Today's Second Guest Blogger is Bill Crider of Bill Crider's Pop Culture Magazine.
My name's Rapper, and it's not because I listen to any punk-ass so-called gangstas. I've been around a lot longer than they have and I'm tougher than any of 'em. I'm tougher than that damn Sheriff Dan Rhodes too, even if you wouldn't know it by the way he keeps maimin me ever time I show up and Blacklin County. Me and Nellie, that's the guy that rides with me, we're part of Los Muertos, got the skeleton on the back of our jackets and all, but we like to get off to ourselves to run some little deals, and that Blacklin County seemed like just the place. Turned out not so good, though, because the first time I was there I lost a finger. I've been losin bits and pieces ever since, or gettin stuck with hay hooks or blown up in explosions. I can't figure it, how a guy like that mealy-mouthed sheriff keeps gettin the best of me. He wouldn't say fuck if you had a gun to his head, so how come he keeps comin out ahead. He's never got me in jail, though, or not for long because I'm smarter than he is by a long way even if my damn leg does hurt when the weather clouds up or gets a little frosty. Nellie, now there's a case for you. He's a wiry little squirt, and he never does seem to get hurt the way I do. I think it's because I take care of him, otherwise he'd be dogmeat. Me and him've tried a little bit of ever thing in Blacklin County, runnin a meth lab, some steroids for the high school kids, even a little moonshine, sweet little deals like that, but that fuckin sheriff spoils it ever time. Me and Nellie, though, we don't give up. There's not any quit in us. I had a football coach used to say that, you boys don't have any quit in you, and he was right about that. He rode us hard all the time, wouldn't never let up, but we showed the son of a bitch. We got him comin out of the field house one dark night and threw a tow sack over his head so he couldn't see who it was and beat the shit out of him. Wasn't no quit in us. I hadn't thought about that turd in a lot time, so it's good that I got this chance to think about the old days. Good times, good times. That idiot Crider, he runs his own blog, but he won't let me on it. He's like that damn sheriff, too sweety-pie for his own good or anybody else's. He'll find out, just like that sissy sheriff will sooner or later. Nobody messes with Rapper and Nellie. Next time we show up in Blacklin County, it'll be different. You take that Billy LaFitte who hangs around this blog, that's the kind of law enforcement guy I like. He'd give me and Nellie a break cause he's just like us cept he has that wife he's moonin after. That's a little sissy if you ask me, but you don't need to tell him that. He's a mean mutha if what I've heard about him's true. I mean, he's workin for Steel God now, and we've heard about that guy even down in Texas. Those boys in his club are mean as wild hogs, speakin of which a little hogdoggin is a good way to relax after a hard day. This Smith punk's written a book about it they tell me so you can read it and find out. I wouldn't know since I don't do a lotta readin. I can read, though, don't get me wrong, I just don't do a lot of it. On the move, that's me and Nellie. Which I guess means it's time for me to move on out of here. Things to do, people to screw over if you know what I mean and I think you do. Maybe we'll run into each other somewhere down the road. If we do, better keep your hand on your billfold, ha ha.
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