The Heru Special Chapter 2

[K-Blao]

CHAPTER 2

"Lyrically, niggas can't see me. Fuck it./

Buy the coke, cook the coke, cut it./

Know the bitch, before you call yourself loving it./

Nigga with a benz fucking it./"

Mason's music blasted from the back of his trunk.  It almost seemed like a science experiment.  

 

The ground shook underneath him, as heads turned to see who was responsible.  His silver BMW

 

commanded attention as he cruised up the block with his hat so low, people couldn't see who was

 

driving.  The sunlight caused his jewelry to sparkle through the tinted windows that were let

 

down just enough for the weed smoke to hop over the top, as if it was trying to escape.  As

 

Mason's eyes got redder, the music seemed to sound better.  

He could feel the bass shaking the buildings.  He could hear car alarms going off as he drove

 

pass.  He loved when people turned their head in his direction and would rap along with the

 

words, making it seem as if live were a movie for a moment, and everyone was singing along to his

 

tune.  

Mason pulled into the local gas station, scraping the bottom of his bumper that was lower than

 

most cars.  Although he felt it, he couldn't hear the loud scrape that made pedestrians cringe

 

upon hearing it.  This happened at least five times a day. As he pulled up to pump 4, he saw an

 

old friend walk out of the gas station.

 

"Watayachatadatagelacka?" the man yelled as he approached the car.

 

This made absolutely no sense to Mason, because all he could hear was the music.  As his friend

 

approached, Mason had a funny feeling.  It seemed as if he had dreamed this very moment before.  

 

The way the light was shining on his friend.  The exact angle that his friend was approaching

 

him.  The falcoln that was on his t-shirt.  The color of his clothes and the way the sunlight was

 

reflecting off of them.  It all seemed to happen in slow motion.  Mason was sure that he had

 

dreamed this moment before.  

He turned the music down and felt overcome by an indescribable feeling.  He didn't know whether

 

to smile or keep a serious face.  He hadn't seen Horace in well over ten years.  Horace had

 

gotten arrested back then for violating his probation.  Mason didn't know exactly what the charge

 

was, but whatever it was, it was serious enough to put this man away for a long time.

Which is exactly why Mason had a strange feeling as he cut the music down and looked into

 

Horace's eyes.  Something about his eyes made Mason lose direct eye contact.  He looked down at

 

his shoe that was pressing on the brake pedal.  Why he did this, he didn't even know himself.  

 

Something about Horace's presence was very powerful.

 

"What up, fam?"  Mason said, as he tried to directly look at Horace.  He still was overcome by

 

the urge to look away.

 

"What are you trying to do, get locked up?" Horace, repeated.

 

They both bursted out into laughter, which made Mason feel much more at ease.  Horace reached in

 

to the passenger side window and shook hands with Mason.  

 

"What's good with you, G?"  Horace asked with a blank expression on his face.

 

Mason picked up his blunt but didn't light it.  He wasn't aware of his nervous energy.  "Shit

 

man, I should be asking you that shit, man.  When did you get out?  What you been on?"

 

Horace smiled, crossed his arms and stood back.  The light seemed to hit him in a way that he

 

seemed to be aware of how the sunlight was hitting him.  Mason felt uncomfortable by this.  How

 

was it that he seemed to be aware of how the sunlight was hitting him?

 

"I got out about four months ago.  What's your name again?"  Horace asked.

 

Mason was a little startled by this question, but he quickly answered, "Mason.  I used to rap

 

with K-Blao and HoodX and them."

 

"Right, right!" Horace recalled.  "Styxx little brother, K-Blao, right?"  

 

"Yeah," Mason replied, lowering his head.  He almost felt embarressed to say that he used to rap.

 

 The way rap sounded nowadays was the reason that he stopped rapping.  Even though Mason still

 

bought and listened to rap music on bootleg cd's, he still did not like the way it sounds

 

nowadays in comparison to the rap that he used to listen to.

 

"I'mma Kill You to Death?" Horace asked as if he were trying to remember it properly.

