Super Musicians Breakthrough Do by Marlynn Swanigan
we're helping, it's easier for us to freestyle. When I got home, I knew it was all over. "No more war. Well, my book can't sell itself...”
“Ultra Marlynn; you're officially off duty, leave the rest to God and go enjoy your life. It's over. No more writing books to encourage people, no more trying to save the world. Take it easy...and take a load off..." Demo said, on my way to the stairs. "Hey! Wait, man..." My heart sank, not knowing why they were all fading away again, and all I had left, then, were my clones of them. “I love you guys...” He appeared again and said, “JUST KIDDIN’, DUDE! I KNEW YOU LOVED ME!” I swiftly wipe my tears and shove him. “Hey, dude, that isn’t funny!”
I started a Capoeira school in my hometown, Arkansas. I summon bots to teach the Capoeirista to make instruments and play bateria. [WHOAH, MEDUSA...WHOAAAAH, MEDUSA] I attract more pedestrians and accelerate in a martial arts trance to the banging bateria. When I stopped, my heavy breathing hadn't; the music stops as I look up at the stunned and confused Arkansans. "Now...Are there any questions before I faint?" I fainted... I even made the news. "Hi, mom...!" I don’t know if that rumor about spy-cherubs is true, but, I did find a pile of gummy bears on my floor.
Spooky, right?
SECTION V
THE DISREGARDED MASTERS
(The ‘The Generated Nukes’ narrator audio plays) ♫° “NEXT!” The talent scouts were about to give-up on country music. They saw a handsome black man smooth-walk onto the stage. Who gets to see this everyday? Fly Bird's daring attitude and appeal had the scouts itching for more. “Sir, there's no smoking in here. I'm gonna need you to put that out for me.” said one of the scouts. Fly ignored the scouts, completely, as he perched onto the stool. He was wearing a tuxedo. He seemed to have a lighthearted grudge against the scouts as he asked his beautiful assistant to hand him his guitar with a mere hand gesture. A young, voluptuous, woman awkwardly met up with Fly at center-stage, to give him the acoustic guitar. Fly yanked his berretta from within the backside of his pants and handed it to his assistant. “I loved that! Was that a real g-” A powerful, heartwarming, and overwhelming harmony of chords blew the scouts away! Fly's eyes remained settled as he strummed the guitar. The scouts' bad day had ended as the music slapped in their ears. He played for another minute and a half without singing a single lyric. Finally, He put his lips close to the microphone and sang the softest and most vivid lyrics of all time. The scouts closed their eyes to see the details with their imaginations. Then, the chorus became really disturbing and violent. ♪Today on the battlefield I had to throw a grenade! ♪ He started singing about having to throw a grenade and gory casualties. “Hey, wait a minute. Is that Fly Bird?”
“Who the hell is he? He didn't even introduce himself! Have you met him?”
“That's Fly Bird; he’s a hit man for the Cuban mafia. He has a twin brother who raps, Fitted. I think he's tryin' to go legit.”
“NEXT!” yelled one of the scouts. “What the hell, York?” asked Billy Hill, who was loving every second of it, clapping, rocking, and rolling his head. Doug York- not so much. “Think about his charisma and his voice. Screw the lyrics and the background, man.”
“Believe me, Mr. Hill, i've watched the market shift for too many years to waist my time with a low-life who might put a bullet in one of his fans because he can't handle the pressures of being 'Legit'.”
“York, that's bogus and you know it, he's a natural. The guy's goin' legit as we speak and you wanna pull his rap sheet out the crack o’ yer ass right in the middle of it?” The doors to the theater open and a well-known detective, Tony Joust, rushes in with a team of over fifty NYPD officers. Anyone who knew Joust knew he was good, but he was a clown and so were fifty percent of his precinct most of the time. These guys never took their job seriously because they were like the only cops who weren't working for the mob. Joust had already forewarned all of his men that Fly could rig a theater with explosives, undetected. They were cautious, but not willing to arrest him under any circumstances. After storming in and taking cover, the police had Fly surrounded! “JOUUUST!” yelled Fly. “I KNOW IT'S YOUUU!” he maintained, tossing away his pistol. Detective Joust, lying behind the last row of seats, finally revealed himself yelling, “BIRD, DON'T DO ANYTHING YOU'RE GONNA REGRET...WE ALREADY BOOKED YOUR BOSS. JUST TAKE IT EASY.” The officers snickered quietly with Joust. Joust rose up and peeped over the seats. He spotted Fly's girlfriend fondling with fly and tidying his tuxedo. “Holy smokes! Is that Davis' wife?” Joust joked, making the soft laughter get uncontrollably loud. Joust got back on the floor saying, “Davis, he's bangin' your wife! Take the rest of the day off.”
