Riot Police

If I were killed by the cops there would be a riot. Like a big riot. East Liberty would be filled with people from all over the city, protesting my unlawful murder. Even Jewhill would have a vigil. Big impact. Mike might stop making drinks and start questioning the Mayor when he walks into Cappy’s next time. The city would lose its collective bargaining agreement with civility and storm a place or two. I mean they killed Julian Hicks!

What have I ever done to anyone? Even the Chief of Police would make a statement:

“This young man was a model citizen. He patiently waited for my office to fix his issues with McGann and Chester’s thievery over the course of a month. His mother should be given a medal, not a son full of bullets...”

...or something to that affect.

Chelsea and Theo would do a dab in front of the police station next to Katie blasting “Waltz Me to the Grave”. Chelsea Leber would turn Pheonix on they bitch ass, fly straight to Peduto’s place and burn it to ashes. The city would be a whole mess if the police killed me. What the fuck for?


First of all, good luck painting me as a criminal. Go to my Twitter and the bio is “King Lesbian”. For ten straight years my tweets will show hilarious inside jokes, weird black boy street wisdom and me obsessing over hoes. Maybe the corrupt Popo can say I raped a bitch and shot me fleeing the scene. I really have nothing on me.


If they slide over to my Instagram then I might start to look a little racey. My bio there is “400 Years of Slavery Coming Home to Roost”. A little Malcolm X-y pre Mecca, don’t you think? I have a picture of me shooting a shotgun (poorly, I’ll add) in a post from five years ago. A casual observer, however, might miss that pic for my latest which is me holding a dog in my arms like we just eloped or something.


If a dirty pig shot me for being the black Mr. Rogers then the whole neighborhood would squad up. I got hitters all over the city ready to ride for my corpse. Imagine the pogo stick damage done to police vehicles over the course of a trial/investigation. And when the verdict for my killers comes back “Justifiable” or “Not Guilty”… sheeeeeiiit… Then it’s on-on.


The whole city will burn. Instagram is gonna be one giant middle finger compilation of my greatest selfies and tagged photos. All my friends and extended family will band together under the legacy I’ve built with them, share stories. My tragedy will bond all those amazing yet separate individuals into something greater then I could ever do alive. My nigga Hongching will take pics of the protests and market the whole thing. I’ll spark a revolution with my blood.


















Lolol jk. Niggas ain’t gone do shit.