 

"Yeah," Mason replied again, feeling almost robotic.  He did not like the way this conversation

 

was going.  "I'mma Kill You to Death" was his single that he submitted to the local radio station

 

back then.  The radio played the single during their "Hit It or Quit It" segment, where they play

 

strictly new artist's music. The listerners call in to vote on the record, in order to determine

 

whether or not to continue playing the record on a regular basis.  "I'mma Kill You to Death

 

recieved an overwhelmingly negative response.  In fact, the radio station used that song as an

 

example of "what not to do" when making a record.  Over a period of six months, the radio

 

publicly dissed his record, mainly due to the overwhelmingly negative response.  Mason hates when

 

anyone brings that up.  It was a ten year old memory that he wished would just die.

 

"Yeah, I thought that shit was kinda tight at the time," Horace said.

 

Mason did not expect this.  Even though took it as a gesture of kindness from Horace, he still

 

did not want to continue with this conversation.

 

"Get out of here!  But what you been on, you still serving?"  Mason asked.

 

Horace tilted his head.  "Why you ask me that?"

 

Mason felt like he was playing a game at this point.  Horace knew something that he was keeping

 

secret.

 

"Because my connect got locked the fuck up and I need a new connect."

 

Horace reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of sunflower seeds.  He popped a few of

 

them in his mouth and began to crack the seeds.

 

"Shit, I might be able to help you out.  What you on right now?"

 

Mason shrugged his shoulders.  "Shit, you see it.  Riding, smoking.  I got some 1800 tequila in

 

the back seat.  I got my tv's in the headrest.  I'm chilling, shit, hop in."

 

Horace stood absolutley still for about five seconds.  This made Mason's heart start beating a

 

little harder.  He was aware of it because he was high.

 

"Shit take me to go get something to eat, so we can talk," Horace said in a voice that was almost

 

hypnotic.  

 

As Horace reached for the door handle, Mason unlocked the door.  Horace sat in the car and closed

 

the door.  Mason lit the blunt and attempted to pass it to Horace.  Horace declined.

 

"You know they got my ass on papers, G.  I can't even fuck around."

 

Mason shook his head.  "That's fucked up, man."

 

Horace put on his sunglasses as Mason accelerated out of the gas station.  

 

"Shit, where you trying to eat?"

 

Horace spit a few sunflower seed shells out the window.  "Shit, just hit a Wendy's or something.  

 

I just want to grab something real quick."

 

Mason headed toward the Wendy's that was only a few blocks away.  He took a few more hits from

 

his blunt and turned the music back up.  

 

"What do you do when your bitch is untrue?/

You cut the hooker off and find someone new./

I need another bitch.  Another bitch./

In my life./

 

As soon as he heard the bass hit, he remembered why Horace was in the car.  He turned the music

 

back down.  "Man, what did you get popped off for again?"

 

"Drugs and guns," Horace replied as he spit more shells out the window.  

 

Mason felt good inside for some reason.  The energy that Horace was giving off was a great

 

feeling.  It was like a guru teacher explaining a new artform to a student.  But Mason felt much

 

wiser than this guru, because this guru "fell off", and Mason is still on.  He knew that he could

 

use Horace's help.  But he also knew that Horace could never outsmart him.

 

 

"Damn," Mason said with a smile on his face.

 

"Yeah Smith got my ass real good that day," Horace said.

 

Mason didn't know who Smith was, but he assumed it was the police officer who arrested him.  

 

"What you been doing since you got out?"

 

"Shit, fighting Smith.  That's why I really can't even fuck around with shit right now, G."

 

Mason felt a little confused by what Horace was saying, but what it seemed like he was saying was

 

that he's not able to sell drugs because his entire life is under a microscope. But this also

 

made him wonder whether or not Horace was going to be able to help him find a new connect.

 

"You don't know anyone where I can get some work?" Mason asked, almost sounding desperate.

 

Horace froze again for about five seconds.  His odd behavior was throwing Mason's high off.  It

 

was making Mason notice small things in Horace's behavior.  It seemed as if jail had gotten to

 

him.

 

"I know the perfect person for you to meet," Horace replied.

 

Just as he said that, Mason's phone rang.  "Smith," Horace said.

 

Mason reached for his phone on his hip.  Smith?  Why would he want me to meet Smith? Mason

 

thought.  Didn't he just say that was the guy who locked him up and he's been "fighting?"  

 

Mason looked at the name calling that was on his cell phone.  It was his stepmother, Sarah.  It

 

must be important because she never calls.  Horace spit more shells out the window as Mason

 

answered the phone.