“I'll be takin' more than a day; she's gonna be a widow, anyway, if you keep negotiating. It's been good.” Davis replied. They all laughed. “Hey, Davis, go see what he wants. Maybe your wife can save us all. You don't want this job, get outta here. You're fired. Your wife works harder than you and she isn't even trained.” Officer Davis got onto his feet to negotiate. “LOOK, FLY. WE'RE ONLY HERE TO ESCORT YOU OFF THE PREMISES. WE DON”T WANT ANYONE TO GET HURT.” Fly Bird has an identical twin brother named Float “Fitted” Hawk. When the police let Float in, he looked at his brother holding a detonator and all the armed officers. “DAMN! Martin Luther King ain't teach you, n’’’’s, nothin'! Turn the other cheek, Davis!” Float jested. His face expressed disappointment. The officers laughed at Float's reaction.
To Martin Luther King: The devil fear' one man. Send an army to God; he ain't scared o' neither one of 'em!
Float was a celebrity. He sang rhythm and blues. His stage name was, ‘Fitted’ because he was always wearing a billed baseball-cap. You could say he was the innocent one; always trying to fill people’s hearts with love by pumping them up with encouragements. He had arrived to pick Fly up from the audition. He was running a bit late because he had a sold-out concert. Fly sings country and Float sings R & B. Float was married to a successful super-model named Amy. Amy wanted to be a designer, but her designs sucked. Float wanted to dance like Michael Jackson, but his choreography sucked. Yet, overall, they were loaded since Float sang flawlessly and Amy was a global personality. “Look, man, I know my brother and his girlfriend have those explosive-resistant force-fields Luck sent ‘em for Christmas, so, good luck with that sniper, Houston.” Float claimed. Little “Lucky” Hawk, was the twins' brainy kid-brother. Officer Houston stood up and said, “You know what,” as he walked toward the doors. “I didn't sign up for this, call in the bomb squad.” The officers laughed. “What's the matter, Houston? - Don't-think you can blow his thumb off the button in time.” asked Joust. The officers laughed. “Yeah! I had a clean shot - Just about to pop his ass, and Fitted had to mess it up. I tell ya.” Officer Houston declared, on his way out. As they opened the doors to Float’s limousine, Float asked Fly, “Damn, n’’’’! The hell you sing got everybody wantin' to shoot you?” as the bomb squad headed in to clean up the place. When Fly entered the limo, he saw Fitted's toddler son playing a video game on a laptop with a wireless-joystick. “UNCLE FWY, WOOK AT DADDY! HE'S A SUPOAH HEWOAH!” Fly picked Skeeter up. “Let me look at you, first.” said Fly while removing his nephews seat belt. He had just saw the kid a few days before, but he lives everyday like it's his last. After checking to see if Skeeter was in mint condition, Fly sat him in his lap and grabbed the laptop. “Ha-My brother's a super hero. What's the title?”
“Supoah Hat.” Skeeter answered. “Want a beer, n’’’’?” Float asked. “Naa, give her one.”
“No, thank you!” Clarissa, Fly's girlfriend, abruptly refused. Skeeter persistently trained Fly to play the game. Fly grew very interested in the game-play. “Man, it feels so good to be my son's hero.”
“Yeah, this game is friggin' gunnin'!”
“It's a prototype, but that's the one Skeeter liked the most, so, I might give it a go.”
“HAHA! SUPER GROOVE MODE! This is friggin' gunnin' man! I like how they made the break dances in fast-motion!”
“Hey, let me see.?
?? said Clarissa, switching seats. “It's called, ‘Super Hat World.’ Jump and run mode is the, sort-of automatic, setting. Then there’s the super groove and charm mode. The turbo-speed dancing was my idea.”
“I'm IN groove mode, dude. I taught you that move…” Fly reckoned controlling the animated replica of his brother, which was break dancing, emitting projectiles and eye-candy from its gloves and sneakers. “How do I? - What's charm mode?”
“Oh, it's just where you make gifts magically appear and give them to people to cheer them up.” Float explained. Little “Lucky” Hawk was awaiting Float's arrival at Amy's mansion. He was playing a ninja-stealth-combat-online game when he got a call from Float's best friend, Timothy- a fellow inventor. “Tim you cryin' man? What's wrong? What you takin’ a dump, n’’’’? N’’’’-ha-ha, you stankin' as hell, cu'-ha-ha, I can smell you through the mic, yo…Really? I feel like holdin' on, Jesus. I feel like Fitted, n’’’’, Martin Luther King ain't teach you NUTHIN', SON...WORD!”
