyway?
Some asked if I was into anime…and if I liked gangsta thugs.
And you said you was real, RIGHT?! Riley chimed in.
I showed them that G-Unit medallion you gave me…
And this one girl asked to touch it…and I knew that I couldnt let that slide, so…I beat her ugly just for living. At this point, I sighed.
Well, one things for sure…you can adapt. I heard myself utter.
No…theres only one thing thats sure. I stopped walking at that point, turning around, interested at what Osaka had to say in such a way that you or I would be interested at watching what happens when one car is about to collide with another; I knew something ugly was going to spring forth from her mouth, but it had to be amusing, right? That if youre thirty-one years old, its guaranteed that you had your birth date coincide with your age.
…I…never thought about that. I checked to see if Riley was scratching his own head.
What the hell? … So did you get detention or some shit?
They asked me whether or not that girl infringed upon my strict Japanese honor code. I said, yes, not understanding what they were saying. Then they let me take the rest of the day off.
I was busy thinking about the next day; the meeting I would have with the dynamic future leader of Black America himself, former heavyweight champion, Mr. Mike Balrog. Perhaps I was a little too enthusiastic and optimistic, but it seemed as if wed be getting the first true leader of the Black American since Malcolm X. I reluctantly had to bring Osaka and Riley along to the interview we would have over dinner since Granddad was going to Poker Night, while Caesar had to stay home so he could play Final Fantasy X-2. Mike had been kind enough to send a cab over to pick us up,
I felt a chill run from the back of my neck to the end of my spine as I entered that Dennys. It seemed clean enough, sure, and the black woman at the register kindly pointed me to Mr. Balrogs table, but I couldnt help the feeling that Id be getting Singapore-caned in the head if I so much as placed my eyeballs on a white person.
Hello, Huey. Mr. Rogs hands were curled together, as he stared down at a menu.
Hello. Im sorry, but I had to bring my brother and host sister along. Do you mind? Id never really felt as apologetic as I did at that moment. It was a foreign feeling for me.
Not at a-… Mr. Rog looked up at us, and were transfixed firmly on Osakas large saucer-like eyeballs. He seemed to get red. Besides that though, he told me about the redistribution of the wealth of the American upper class - the celebrities, athletes, business elite, and filthy politicians - among the impoverished peoples of the inner-city ghettos, the back-country bayous, and the suburban ants in-between. I busily took notes, asked a lot of the questions on my mind, and had instructed Riley and Osaka to keep quiet while I was recording. After about five minutes of sign language between he and I, Riley slipped me his middle finger and scuttled away with Osaka outside…probably to derive entertainment from thugging the exiting customers.
A little while after we completed the interview, I felt much more passionate and hopeful for the Revolution. Mr. Balrog hadnt always been an educated man, but he said, after a chance, literal encounter with God and Athena, goddess of war (?!), and the downfall of Master Bisons regime, he felt the need to rise up and turn the illegal drug cartel empire into a force for good, uplifting the indigent people of the world; starting with Americans, especially Black Americans.
An hour later, we left the Dennys. Or rather, we left the building and started towards the parking lot. Mr. Balrog didnt have a car to call his own, and thus was waiting for his giant airship or whatever to pick him up.
Are you a boxer? The unexpected voice was Osakas, who had touched Mr. Rogs shoulder, while hopping.
I used to be.
Hmm. Did you have any internal conflicts with yourself while you were boxing? Did you hesitate beating up on people at all? Were you afraid that they would misunderstand your actions as a threat against their character? Did you ever agree with your opponent on anything, and if so, then why would they be your opponents? On second thought, never mind that. What music do you listen to? We were all speechless. But I noticed Riley was off somewhere else…talking to a strange girl with bright red hair and medieval armor.
What the fuck?! Shut the fuck up, scrub bitch nigga n00b! Riley had put on his cheap imitation muay thai tape to bandage his fists, and unsheathed his plastic lightsaber, which I didnt ever know he brought.
Youre his brother? Dont misunderstand me, darky, its just that you colored people all look the same to me.
OH NO SHE DIDNT!!! I raced forth towards Riley and that wicked girl, and unsheathed my weapon; a Chinese saber known as the Yanmaodao! THE ENEMY IS HERE! THE HAND OF THE MAN IS CLOSE AT HAND! She gave me a smug look, and pulled out her weapon; a broad sword! IS THAT SUPPOSED TO SCARE ME, WHITEY?!
WHITEY?! Im Ritz, and Ill be your CRACKER, boy! She swung her blade at Riley and I, to widen the distance between us. Ill be your opponent, while my uncles busy with your friend!
