Scooter Ramsey D2 Finished

Scooter 'The Scoot' Ramsey
(note: no one calls him this but himself)

“Um…I don’t even know where to start with you. Do you even know who you’re talking to? Do you have any idea…any idea who I am? Basically? Kind of a big deal.

Grass grows, birds fly, sun shines and, Brother, I hurt people. I’m a force of nature. If you was from where I was from, you’d be freakin dead.”

Boink

Ladies love The Scoot. That aint no statement of opinion, that’s a mother lovin’ Eff Ay Cee Tee FACT. And I mean, come on…who can blame ‘em? This face is a thing of sweet ass, perfectly formed, freaking beauty. With a bone structure like this you’d think they carved me out of rocks, right? Look at that jaw…just look at it, seriously …look at me…and those cheekbones, as ready to cut you up as the rest of me. I got green eyes to drive the girls wild, a sexy ass smile even if my mouth is a little bigger than it should be and blonde hair, only its darker than most normal shades and kinda grimey lookin’- cut by my ma so it’s all business at the sides and a party up top (what can I say, the lady knows what I like). Fresh faced, but with a hint of danger- that’s what I say. You disagree and I got ways of makin yous change yer minds…boink.

And I know what yous are all thinkin’…but let me tell you right now, I ain’t just a pretty face. In fact how the heck do you think I keep this face lookin’ so beyootiful anyways? Most of the guys I run with are all puffy and broken and busted up from getting’ into fist fights with other careers; my brothers, my friends and especially the morons who think it’s a good idea to cross me all look like potatoes or some shit -but not me, not The Scoot. I’m faster than anyone you ever met, street smart and handy with the old lead piping…bonk. Float like a butterfly, sting like a face full of lead. Basically, I make this crap look easy. Un-freaking-touchable.

Okay, I am missing a couple teeth from a few hits some wise guy managed to get in. Whatever- I wasn’t using ‘em anyways.

Wait a minute, wait a minute…you sayin I’m kinda weedy lookin’… am I seriously hearing this? I say why don’t you come over and say that to my face, tough guy? When I’m done with you they’ll put you in a closed casket at the ugly cemetery….boink. I’m five foot six and wirey, dumbass, one lean mother lover coming at you like a freakin’ blur. I mean, what do you expect from a kid who runs all day every day, I was hardly gonna be some beefed out meat head like you see a lot round here- but don’t worry I keep my runnin’ legs toned and my bashin’ arm plenty strong. If I wanted to, I could beat on your skull til I hit tonsils. You better not make me want to, Brother.

Boink, Bonk…ouch

I’m the complete package, Baby; the looks, the charm, the lead pipe. They call me a scrapper with a mean ass attitude and growin’ up in 2- shiiit yeah, you know how we do, Boy, greatest career district on the entire freaking planet- the youngest of eight sons, you better be tough and you better get your voice heard else you won’t get no attention. Look at me, Ma, look at me!! I got a voice alright…a big one…and I don’t never stop using it. I’m a quick thinker, a fast talker and even my conversatin’ runs rings around people. I aint one to rely on talkin’ though; I’m more likely to talk myself into a situation than out of it…I like throwin around the odd insult, and so what if I call everyone I meet a dumbass, aint my fault everyone I meet is a dumbass . In my family we got short fuses and we use our fists instead of our words to solve problems. Funnily enough, don’t many of us get that many problems no more. And I was the genius that worked out if fists solve problems better than words, a pipe in the shins would make a problem just float away like a pretty cloud. Or a bleedin’ guy hittin’ the floor.

I don’t know why I’m even sayin’ all this though. Yous already know me, don’t pretend like you guys don’t. Is anybody even payin attention to me? I’m hot shit around this place; the main man, the myth…The Scoot. Seriously, look at me, look at me! Back in the day, I used to be the back of the queue, runt of the litter, the bottom of the barrel and the last person to know. We’ve always fought for fun, like any career worth his salt- but with seven brothers to contend with I was usually only ever left with the spoils. But I made myself get fast, ran freaking everywhere, any time I could, anywhere I could and learnt this district like the back of my hand so I’m the first person anyplace. Eat my dust dumbasses. My brother’s can’t do shit about it either- half of ‘em are gonna be or already are miners and pretty strong with it too- but it don’t matter how strong you are…you can’t hit what aint there no more. Then I’m right behind you- aint nothin’ you can do about it. Bonk. Right in the kisser. And I’m agile as shit…just so you know ladies.

So anyways in case you hadn’t noticed, in case you’re some dribblin’ knucklehead or you aint been payin attention, I like beatin’ people up. Seriously…I can do this all day, I will never ever get tired of hittin’ stuff. I like winning and I like throwing insults, I like it when people get so mad little veins start poppin’ out in their foreheads and they start turnin’ red- that shit is hilarious. And I like sugar. A whole bunch.

What I don’t like though is. Being. Fuckin. Ignored. What I’m sayin’ is fuckin’ gold dust…every last word of it, you should be so lucky to spend time with the The Scoot. But I suppose aint nobody gonna ignore a pipe in the face.

Boink, Bonk, WHOOHOOO

Got a nice bedtime story for ya Buddy, once upon a time my dad fucked my Ma a whole bunch and then took off. The end. Only to be fair, that’s simplificatin’ the matter- my dad fucked my Ma got her pregnant a couple times, took off, came back for a while got her pregnant again, took off and came back. Lather rinse repeat. Lather rinse repeat like seven times til I came along and he took off for good.

Can’t trust a roughneck like my dad, my Ma likes to say these days, though she seemed to trust him a freaking lot. My brothers say that even after sixteen years if he turned up tomorrow she’d take him back again. He won’t though, I love my Ma- but she’s kinda old lookin nowadays (some wise guys at the academy called my Ma hot one time but they don’t say it no more. Hard to pronounce t’s with a mouth full of nothin’ but gum…boink)

Because my dad took off whenever he freakin felt like it and there were so many of us in the family we didn’t have as much growin up as some kids round here do. I aint even mad. It made me tough- like a real ass career as opposed to some milk fed puss bag. My Ma worked a lot of jobs, waitin tables, servin lunches and dancin’ for dimes- so did my brother’s when they got old enough- supplementin the old family income with a bit of bettin’ here and there. The Hunger Games, cockfightin’, boxin’ matches- so long as there are two things against eachother me and my brothers would run bets on it and with us, the house nearly always wins.

I guess you could say havin so many brusiers for older brothers lookin’ out for me in their own way I got a little spoiled, a little cocksure. I disagree. I’m spoiled and cocksure because I’m king of the fuckin’ block, a speed demon and the last thing you get to see before lead and blood all up in your eyes. They get it at the academy even if they say I'm a little trigger happy. And they stopped lettin’ me bring my pipe into school. Dumbasses don’t know a good thing when they see it.

Have I mentioned I like hitting things with pipes?