(ThyBlackMan.com) According to papers recently filed in Manhattan Federal Court, a HOLY WAR is brewing over at http://www.saintsolomon.com.
On August 3rd, 2015, author/essayist Saint Solomon, along with his attorney, double-doctorate Dr. Dimitri Kourouklis, Ph.D., sent Mr. Aaron McGruder (Boondocks/Black Jesus) and cohorts a settlement letter, threatening a lawsuit, if the recipients did not accept an invitation requesting an amicable, fraternal discourse. In short, the letter accused Mr. McGruder of kidnapping Black Jesus from a collection of short stories penned by Saint Solomon.
However, on September 23rd, 2015, Mr. McGruder, armed with a frightening and intimidating platoon of legal gunslingers from the high profile law firm of Munger, Tolles, and Olsen LLP, responded to Saint Solomon as if he were a nagging fruit fly buzzing in McGruder’s ear while the producer was busy on the set filming Saint Solomon’s tale.
A furious Saint Solomon grabbed his favorite and most powerful weapon, a pen, and began writing an open letter intended to appeal to the moral conscience of Mr. McGruder.
“What are you doing?” Jesus asked, suddenly appearing. Jesus was clad in a beige gown, a beige crown and a pair of brown sandals. His breath reeked of alcohol.
Startled, Saint Solomon jumped clumsily backward.
“What’s the matter with you?” Jesus asked. “You act as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I just didn’t hear you come in,” Saint Solomon replied
“What are you doing?” Jesus repeated.
“I’m writing an open letter to Mr. McGruder.”
“Why?”
“From brother to brother,” Saint Solomon replied. “You know, appeal to his moral conscience.”
“I thought your lawyer, Dimitri, already sent McGruder a letter.”
“He did!”
“And, now, you’re going to do the same thing?” Jesus asked, perplexed.
“I mean…” Saint Solomon stammered.
“You mean, what? To do the same thing over and over again and expect a different result is what?
“Insane?”
“Yeah. So, what are you? Crazy?” Jesus questioned.
“Well, what do you suggest?” Saint Solomon inquired.
“I suggest we step to McJudas together.”
“His name is McGruder,” Saint Solomon corrected.
“Whatever,” Jesus responded. “Listen, when the Golden State Warriors were up in the NBA Finals, Clay Thompson told LeBron, ‘if you’re the best player on the planet then prove it.’”
“So?”
“Well, if you created the malt liquor drinking Jesus, the Son of God; THEN PROVE IT! And, what better way to prove it, then to bring Me with you.”
Saint Solomon pondered the idea. “Are you sure about this?”
“Did I abandon you when you were imprisoned?”
“No.”
“Did I desert you when were stabbed?”
“No.”
“So, why would I leave you after you’ve been tried and tested?”
“Okay,” Saint Solomon conceded. “But, what are we gonna call it?”
“We’re gonna call it EXACTLY what it is,” Jesus commanded………………….
Brooklyn, The New Bethlehem: The Birth, The Abduction, The Trial of Jesus
Ben Past
Investigative reporter
Brooklyn Bluespaper
Here’s an excerpt……….
“But, then I had to catch myself. WAIT! I’m being paranoid. Why should I worry? This aint no street beef. This is Ole McJudas. The Malcolm X of Adult Swim. The Huey Newton of Holly-Hood. He’s the moral compass who questioned Obama’s authenticity, sincerity, and credibility. He’s knows what substantially derived means. He’s an artist. He knows that too many Coincidences aren’t Coincidences. He knows that a grave injustice has occurred to another African-American artist. This is his Civil Rights moment. The rubber has hit the road.
“McJudas isn’t going to let any of those Holly-Hood heavy-weights highjack me, muscle me. He knows the stories; he heard the rumors. He’s familiar with the history. So, I’m hoping he does the right thing.
“So, one day, I’m home alone thinking of a recourse. Home alone? Didn’t the Boondocks have an episode called: Home Alone? Yeah, a BB gun battle. It triggered an idea.
