Phone Brawl

The Fight Game and the Telephone Game have reached an unholy union.

The Fight Game and the Telephone Game have reached an unholy union.


“The federals got my phone and my house tapped.”   -Big L


In the era of the Orange Menace, the plague of international phone calls from foreign governments is so persistent and damaging to the country’s long distance budget that a slew of top secret government agencies have been tasked with conducting surveillance on private citizens.  Sometimes in the course of their eavesdropping the Feds hear some juicy Russian tidbits.  Or get some good dirt on Stringer Bell.  But other times highly sensitive  international telecommunications are accidentally intercepted from the unlikeliest of sources…


(Phone ringing)

F:  Hello?

C:  ‘ello Floyd?

F:  Conor, is that you?

C:  ‘ey mate.

F:  Sup nigga.

C:  Oh nuffin’ mooch, nuffin’ mooch.  Jus’ settin’ here countin’ all me munny.  Gonna take a wee bit (laughs).

F:  Yeah I hear you.  I’m just sitting here watching gay porn, icing my brittle-ass, bitch-made hands.  You know, the usual.

C:  (pause)

F:  Yeah my hands sure are sore.  Not from the fight though.  I’ve been pummeling my girlfriend for hours.

C:  (pause)

F:  So what are you gonna do now with all that cash money homie?  That’ll buy a lot of potatoes.  And whiskey.

C:  Aye.  Well I was tinkin’—

F:  Because if you were really smart you’d bet it.

C:  Whot?

F:  Bet the money. That’s what I’m doing son. Football starts this weekend. And I mean real football too, not that faggy European shit.

C:  Yahr bettin’ ahll yahr munny?  On a fookin’ football game?  Are ya daft?

F:  Nah nigga not all the money.  I got like eleven baby mommas to pay off, a new record label to run into the ground, my entourage of lowlifes and yes-men to bankroll, lawyers to bribe, some shiny new Rolls Royce’s and jewelry to pointlessly buy, silk toilet paper to get—

C:  Not me mate.  I’m not nagger rich.  I’m investin’ all me munny in the one industry Ireland needs the mos’: Ahl-ca-hall-ics Anonna-muss.

F:  Word son, word.  That’s good.  Givin’ back to the community and shit.  I do that too sometimes.  Although it’s usually court-ordered.

C:  Yahr I’m a fookin saint ahll roight.

F:  Well anyway I got to cut this call short homie.  My girl just started to regain consciousness.  Time for some relationship counseling, Mayweather-style (cracks knuckles).

C:  Ahll roight mate.  Talk ta ya lah-tah.

F:  Peace.


Sadly that’s all that got recorded.  I guess we’ll never know who was on the line that day.


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