 

"Hello?" Mason asked, still observing Horace from the corner of his eye.

 

"Hey, Mason it's Sarah.  How are you doing?"

 

"I'm cool.  What's good?"

 

"Are you busy?"

 

"Kinda, what's good?"

 

"Your dad is in the hospital.  It looks like he has cancer in his liver."

 

Mason didn't feel moved at all.  In fact, he was more moved by the fact that he wasn't moved.  

 

"When did this happen?"

 

"We took him this morning.  Me and my mom.  He was having trouble walking and urinating for the

 

past couple of days, and today, he just couldn't seem to walk at all.  We're in the emergency

 

room right now, and they are going to admit him in a few hours.  We're staying overnight."

 

Mason felt the urge to ask what hospital and what were the visiting hours, but he ignored that

 

urge.  "Okay, let me call you right back because I'm at work."

 

There was a slight awkward pause.  Sarah knew what this meant.  "Okay."

 

Mason hung up the phone and turned his music up, taking another hit of the blunt.  

 

"Seven. Now this rule is so underrated./

Keep your family and your business completely seperated./

Money and drugs don't mix. Like two dicks and no bitch./

Find yourself in serious shit./

 

He didn't have time to think about that.  His father was going to be fine.  He could only focus

 

on one thing. Finding a new connect.  He would go visit his father once he found his connect.  

 

"Nigga, you about to pass it up," Horace said.

 

Mason snapped back to his reality as he saw the Wendy's on the driver side of his car go past

 

him. Horace was pointing at it as they drove past. Mason quickly turned the music back down and

 

focused.

 

"Man, just for a quick second, I forgot you was even in the car, fam," Mason said, chuckling. Was

 

it the phone call?  Or was it the weed?  Or was it the excitement of finding a new connect?

 

Mason quickly pulled into the parking lot next to the Wendy's.  There were groups of young men

 

selling bootleg cd's, towels, t-shrits, weed, coke, and loose cigarettes.  They all seemed to

 

approach Mason's car at the same time.  

 

"I got movies, fam!" one man yelled out.

 

"Weed!  Weed!  Weed!" another one yelled.

 

"Loose squares!"  another man exclaimed.

 

Mason waived his hand and said "Naw, I'm straight!"  He quickly turned his car around and pulled

 

out of the parking lot, and into the Wendy's parking lot.  Horace mumbled something else about

 

"Smith" and shook his head.

 

"Motherfuckers will try to sell you anything," Mason said.

 

Horace spit the last of his sunflower seed shells out the window.  "Yeah, man.  Everybody gotta

 

sell you something at some point. He said as he rolled up his window and got out the car.  Both

 

windows went up with a buzz sound.

 

Mason closed his door at the exact same time with Horace.  They both headed into the Wendy's.

 

********************************************

 

"Hello, welcome to Wendy's may I take your order?"

 

The cashier was a girl who was pretty, but not gorgeous.  She stood at about five feet even, long

 

waivy hair that was in a bun, light tan skin, and an athletic build.  Normally Mason wouldn't

 

even notice this girl, but she was the only cashier who was not black.  In fact, she was the only

 

employee who was not black.  She appeared to be either Mexican or Puerto Rican.  Subconsciously,

 

Mason was comparing her to the black girls at the other registers, and she appeared to be the

 

prettiest.  This made Mason want to see if he could get her phone number.

 

"Depends on what type of orders you're used to taking," in a commanding tone.  He looked directly

 

into this girl's eyes.  She blushed, then rolled her eyes, letting out a playful smile.  The

 

black girl's eyes on the register to the right looked in their direction.  A few other people

 

looked in their direction as well.  They all seemed like they wanted to know what was going to

 

happen, but nobody wanted to appear too interested.

 

Horace, standing behind Mason, laughed a little.  Mason perched himself up and stood confidently

 

in front of this girl.  

 

"I mean food, crazy man," the girl replied while smiling.

 

Mason smiled as well.  "How about I tell you what I want to eat after you tell me what's your

 

name."

 

The girl's smile disappeared as more customers entered the resturant, and she noticed the lines

 

getting longer.

 

"Come on, my lines are getting long, I don't have time to play with you," the girl said.

 

"So basically, what you're saying is, that you can't play right now, but you'd like to play

 

later?"

 

A sense or agitation came over the girl's face.  Mason felt a touch on his back.

