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Dec. 20, 2005 NOTE: This is the last article I will post before going on vacation for six weeks. My brother Matthew and I have an almost symbiotic relationship. Though he is a twin, he and I have always been favorably compared. It’s as if we’re the real twins, only born five years apart. We are two of the best writers in our family, place a high value on education and we use or skills to defend and develop the black community. He has always had a strong influence on me, and whether or not it was basketball, academics or verbal swordplay, I grew up emulating him. We both had sharp verbal skills and in our neighborhood we got a lot of practice honing them. “Cap fights,” that is playing the dozens, was every bit as much of our daily regimen as school or brushing our teeth. As a teenager I was always at his apartment playing music or just chilling. Matt allowed me to hang out with his friends and like most kid brothers, I could be a thorn in the side of his male friends. I often entertained people by capping on them. They respected me for my sharp verbal skills and I was merciless. Later they’d catch me alone and beat me down, giving me charley horses and whatnot. My mom had an old saying: “Don’t let your mouth overload your ass.” That was a piece of advice I was intent on learning the hard way. Their was an older cat in the neighborhood named Billy Myers. Despite his use of heroin, Billy had a sharp mind. He was considered the undisputed champion of these verbal duels. He often “borrowed” obscure (but funny) material from chitlin circuit comics and used them while capping. The rankings were as follows: Billy, Matt and a cat named Redd Nunnally. Billy had gone years without anyone even giving him a decent battle of wits. Matt told me I should challenge him “just to see where you stand.” Like everyone else, Billy intimidated me. But one night I wandered into a backyard party at the home of one of my friends. His parents had twenty or so friends gathered around and my friend and I were going to try and sneak a few beers. Instead, we wound up drinking several glasses of punch spiked with Ripple. I wandered over to where the adults stood. Billy was there, drinking as usual. He spotted me and asked, “Who invited you?” I deadpanned something like, “Your woman did. By the way, when you get home, would you please tell her to get my socks from under your bed?” The adults busted out laughing and Billy smiled. It was like the eyeballing between the old gunslinger, riding a rep known far and wide. And I sauntered in with all the bravado of a brash kid who was fast on the draw and had one kill of note—Donald “Red” Nunnally, an O.G. whom I lambasted after years of his ragging on me about my slouchy clothing. I roasted his ass so bad the nigger wanted to fight—and the bitch about it, he had a wooden leg. Now there I was waiting to build my rep, standing around waiting for Billy to take the challenge. The cocky sneer on his face motivated me all the more. “What you got your silly ass around all these adults for?” I didn’t hesitate with a sharp counter punch. “One of them asked me to take out the garbage. That’s why I’m over here with you.” The Ripple had kicked in, but rather than me being inebriated, I was only less inhibited. My rapid retort drew boocoo laughs. Billy’s expression never changed. “Aww, you wanna cap.” We went at it. People stopped dancing and gathered around. We got cracking for about two hours. Billy beat me, so they say. His jokes would sometimes venture off theme—and all of my material was original. I didn’t have to pause to think of a snappy comeback. A schoolmate of mine named Alex Flowers gave me hella props because I had done what so few had done—hung in with Billy. I knocked him off stride, where he was struggling to come up with responses. I got props from the adults as well, and most important Billy told me, “Boy, you got skills. You almost got me.” I know one thing, one of the legs on his thrown suddenly was a little off kilter and there would soon be a passing of the torch. He had Redd Foxx, Skillet and Leroy, Jimmy Lynch, LaWanda Page and Rudy Ray Moore to thank for his “victory.” I became a semi-legend, as the kid who “almost” outcapped Billy Myers. After that I raced home and told Matt. Word spread and the next day at school several of his friends told him that I had them cracking up. He really respected my verbal acumen after that, which was important to me because I idolized him as a wit and a writer. My duel with Billy helped develop my confidence as a writer of humor. If I could make him laugh, I knew I could make anybody laugh. Tragically, a few weeks later Billy was found dead of a drug overdose. Hard to believe that he’s been gone thirty years. Too bad he’s not around to read some of my work. I would have liked hearing him bust into laughter while reading my story, “Run, Boy! The Last Black Man In America.” (http://weusinguvu.blogspot.com).. ------------ About the author: Timothy Stelly is a 46-year old California native with a wide variety of interests-from fishing to politics, which have a lot in common: Both require you to deal with worms and most of your time is spent idling. He is a former Democrat, believing that Party represents outdated ideas. He is officially registered as an Independent, choosing to keep his options open. Timothy is also the author of more than 80 screenplays and novels, two of which have been "published": "Tempest In The Stone" and "The Malice Of Cain", both available through PublishAmerica. He defines his writing style as "Hip-hop fiction; a cross between Richard Pryor and Richard Wright." His UK columns is written in a hard-edged style, but he is not yet a curmudgeon or a conservative. (Is that redundant?) After all, one of his favorite movies is "The Adventures of Milo and Otis." stellbread0.tripod.com Email: stellbread@yahoo.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ All articles are EXCLUSIVE to Useless-Knowledge.com and are not allowed to be posted on other websites. ARTICLE THIEVES WILL BE PROSECUTED! |
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