Your uncle?! I was hot-blooded, and became foolhardy. I leapt into the air and dove at Ritz, my Yanmaodao slashing in mid-air with a three-hundred-sixty degree rotation. Ritz sidestepped, quickly pushed her left knee forward and connected her downward slash with myself. While I was trying to recover from that blow, Riley strafed within inches of Ritz and suddenly bashed her in the head with his plastic lightsaber…which seemed to be filled with lots, and lots of rocks.
Ow! What kind of a weapon is that?!
Its cheap and it works, ho! While Riley ran off and Ritz chased after him, I still felt the pain writhing from my injury. But I struggled to pursue them, and turned around and noticed a tall man place his grip on me.
Thank you for your enlightening telephone conversations, Huey. I should send a letter of thanks to the FBI for tapping it for me. He was a well-dressed…middle-aged…white man.
The Man…you sent your niece after me?! I demanded answers, even as I was coughing up blood on his expensive Armani suit.
Only as a distraction tactic. I wanted to make short work of him. The Man pointed his vile finger at the fallen body of Mr. Balrog!
You bastard! I might be wounded, but I can still shove a foot up your measly ass!
Street Fighters are so silly…they have a code of honor. I like them. The Man grabbed my head and raised me as if I were a trophy to him. Suddenly, a sole, powerful voice echoed throughout the Dennys parking lot, as a crowd of interested passers-by and diners came out to watch the battle. It yelled…
You cant give up! Triumph, or die! DRAMATIC BATTLE!
Osaka was hovering above Balrog, with a pair of pigtails that flapped and allowed her the gift of flight (?!).
We end your tyranny now, Osaka shouted, The Man! Osaka lifted Mr. Balrog from the air and dropped him on The Man, who was too paralyzed by shock and fear to react to the hovering fist aimed at his face. The Man was an odd one, who at times is one of the most powerful beings in the world…but when he is forced to stare, face to face, at the awesome power of the colored people of the world teaming up to take back what is theirs, he crumbles.
Uncle Man! Ill avenge you! Ritzs voice hollered from somewhere, but she remained to be seen. Riley was done running so she probably gave up and lost morale after the loss she suffered. Mr. Rog got up, brushed off his red Bisonwear uniform, and shook Osakas hand. The crowd would soon disperse, and I got my wounds treated post-haste with a makeshift bandage. Osaka asked Balrog another question.
Hey. Why arent there any policemen around here yet to arrest that man?
He is The Man. Hes unconscious now, but that is all we can hope to do now. Almost no government in the world would convict The Man, unless the Revolution comes to pass. Balrog patted Osaka on the head afterwards, and he bid us farewell. Riley was standing above The Man, in awe of his clothes.
Wow…hes got on purple. Thats tight.
Why purple? Osaka wondered out loud.
Witness discrepancies. When the APV airs on the 10 o clock news, a man in a dark purple outfit will magically become a man in a dark red outfit, or a man in a dark blue outfit, and if youre really lucky, a man in a black outfit. Its my favorite color, thats prolly why hes wearing it. Knaamean?
The next day, I had enough information to post a very interesting update to the Free Hueys site. I was diligently updating outlining my article when the doorbell interrupted me. Since no one else would do it, I walked downstairs and opened the door. Standing before me was an outlandish looking woman in a blue robe, with cloud accessories seemingly attached to her sleeves.
Heya! She shouted, earnestly.
Um…what can I do for you?
This is the Freeman residence, right? I nodded my head. Great. Im looking for that girl…the one who can fly with her hair.
Thats her name! I thought it was something else…never mind. Id like to speak to her. So, I did go out and bring her to the front door, but the woman asked me something peculiar. Well…peace out!
Hey-hey-hey! Are you taking her away somewhere?! There are strict international laws youre fixing to break!
Dont worry about it! … But I think whats most important is that you get something off your chest… She looked dead center at me.
What can I possibly have on my chest?!
I saw the way your throat caved in when you said, Osaka?! She said with a slight smile, while Osaka didnt seem to react to anything at all, having tilted her head upwards at the ceiling, and now outside, into the sky and into the sun, with only a slight ow! to call for it.
…how long will you be gone?
It might depend on her.
Fine then. Osaka, I just wanted to let you know that youre the most atypical person Ive ever met. And youre charmingly exotic. Now git!
Not what I wouldve said, but, eh. Osaka and the cloud lady left, hand in hand. Granddad was furious when I let him know what had happened an hour later, but I really didnt care what he had in store for me, or about updating the Free Huey in time. Its been a week now, and I just hope that shell be back before the year ends to pick up the things in her room. Riley jacked her shoes and pawned them for a ten-spot.