 

"Come on, G, you holding up her line," Horace said into Mason's ear.

 

"Alright, alright," Mason said.  He proceeded to order a two burgers that consisted of three beef

 

patties, bacon, and cheese.  He also ordered a large coke and fries, seeing how it was only fifty

 

cents more than the small order.  Horace ordered two salads from the dollar menu.  They sat down

 

in the resturant and began eating.

 

"I could have bagged that girl if you wasn't rushing me," Mason stated while biting into his

 

burger and stuffing fries in his mouth.

 

Horace bit into his salad.  "Man, why would you want a girl like that anyway?"

 

"She was pretty," Mason said.

 

"Yeah, but so what.  Do you think she would fuck with you if you were working here?"  

 

Mason took a long sip of his ice cold coke.  "Doubt it."

 

"Exactly then.  So why would you lower your standards to a girl that works at Wendy's?  Ain't no

 

girl about to meet no guy that works up in no Wendy's and fall in love with him."

 

"Hold on!"  Mason exclaimed, with pieces of beef falling out of his mouth.  "Ain't nobody said

 

shit about falling in love."  By the time Mason finished saying this, there was food all table

 

that was falling out of his mouth.  Horace continued eating his salad.

 

"Yeah but you know what I mean, man.  If you were working behind the counter, and she walked in,

 

and you were trying to holler at her, that conversation would last about ten seconds, if that."

 

Mason understood what Horace was trying to say, but he seemed to be overanalyzing the situation.  

 

"Man, I ain't trying to wife the hoe or nothing.  I was just flirting with her to see where it

 

would go."

 

Horace swallowed some of his salad.  "Oh, just flirting?"  

 

Mason stuffed more fries in his mouth.  "Yeah, man.  I got a girl.  I ain't worried about no

 

bitch that work at Wendy's."

 

"Oh, ok." Horace said while opening his second salad.  "Cause I'm married too, but I really don't

 

get the urge to flirt with these broads."

 

Mason shook his head.  "See, I didn't say 'married'.  I just live with my girl, but we're not

 

married."

 

"Why not?" Horace asked while pouring dressing on his second salad.

 

"Man, women don't want marriage.  They just want a wedding."

 

This statement made Horace freeze for a few seconds.  Mason realized at that moment what he was

 

doing.  Whenever he paused like that, he seemed to be taking in a thought.

 

"You say they just want a wedding?"

 

Mason opened his second burger.  "Yeah, man.  Women will marry a man that they don't even love

 

sometimes.  Just to try to give the image to her friends and family that she's not just getting

 

fucked by a man who won't fully commit to her.  They want to feel like there's a guy out there

 

who is going to love them no matter what they do.  But as soon as you marry them, they change."

 

"Change how?"

 

"Because, they know that you're not going anywhere.  Men never leave their woman.  They cheat,

 

but they never actually leave until they get busted.  Sometimes they'll feel guilty and tell the

 

wife, then she will leave.  But you really don't see men just up and leave their woman."

 

"Hmmmmm."  Horace thought to himself.  "So you say, men don't really leave women?"

 

"Nope.  No matter what women do.  Men put up with a lot of shit from women.  They think it's a

 

'guy thing' to see how much shit you can tolerate from your woman.  It's 'masculine'.  But

 

masculinity is a black hole."  He bit into his second burger.

 

Horace chewed his salad.  "Black hole?"

 

"Yeah, man.  Define 'masculine'."  Mason stuffed more fries into his mouth and sipped his soda.

 

Horace sipped some water.  "You mean, like a man.  Strong.  Confident."

 

"That's it?  A woman can be strong and confident too, but that doesn't mean that she's masculine.

 

 Masculinity is only defined by women.  They use it as a way to control us.  One week they will

 

say jeans are masculine.  Next week, khaki's are masculine.  Keeping your hair cut low is

 

masculine.  But having a fro is masculine.  A wife beater t-shirt is masculine, but a suit and

 

tie is masculine too.  It's a black hole.  Any thing can be masculine." Mason continued to chew

 

his burger and realize that it was getting smaller.  He thought of ordering one more.

 

"So you think women control us through our masculinity?"

 

"Man, look at the word itself.  Mask.  You.  Line.  That means you put a mask on and hop your ass

 

in line."  They both laughed as Mason took a big bite out of his burger.  Horace finished his

 

second salad and took a sip of his water.

