Thread by @SuperNerdMike

I ever tell y'all about the time, me, Jason of @GradedPointFive and @MiserableSamoan accidentally saved Vince McMahon while selling weed in New York City?

I think it was August.
We had to get out of Canada for a little while, but the upside of this whole thing, was that we still had half a bushel of the King of Bud.

The downside was, we needed travelling money.

So we stole a cargo truck, & went to New York.

It being Jason's home state, selling weed was easier done than said. But it was a dog's age since he had the misfortune of being anywhere near New Jersey, let alone Manhattan or any part of the big apple.
So we called in a favor out of Turbo, to act as a guide, & smart muscle.

We still had Jason's shotgun, & I had the shotgun that Mulatto gave to me when we helped him with his shit in Michigan.

But you need a local nibba to move drugs, so Turbo was our best bet.

Took all afternoon, but we managed to get the rest of the weed sold from the truck.

We were about to hit the turnoff to drop Turbo off back at his place, with some pizza, & a cut of the weed money, when I noticed somebody had flipped a white limo off the turnpike, with a black limo beside it.

I pulled the truck to a stop to figure out what had happened.

It looked like the black one had run the white limo off the road.

Once the truck's engine was off, we heard it.

Some muffled struggling, cursing, & yelling from under the underpass nearby.

Being curious, & humanitarian, we three went to investigate.

We saw two dead body guards, blood leaking from their skulls, & a group of about four or five Italians in suits stomping on somebody on the ground.

I was gonna grab my shotgun, but Turbo yelled, "HEY, you fucking whops!"

Then the greasiest of the stompers turned about to look.

The rest of the mooks stopped stomping for a minute when the boss slowed down.
He was a greying Sicilian in a tailored suit & shoes that cost more than the truck.

Well, if we paid for it, but.

He pointed one wrinkled hand right at Turbo, & made his first mistake.

He said, with some authority I might add, "Why don't you fuck off, you fat fucking n****r."

Turbo turned a shade of red I hadn't seen possible on a white man, & yelled back, "YOU CALLING ME BLACK, YOU GREASY FUCKING SICILIAN? YOU MAKE MALCOLM X LOOK LIKE SAMMY DAVIS JR."

"IF MARLON BRANDO WERE ALIVE, HE'D TELL YOU TO FUCK OFF THE CANNOLLI BEFORE YOU MAKE YOUR MOMMA CRY, YOU FAT GUINEA FUCK."

At this point, the insults got louder, & louder, as both of them began shouting at each other in anger, & I lost track of who was yelling what.

It all came crashing to a halt, as one of the mobsters hit me in the forehead with their bat. Then Jason in the gut. And then another made their group's second and final mistake.

They threw a brick at Turbo.

Let's step back a bit.
It is well known that Samoans get fat.
But not everyone knows why.

The truth is, Samoans in times of war have an ability to turn into Super Samoans, consuming all their gathered calories into instant muscle, strength, & pain tolerance.

There has been, at least one recorded case of a Samoan going even further beyond Super Samoan, or Super Samoan 2 - (When a Samoan King got so angry he punched a tidal wave in half)

When the brick hit Turbo's nose, he became the second known case of Super Samoan 2.

I was about to get back up when Jason knocked me over, yelling, "GIT DOWN, HE'S GOING SUPER SAMOAN"

We hit the pavement a moment later, just as a bright light, & awful sound filled the air.

I later learned that was Turbo screaming in agony, & yelling as the change took place.

Turbo was a terrifying sight to behold, his shirt in tatters, flapping around his hips, as if it was drifting lazily in water. His hair became as a massive afro, blowing in the breeze, & his muscled chest covered in swirling, blue black tattoos.

And was he pissed.

Turbo went to work, punching & kicking with such force, bones broke almost immediately.

I stumbled backwards from the massacre, trying to orient myself, as Jason went over to who the mobsters were beating.

And then he began to swear profusely. I went to go see.

Lying on the ground, was Vince McMahon, owner of the WWE. He was watching the fight with interest, grimacing in pain, & disheveled, but he was alive.

Unfortunately.

I started swearing, too.

But a minute later, all the mobsters were dead, & Turbo was breathing heavily.

Vince wiped his jaw of dirt, & asked Turbo, "HEY, kid, you want a contract?"

So Turbo got a wrestling contract for 3 months (which was mostly concerned with making Turbo legally related to the Rock somehow) & $50k.

And me & Jason? A bottle of oxycontin, & a lifetime PPV ticket.

We promptly burned that ticket & pissed on the ashes, once Vince walked off.

Then we loaded all the dead Italians into the truck, & promptly hit every fish market between there & Turbo's house, for buckets upon buckets of raw fish heads, which he ate the whole way back.

After getting all the mobsters stuff, we had enough money to (probably) send all of Kab's stuff to Thailand. But it'd be cheaper & easier to dump the cargo truck over in North Carolina.
Merely a misdemeanor there rather than a felony here.

Ah well.