When Spiros was a boy, his pop used to tell him to say his prayers and eat his vitamins.
And Spiros did exactly that.
Every night before bed, Spiros would get down on bended knee and pray to the Gods. He would beg forgiveness for his sins. He would pray for his family.
Then every morning, Spiros would wake up, bright and early, eat his vitamins and go get the day.
Until one day.
One day Spiros was coming home from school and found out his pop had been struck down, in the prime of his life, by a heart attack. Like a thunderbolt out of the blue, Spiros’ entire world changed.
They sung hymns and prayers at the funeral.
They put him in the ground with a holy priest reading him his last rites.
And they passed around the collection plate like it was Sunday mornin’ at church.
My pop believed in a higher power like Zion. He believed in a God. He believed in somethin’ that’d give him protection.
But where was this holy candy ass on the day he died?
Did that sonuva bitch go on vacation?
Was he watchin’ the wrong channel?
Cause when my pop fell to the ground clutchin’ his chest like a 600 pound fat man was sat on it, there was no God. There was no Zion. There was no protection.
You know what there was, Colt?
IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK YOU KNOW.
But Spiros knows what wasn’t there. Oh yes he does.
You see jabroni, The Great One watches your boyfriend run his mouth about chugging down the flaccid member of Zion and how you’re eager to open wide and invite him in. Spiros see’s you on your hands and knees, beggin’ and pleadin’ with Zion.
“Oh, mighty Zion, thunder your strudel down my gaping maw. Make me your bitch, mighty Zion.”
You roody poo candy ass jabroni. If that Zion sonuva bitch ain’t turnin’ up for my pop, what makes you think he’s gonna come running to that gang bang you call a church?
The Great One says this; his pop was a great man, a religious man, a devout man of the people. Much like Spiros, he was a People’s… Champion. And when the millions and millions of cells in his heart imploded, there was no saving him. God, Zion, your dirty mother’s pootang couldn’t save my pop.
And they can’t save you either, jabroni.
Tonight, Spiros is gonna sit down beside his bed like it was the good old days but he ain’t prayin’ for your salvation. He ain’t praying for forgiveness.
NOT IN THE BLUE HELL is The Great One praying for that.
No no no, see The Great One is praying that you don’t come alone next week at Bottom Line. The Great One is praying that Colt Ramsey comes holding the pocket of his prison daddy Lionel Troy.
AND THAT SPIROS CAN LAYETH THE SMACKETH DOWN ON BOTH.. YOUR CANDY ASSES.
IF YAAAAA SMEEEEELLLLLLLLLLL….
WHAT THE SPIROS….