 

Mason continued.  "A lot of men seriously consider suicide when they break up with their woman.  

 

This is kind of like samurai's kill themselves when they lose a fight.  It's the 'masculine'

 

thing to do.  It's bullshit.  Once men define themselves as a certain type of worker, lover, or

 

fighter, or whatever, they tie their masculinity to that flag.  Once that flag goes down, we feel

 

like our masculinity dies with it.  We don't want to change. We feel like we're already defined.

 

But it's all an illusion.  Women know some of this.  They know men get stuck in their ways and

 

don't change.  They think we're stupid for this, but they won't be happy until we keep changing

 

to the point that we're borderline homo's.  They'll put you in a dress and put make up on you if

 

you let them.  Fuck that."

 

Horace seemed like he understood what Mason was saying, but he also seemed a bit confused.  "So

 

you saying that men shouldn't marry women?"

 

"Not exactly," Mason replied.  "It's just that men shouldn't lower their value to women."

 

"Well isn't that what you were doing by talking to a girl that works at Wendy's?"  Horace asked.

 

Mason laughed at himself.  "I guess so.  I really didn't look at it like that."

 

Horace sipped more of his water.  "Sometimes women want to be right with God.  That's why they

 

want to get married."

 

"Man, these hoes don't really believe in God," Mason responded coldly.  He placed the last piece

 

of his burger in his mouth.

 

"What you mean?" asked Horace.  "It's plenty of women in the church who believe in God."

 

"Man, them hoes believe in Santa Clause before they believe in God."

 

"Get the fuck out of here."

 

"Yeah, man.  How you believe in God, but then you walk out the church and walk right past a dozen

 

crackheads to get to your car? How you believe in God, but then go home and watch movies with

 

cussing, killing, and sex?  How you believe in God, but you watch BET, with half naked women

 

shaking their ass and singing songs about fucking and seduction?  Have you watched a reality show

 

recently?  All they do is talk shit and fight.  And women love that shit.  They come home right

 

from church and watch that shit.  They turn on the radio and listen to songs about bullshit.  

 

Motherfucking Christians are phony as hell.  As a matter of fact, Jews don't even fucking believe

 

in Jesus.  But Christians will respect a Jew before they respect my opinions.  And I actually

 

believe in Christ.  How you gonna respect a motherfucker who don't even believe in your Christ,

 

then turn around and tell your family members that they ain't shit because they don't go to your

 

church?  Hypocrites!  They'll go to the movies and support those Jews, then turn their noses up

 

at their own family members.  They don't even know who their enemies are."

 

"How do you believe in Christ but you sell dope?"  Horace asked.

 

"Huh?" Mason asked.

 

"You say you believe in Jesus, but you sell dope.  And you live with a woman who you're not

 

married to.  You listen to the same type of music.  Watch the same type of movies.  But you say

 

you believe in Jesus.  So aren't you just as guilty?"

 

Mason didn't intend on defending his character.  He didn't actually think that Horace would ask

 

that question.  "God knows what's in my heart.  I can't help it if I'm in a fucked up situation.  

 

It's like a victim of circumstance."

 

"So you're a victim?" Horace asked.

 

"Yeah.  We're all victims.  Look at the system.  It's fucked up."

 

"Yeah we know that, but what about you?  What are you going to do to be different?"

 

Mason shrugged his shoulders.  "Ain't shit I can do.  Shit is fucked up."

 

Horace sat back.  "Once there was a child who came home from school everyday.  Now the child's

 

parents worked until seven o'clock every night, so he would stay home after school every day

 

until his parents got home at about seven-thirty.  One day his father came home and the house was

 

in chaos.  The child had completely wrecked the house.  There was shit everywhere.  Now the

 

father was so tired, that he didn't even want to discipline the child.  He brought the child to

 

him and looked him in the eye.  He said

 

'Son, I'm very tired.  I've had a long day.  All you have to do is be honest, and I won't punish

 

you.  Did you wreck the house?'

 

The son came up with every excuse in the book about what happened to house.  He talked about a

 

program on television that told him to try wreckless behavior at home.  He blamed the radio and

 

the songs coming out of the speakers.  He blamed the house for being too small.  He blamed his

 

kid sister.  He even blamed his parents for leaving him at home by himself.  Enraged by his

 

lying, the father took deep breaths and calmed down.  He told his son that he was going to give

 

him one more chance to come clean, and he would not be punished. Again, the son went on about how

 

it wasn't his fault because of so many reasons.  The father beat the shit out of him.