McJudas knows how violated he would feel if I stormed down into the Boondocks, and then I roughly snatched them BB guns from the soft and tender hands of Huey and Riley.
“I then lie and say that my character is the REAL Huey Newton, like Ole McJudas’ lawyer said “Black Jesus is the REAL Son of God…………. And, since I don’t like the name Riley, I change the brother’s handle to Ratchet. Yeah, Ratchet. It sounds so Brooklynish!
“I then relocate H & R to a Block somewhere in Brooklyn; so, I can toughen them up. Next I replace the BB guns with Water guns because this is Brooklyn. This is a place that WE made real HOT by WETTIN’ Nig-gros up!
“Once I think that Huey and Ratchet are tough enough, I then enroll them into Mount Aloysius College down in Cresson, Pa. It’s one of those places where President Obama said, ‘they cling to religions and guns.’ I chose that particular school, not because, liken to me, I think that they love Jesus and I think that they love pistols; but, more so, because it was there that the freshmen class were required to read, “School of Hard Knocks,” written by Saint Solomon; which, befittingly, took place in HUEY NEWTON high school! Yes, sometime, I do feel like I have a shadow. That’s probably why I’m always looking over my shoulder.
“And, not for nuthin’, Ole McJudas, the only thing that you had to do was ask. I would have GIVEN you a scene! Real talk. Peep it. You can have the following scene:
Ratchet hops up and slaps the shit outta Huey Newton.
The baby Black Panther stumbles and flips backward, but lands on his feet. Immediately, Huey draws his hammers and spits a few liquid nails that he figures Ratchet could reuse for his coffin.
Ratchet then dives to the ground, and pulls out his own tools. He rapidly sprays watery wrenches, damp drills, and sodden chisels in a hostile attempt to knock ALL of Huey’s screws loose.
Panicking, Ole McJudas jumps in between the two combatants, and barks, “Brothers shouldn’t kill brothers; only Judases crucifies and double-crosses each other.”
“But,” Ratchet replies angrily, “This nigga, Huey, trying to say that you stole Saint Solomon’s story!”
“I ain’t steal shit from Saint Solomon. I don’t even know who the fuck Saint Solomon is?” Ole McJudas defended his dishonesty.
“You know who fuck he is!” Huey shouted back. “He’s the brother who is running around with all these malt liquor drinking Jesuses; and you ain’t said shit yet. He got Jesus all in the newspapers, all on the internet. He even got atheist Nig-gros, who can’t even read, weighing in.
“Man, I was in the barbershop the other day and Everybody was arguing. One Nig-gro said, ‘McJudas was poppin’ all that shit about Madea being a bitch, well why Nig-gros ain’t got a bunch of Madeas bouncing about? Nig-gros said, Saint Solomon has a Puerto Rican Jesus up in the Bronx drinking Barcadi. Nig-gros said, Saint Solomon even had a Jesus with a straw crown and a dungaree gown, down in the Boondocks, drinking Moonshine with Ratchet’s baby’s mother.
“And that’s only the half of it. The owner of the Barbershop bet the whole the shop; not the patrons, but the shop itself. He waged that you were gonna sue Saint Solomon for copyright infringement. When they ain’t hear nuthin’, the silence was thunderously profound!”
“Well, I ain’t steal nuthin’!” Ole McJudas shouted.
“Well, tell that shit to the unemployed Nig-gro who lost his shop. Because, you know, how when you SEE something, you are supposed to SAY something? Well, I was trying not to say shit; but, EYE READ the settlement letter that Saint Solomon’s lawyer, Dimitri, sent to you. Yeah, I found it in your bedroom, stuffed in the closet, secreted in a shoebox.
“And, everything that I read was true. He ain’t lie about shit. So, I’m thinking, why you ain’t reaching out? It wouldn’t have been no sweat off your back. You were already on the record for blaming Bobby Wize-guy, covering yourself.