“That's yo' breath. Naa, n’’’’, you forgot to spray some deodorant on yo' side-burns. Listen to me, carefully, Lucky. Sugg-Soatchio shut down your
“Ultra Marlynn; you're officially off duty, leave the rest to God and go enjoy your life. It's over. No more writing books to encourage people, no more trying to save the world. Take it easy...and take a load off..." Demo said, on my way to the stairs. "Hey! Wait, man..." My heart sank, not knowing why they were all fading away again, and all I had left, then, were my clones of them. “I love you guys...” He appeared again and said, “JUST KIDDIN’, DUDE! I KNEW YOU LOVED ME!” I swiftly wipe my tears and shove him. “Hey, dude, that isn’t funny!”
I started a Capoeira school in my hometown, Arkansas. I summon bots to teach the Capoeirista to make instruments and play bateria. [WHOAH, MEDUSA...WHOAAAAH, MEDUSA] I attract more pedestrians and accelerate in a martial arts trance to the banging bateria. When I stopped, my heavy breathing hadn't; the music stops as I look up at the stunned and confused Arkansans. "Now...Are there any questions before I faint?" I fainted... I even made the news. "Hi, mom...!" I don’t know if that rumor about spy-cherubs is true, but, I did find a pile of gummy bears on my floor.
Spooky, right?
SECTION V
THE DISREGARDED MASTERS
(The ‘The Generated Nukes’ narrator audio plays) ♫° “NEXT!” The talent scouts were about to give-up on country music. They saw a handsome black man smooth-walk onto the stage. Who gets to see this everyday? Fly Bird's daring attitude and appeal had the scouts itching for more. “Sir, there's no smoking in here. I'm gonna need you to put that out for me.” said one of the scouts. Fly ignored the scouts, completely, as he perched onto the stool. He was wearing a tuxedo. He seemed to have a lighthearted grudge against the scouts as he asked his beautiful assistant to hand him his guitar with a mere hand gesture. A young, voluptuous, woman awkwardly met up with Fly at center-stage, to give him the acoustic guitar. Fly yanked his berretta from within the backside of his pants and handed it to his assistant. “I loved that! Was that a real g-” A powerful, heartwarming, and overwhelming harmony of chords blew the scouts away! Fly's eyes remained settled as he strummed the guitar. The scouts' bad day had ended as the music slapped in their ears. He played for another minute and a half without singing a single lyric. Finally, He put his lips close to the microphone and sang the softest and most vivid lyrics of all time. The scouts closed their eyes to see the details with their imaginations. Then, the chorus became really disturbing and violent. ♪Today on the battlefield I had to throw a grenade! ♪ He started singing about having to throw a grenade and gory casualties. “Hey, wait a minute. Is that Fly Bird?”
“Who the hell is he? He didn't even introduce himself! Have you met him?”
“That's Fly Bird; he’s a hit man for the Cuban mafia. He has a twin brother who raps, Fitted. I think he's tryin' to go legit.”
“NEXT!” yelled one of the scouts. “What the hell, York?” asked Billy Hill, who was loving every second of it, clapping, rocking, and rolling his head. Doug York- not so much. “Think about his charisma and his voice. Screw the lyrics and the background, man.”
“Believe me, Mr. Hill, i've watched the market shift for too many years to waist my time with a low-life who might put a bullet in one of his fans because he can't handle the pressures of being 'Legit'.”
“York, that's bogus and you know it, he's a natural. The guy's goin' legit as we speak and you wanna pull his rap sheet out the crack o’ yer ass right in the middle of it?” The doors to the theater open and a well-known detective, Tony Joust, rushes in with a team of over fifty NYPD officers. Anyone who knew Joust knew he was good, but he was a clown and so were fifty percent of his precinct most of the time. These guys never took their job seriously because they were like the only cops who weren't working for the mob. Joust had already forewarned all of his men that Fly could rig a theater with explosives, undetected. They were cautious, but not willing to arrest him under any circumstances. After storming in and taking cover, the police had Fly surrounded! “JOUUUST!” yelled Fly. “I KNOW IT'S YOUUU!” he maintained, tossing away his pistol. Detective Joust, lying behind the last row of seats, finally revealed himself yelling, “BIRD, DON'T DO ANYTHING YOU'RE GONNA REGRET...WE ALREADY BOOKED YOUR BOSS. JUST TAKE IT EASY.” The officers snickered quietly with Joust. Joust rose up and peeped over the seats. He spotted Fly's girlfriend fondling with fly and tidying his tuxedo. “Holy smokes! Is that Davis' wife?” Joust joked, making the soft laughter get uncontrollably loud. Joust got back on the floor saying, “Davis, he's bangin' your wife! Take the rest of the day off.”
