This was me at a young evolutionary age

I was a kid for a while.  That was a rough time for me.  I grew up in a tough neighborhood near a Sizzler.  The kids in my neighborhood were violent and they wanted me to join their gang.  They made me do all sorts of gangster things like steal cigarettes from my parents.

I was told if I wanted to join the gang, I had to build a hideout.  I used all of my allowance to build a pillow fort in my basement.  I used thumb tacks to keep the sheets pinned to the wall.  It was hard-core.  They told me that if I wanted to join their gang, I’d have to commit a crime.  “I stole a car,” I said.  Lying was the crime.  I was in the gang.

I was slanging drugs and banging thugs.  I held my Nerf suction cup dart pistol with a sideways gangster grip.  It was tight…the grip, I mean; I didn’t want to lose the gun.  I was the original, genuine thug; an OG…T.  I didn’t even own a belt so my pants would always sag gangsterly (the point at which they would fall off).

One day, a Catholic priest called me and said it was time to hang it up and cut the crap.  I said that my gangster friends would do harm unto me and my sheet fort if I left.  He offered me full protection in his house of worship and a job at the Sizzler.

The priest was banging, alright; banging all the boys.  I quit the gang.  They said they were going to miss me and that they were sad to see me go.  To tell you the truth, I miss them, I miss them a lot.  Word to your brother.