“You had said that Bobby brought the story to you. As an artist, don’t you think the Black and Noble thing to do was to show some artist integrity? So, now, I’m thinking, what artist in the UNIVERSE would adamantly defend a story that S/HE KNOWS S/HE DID NOT CREATE? Then suddenly it all made sense.”
“Wat settle-man letta?” Ratchet wanted to know, somewhat confused.
Ole McJudas ignored him.
“Tell him,” Huey egged.
“Yeah. Tell me,” Ratchet interjected.
Ole McJudas was silent.
Ratchet knew something was definitely wrong. Ole McJudas has never been this quiet. Ratchet turned toward his brother, eyebrows arched.
“I’ll tell you,” Huey conceded. “Saint Solomon ain’t never been to Holly-Hood. He heard that they had his character on TV; so, a little over a year ago, he reached out to this Nig-gro. You know, from one brother to another brother, and instead of this Nig-gro responding fraternally, he hires a platoon of legal gun slingers with a pretty, white female lawyer, who reminds me of Jane Fonda, running point.”
Ratchet’s own screws began loosening. He turned toward Ole McJudas, his face pained with disgust. “Any truth to dat?”
Ole McJudas, uncharacteristically, remained speechless.
Ratchet continued, “Nig-gro, iz it tru dat you ain’t wanna brake bred wit the baker who kooked the book?”
A thunderous silence!
Ratchet was collecting his thoughts. It was hurting a lot, causing a migraine. But, then it all made sense to him, too. “It seems to me like dey caught you ded to write!” Ratchet spoke, observingly. “U no, Ole McJudas? U need two understand won thing: write is rite and rong is wrong; and don’t EVER confuse the too. I mean, to.
“Ur from the Boon-DUCKS. U cee DUCKS swimming in the PONDS all day every day. If it looks like a DUCK Nig-gro named Jesus and it dresses like a DUCK Nig-gro named Jesus and it drinks malt liquor like a DUCK Nig-gro named Jesus and it calls Nig-gros “niggas” like a DUCK Nig-gro named Jesus and it has a Fishy best friend like a DUCK Nig-gro named Jesus and it drives cars like a DUCK Nig-gro named Jesus and it has picket sign wielding protesters like a DUCK Nig-gro named Jesus…and sometimes He dresses down in plain clothes like a DUCK Nig-gro named Jesus…..Man, I’m about to get tongue tide repeetin’ all this dum ass shit. It feels like I’m back in kinde..kendagar…kark ?? How the fuck do you spel dat shit? Nig-gro, you no EXACTLY wat I meen! And, you lucky you robbed Solomon. He’s a Saint. But had it been me… Mutha-fuck a settle-man letta…I would’ve strate WATERBOARDED ur ass! In fact, Huey, you thinkin’ wat I’m thinkin’.
“Bro, I thought it before you thought it.”
Huey grabbed his hammers; Ratchet grabbed his namesakes; and, then, miraculously, seemingly out of nowhere, Jesus and Speedy bust through the doors, clutching two fiery hoses that have the capacity to flood the earth plus sink Noah’s Ark!.
“Hell no!” Jesus shouted. “I got him first.”
Ratchet rapidly chimed in, guns cocked. He stared at Jesus. “I don’t no who u r; I herd sum gud things; but, dis nigga minez.”
“Wait,” Jesus spoke. “There are four guns and one goal. No need to bicker.”
“He’s right,” Huey agreed. “Why don’t we All shoot him! This way there will be so many different bullets in him, sprayed from so many different angles, shot from so many different pistols that no one can be charged with the fatal shot, ever. And if they try to change the rule, they can go back and criminally charge all of those cops in Cleveland who fired 137 shots at Malissa Williams and Timothy Russell. Fair?”
The door opened. It was the bailiff. “Can we get back to court!?”
“Just give us WON more minute,” Ratchet pled.
“NOW!”
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Staff Writer; Saint Solomon
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