“I'll be takin' more than a day; she's gonna be a widow, anyway, if you keep negotiating. It's been good.” Davis replied. They all laughed. “Hey, Davis, go see what he wants. Maybe your wife can save us all. You don't want this job, get outta here. You're fired. Your wife works harder than you and she isn't even trained.” Officer Davis got onto his feet to negotiate. “LOOK, FLY. WE'RE ONLY HERE TO ESCORT YOU OFF THE PREMISES. WE DON”T WANT ANYONE TO GET HURT.” Fly Bird has an identical twin brother named Float “Fitted” Hawk. When the police let Float in, he looked at his brother holding a detonator and all the armed officers. “DAMN! Martin Luther King ain't teach you, n’’’’s, nothin'! Turn the other cheek, Davis!” Float jested. His face expressed disappointment. The officers laughed at Float's reaction.
To Martin Luther King: The devil fear' one man. Send an army to God; he ain't scared o' neither one of 'em!
Float was a celebrity. He sang rhythm and blues. His stage name was, ‘Fitted’ because he was always wearing a billed baseball-cap. You could say he was the innocent one; always trying to fill people’s hearts with love by pumping them up with encouragements. He had arrived to pick Fly up from the audition. He was running a bit late because he had a sold-out concert. Fly sings country and Float sings R & B. Float was married to a successful super-model named Amy. Amy wanted to be a designer, but her designs sucked. Float wanted to dance like Michael Jackson, but his choreography sucked. Yet, overall, they were loaded since Float sang flawlessly and Amy was a global personality. “Look, man, I know my brother and his girlfriend have those explosive-resistant force-fields Luck sent ‘em for Christmas, so, good luck with that sniper, Houston.” Float claimed. Little “Lucky” Hawk, was the twins' brainy kid-brother. Officer Houston stood up and said, “You know what,” as he walked toward the doors. “I didn't sign up for this, call in the bomb squad.” The officers laughed. “What's the matter, Houston? - Don't-think you can blow his thumb off the button in time.” asked Joust. The officers laughed. “Yeah! I had a clean shot - Just about to pop his ass, and Fitted had to mess it up. I tell ya.” Officer Houston declared, on his way out. As they opened the doors to Float’s limousine, Float asked Fly, “Damn, n’’’’! The hell you sing got everybody wantin' to shoot you?” as the bomb squad headed in to clean up the place. When Fly entered the limo, he saw Fitted's toddler son playing a video game on a laptop with a wireless-joystick. “UNCLE FWY, WOOK AT DADDY! HE'S A SUPOAH HEWOAH!” Fly picked Skeeter up. “Let me look at you, first.” said Fly while removing his nephews seat belt. He had just saw the kid a few days before, but he lives everyday like it's his last. After checking to see if Skeeter was in mint condition, Fly sat him in his lap and grabbed the laptop. “Ha-My brother's a super hero. What's the title?”
“Supoah Hat.” Skeeter answered. “Want a beer, n’’’’?” Float asked. “Naa, give her one.”
“No, thank you!” Clarissa, Fly's girlfriend, abruptly refused. Skeeter persistently trained Fly to play the game. Fly grew very interested in the game-play. “Man, it feels so good to be my son's hero.”
“Yeah, this game is friggin' gunnin'!”
“It's a prototype, but that's the one Skeeter liked the most, so, I might give it a go.”
“HAHA! SUPER GROOVE MODE! This is friggin' gunnin' man! I like how they made the break dances in fast-motion!”
“Hey, let me see.?
“I'm IN groove mode, dude. I taught you that move…” Fly reckoned controlling the animated replica of his brother, which was break dancing, emitting projectiles and eye-candy from its gloves and sneakers. “How do I? - What's charm mode?”
“Oh, it's just where you make gifts magically appear and give them to people to cheer them up.” Float explained. Little “Lucky” Hawk was awaiting Float's arrival at Amy's mansion. He was playing a ninja-stealth-combat-online game when he got a call from Float's best friend, Timothy- a fellow inventor. “Tim you cryin' man? What's wrong? What you takin’ a dump, n’’’’? N’’’’-ha-ha, you stankin' as hell, cu'-ha-ha, I can smell you through the mic, yo…Really? I feel like holdin' on, Jesus. I feel like Fitted, n’’’’, Martin Luther King ain't teach you NUTHIN', SON...WORD!”
“That's yo' breath. Naa, n’’’’, you forgot to spray some deodorant on yo' side-burns. Listen to me, carefully, Lucky. Sugg-Soatchio shut down your