 

This is similar to the story of when you die, an angel is going to smack you on the head with a

 

hammer and wake you up out of your death sleep.  And you're going to look to your left, and you

 

are going to see hell.  And because of all the roasting flesh, torture, bloodcurdling screams,

 

and torture, you're going to know with a one-hundred and twenty percent surety that what you are

 

looking at is hell.  Then you're going to look to the right.  And because of the peaceful tone of

 

music, the bright warm light, and your family members waiting for you, you're going to know with

 

out a doubt in your mind, that what you are looking at is heaven. Then the angel is going to ask

 

you three questions.

 

'Who is your God?'

'What is his name?'

'What books did you read?'

 

You're going to try to start reasoning.  'Oh shit was fucked up bla bla bla.'  The angel is going

 

to ask you one more time:

 

'Who is your God?'

'What is his name?'

'What books did you read?'

 

If you try to start reasoning again, he's going to grab you by your neck and throw your ass into

 

the fire."

 

Mason felt uneasy by this.  He swallowed the rest of his soda and felt a bad feeling come over

 

him.  Suddenly, he felt very tired and sleepy.  I think I need a cigarette, he thought to

 

himself.

 

Horace continued.  "The body kind of naturally leans toward evil shit.  We know this.  But the

 

only way you can lean that way and still feel comfortable is through justificaion and reasoning.  

 

It's still wrong.  Just because you can explain it really well doesn't mean that it's right.  You

 

still have a choice.  You always have a choice."

 

Mason almost felt offended, but he was too tired to even feel insulted.  He felt his eyes getting

 

lower as a sleepy feeling began to take over.  "Man, that burger kind of fucked me up. I think I

 

need a cigarette.  Let's go outside and get some fresh air."

 

Horace smiled.  "With a cigarette?"

 

*****************************************************

 

Now go to sleep bitch!

Die, motherfucker, die! Ugh, time's up, bitch, close ya eyes

Go to sleep, bitch! (what?)

Why are you still alive? How many times I gotta tell ya, close ya eyes?

And go to sleep bitch! (what?)

Die motherfucker die, bye, bye, motherfucker, bye, bye!

Go to sleep bitch! (what?)

Why are you still alive? Why, die motherfucker, ah, ah, ah...

...Go to sleep bitch!

 

 

"So you gonna call your boy Smith or what?"  Mason asked as he chucked his cigarette butt into a

 

bush.  He started the car and exited the parking lot.  His stomach felt a bit uneasy as he

 

started to feel tired.

 

Horace paused for a few seconds.  "What?  Why the hell would I do that?"

 

Mason got visibly irritated.  "Because you said he was the dude that was gonna get me some work."

 

Horace laughed to himself and tilted his head to the side.  "That's crazy!  When did I say that?"

 

Mason tried to relax himself and took a few steps back.  "When we were in the car nigga!  What

 

the fuck is wrong with you?  You don't remember saying you was gonna get me some work?"

 

"Yeah, I remember saying I'm gonna get you some work, but when did I say I was gonna call Smith

 

to get it?"

 

"When we were in the car!"  Mason felt a sense of sleepiness come over him.  He did not feel like

 

arguing.  He felt his eyes getting very heavy and his body felt the same.

 

Horace shook his head.  "I would never say something like that.  I don't remember saying that.  

 

But I can get you some work though.  Best work you ever had.  On consignment too, probably if I

 

put in a good word for you."

 

Mason smiled.  He loved the idea of getting the work without having to put any money up in

 

advance.  "When can you do this?"  Mason felt his bed calling him.

 

Horace reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.  He dialed a few numbers and put the

 

phone up to his ear.  After a few seconds he began to speak. 

"What's good Godbody, I'mma need

 

the Heru special."  There was a pause.  "Okay, ten-four."  Horace hung up the phone and put it in

 

his pocket.  He looked at Mason.  "You're going to have to meet him on the beach tomorrow morning

 

at 4:30am."

 

Mason's face appeared irritated once again.  "4:30?  In the morning?  What the fuck type of shit

 

is that?"