Sep. 8th, 2011

Meanwhile, at a luau on the wrong side of Tikitown, Pimp Jules held court from his bamboo throne. He presided over crooks, pushers, grifters and fish smugglers – the worst kind of refuse. He adjusted his floral-print cape over his zoot-suit.

"Who beat up my loanshark?" he demanded. The cartilaginous fish gasped, broken and bruised at his feet.

The crowd parted, and a strong black brother appeared. His multi-colored daishiki highlighted his Herculean frame, and his high-volume afro was perfectly spherical.

"I did," he purred, massive arms folded. "Name's Badd."

The parrot on his shoulder stretched. "Chuck Badd!" it squawked sonorously.

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