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GenCon 2003: Doggy Style
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snoop dogg as dictated to Rick by Snoop Dogg

What up, Clarkschpizzy?

Snoop double-oh-gee in the motherfuckin hizzouse, bringing my report from the GenCon 2k3 for the Dogpound, yeah yeah. I know you're all 'what up, Snoop?' we though you was all hardcore, but it's all good. In between coaching pee-wee football and shooting hard-core porn, I always make the time for a little R-P to the G or double-C to the G, you know what I'm sayin', playa? Yeah yeah. I got hella manna in this manna pool -- why you trippin'? I'm straight un-tapping that ass.

West Gamers were representin' at the Anaheim Convention, all dressed to kill in their wack Star Wars outfits. I got some guy dressed like Neeson in Episode I drunk on Qui-Gon Jinn-n' juice, threw up all over his thin-ass beard and tried to hit on the uni-brow princess Leia, even though they aren't even in the same movie and shit. That shit was tight. Then they had these little stormtroopers guardin' the door, and they tried to stop me and my crew from getting' in. And I'm like 'what's up, shorty, how thick is that armor you're wearin'?' Fool didn't take the hint, so I shot him in the shoulder, just as a fuckin joke, right, but that armor must have been fake, cuz the bullet didn't bounce off or nothin', just lodged in his shoulder. He's all screamin' and shit. I'm like, be quiet, shorty, and then I asks him if I can go in, and he's all hell, yeah, just don't shoot me again. 'Just don't shoot me again' Hell yeah, that shit was funny. Dogpound's all 'Obi-Wan got's nothing on your jedi-mind shit.'

    Heads up to the tables, black bag in my hand
    Gaming honeys all around, and side to side
    Hand some nasty ass chicken, fries for lunch
    All my fellow gamers throwing up game signs

Yeah yeah. I wrote that on my way to do some shopping. Got's to get the gaming bling bling, so I scored a free map, some chain mail and a foam longsword. I asked the dude if that shit was a magic longsword and he was all, "nah, you couldn't hurt nobody with the sword because that shit was made of foam," so I whupped his ass with it and kept saying "Call it magic, bitch" until he finally finishes coughing up blood and whispers "it's magic." One of my crew says "That a magic longsword of fool-smiting +2" and I had to give it up, because that shit was funny. Yeah yeah.

Me and the 'Pound, we anted up at the Warmachine tournament, throwin' down my tight-ass painted figgies to go to war, hellll yeah. Playing this chump from the 408, I catch him cheatin' on his measurements. "That shit ain't five inches. Pleeease." And then he's all 'please don't hurt me Mr. Dogg.' Mr. Dogg, I like that. I laughed a little while I beat his ass and stole his Cryxian Skarlock fig. Yeah yeah. Won the tournament, because no one else wanted to step. Represent.

Gots to say GenCon 2k3 was tight. Nothing but love to the Clarkschpizzy.

end of essay
Rick grew up in the Pacific Northwest, and attended college near Los Angeles. He's recently moved south of the Orange Curtain, and is teetering on the brink of becoming a Republican. Fear that. After reading so many of his great screenplays and plays (and performing in a couple of the latter), David couldn't resist asking Rick to write for the site. Surprisingly, he said yes, and even sounded genuinely enthusiastic. Whoda thunk it? | more essays by Rick
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