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| Los Santos Tales, part 2 | | | Author: | | | IP: | c-69-138XXXX | | Date: | 12/24/08 10:12 | | Game Type: | Other | | Labels: | none | | Report Rating: , # of Ratings: 1, Max: 7, Min: 7
Lifetime Rating for KingWombat: 8.2500 |  | Guys, someone help me! I can't stop posting these terrible 'battle'reports!
In all seriousness though, this here is the second part of my 'Los Santos Tales' series of reports, following the adventures of CJ Johnson. It is a little longer (textwise) than the previous installment, which isn't saying very much at all. Some will probably chastise me for cranking out really short reports with very few redeeming qualities, and for putting quantity over quality (or maybe they won't, because people don't seem to visit this site as often as they used to). On that note, I apologize, and will try to make the next Los Santos Tales report, if there IS to be a next one, significantly longer. But for now, please enjoy:
When last we saw CJ Johnson, he was on his way to becoming a relentless spirit of vengeance in order to punish those that had done great injustices to him. For a long time, it was thought that CJ's legacy would end there, for no further journal entries were found which detailed his exciting life. But wait! Recently, more entries were recovered from inside a used condom on the beaches of southern Los Santos. This means our story can continue.
From the journal of CJ Johnson, date and time unknown, as always:
 "After losing count of how many times I got shot and hospitalized, I figured that I couldn't do shit unless I had allies. I decided to suck up to my dawgs back home and get them to help me in this endeavor. I told me I'd do anything for 'em, trying to build a reputation as a go-to man, y'know? They agreed after many, many beers. I was ecstatic and decided that this was a new beginning. No more getting shot up for no reason. To start, I got me a haircut so that my foes wouldn't recognize me as the loser I used to be. The next day I went straight to the barber's and got me a 'fro just like my idol Beethoven. I then killed the barber with my bare hands so that he wouldn't rat out my new identity to the purple dudes. Can't trust no one."
"In the evenin' me and Ryder went to get us some pizza, as a kind of bonding activity to try and get to know each other better. He stayed outside and smoked a joint while I went inside and snarfed down several pizzas. I was in the process of devising a plan to shoot all the pizzeria workers, all of them, when suddenly Ryder barged in and tried to do it himself."
"Problem is, he missed. One of the workers pulled a shotgun from his pants and me and Ryder bolted for our miserable lives."
 "We ran outside and jumped into Ryder's shitty truck. For some reason I ended up behind the wheel. But there was little time to think, the worker was hot on our tail. I wheeled the truck around and ran the sumbitch over multiple times. I then proceeded to retrieve his shotgun so I could shoot more people later on. Thus ended another fun night out, and both of us went home to get us some sleep."
"Next day marked the beginning of Grove Street's (that's me and my homies) retribution against the Front Yard Ballas (purple people). Armed to the teeth with spray paint cans, we drove into purple territory and started scrawling Grove Street graffiti over the Ballas' own graffiti, which could be found on every single motherf***ing street corner. Well actually I was the only one doing the painting, my dawgs just sat around the car and smoked joints."
 "I figured they were letting me do shit alone cause they trusted me. This was good."
"In one of the alleyways I came across two purple dudes having a lil' chat and a lil' smoke, and popped their heads off with my shotgun. Apparently the sound of a shotgun being discharged was somethin' special, cause in the next couple seconds almost every cop in Los Santos was after my ass. But I escaped them all by jumping a fence. I won't go into any details as to how I managed to do that. Jump the fence, that is. Tricks of the trade."
"Somehow I found my way back to the 'hood. I didn't know what had happened to my dawgs, whether the po-lice had gotten 'em or not, but I didn't really care. All I needed was my sleep. As soon as I walked into my house, I fell on the floor and dozed off real quick."
"I was awakened from my pleasant dreamings by the sound of my dawgs pounding at my door. Thank God they were alive! I opened up and they told me they'd gone and smoked all the weed they had left, and now we had to go and get us some more. I figured this would be an easy job, so I told 'em I accepted and all."
"'You ain't got no choice anyway, bitch,' they answered, 'get in the car!'"
"So I did. All I wanted was to get this over with and get back to sleep. When we got to the place, however, things started lookin' real bad. Turned out none of the homies had any dough on them. I asked 'em how we were gonna get that grass if we ain't had no dough."
"'By force, (ethnic slur)!' they answered."
"We charged into the apartment where the dealer was supposed to hang out, clubs and shit at the ready. But all we found were some purple dudes, high as hell off some freshly purchased weed."
We beat the living shit out of 'em. Since the deal had been ripe, we figured the source couldn't have gone all that far yet, so we gave chase, following the trail of money on the ground."
"We caught up with the sumbitch outside a nice-lookin' suburban family home trying to sell weed to some kids."
 "'Yo dawg where's my weed at?' yelled Ryder and opened fire on the dealer. Naturally, he missed pretty bad (at least he didn't hit no kids), so I decided that this was my moment to shine and took matters into my own hands. I pulled out my shotgun and tried to fire, but sadly I had forgotten to load. Not enough time for that now! I decided to make good use of the resources at hand, and used the firestick like a club to bash the sumbitch's head in."
"I turned to my homies and waited for applause or acknowledgment or somethin', but they were already behind me fightin' over the dealer's grass. As soon as they got their greedy hands on it, they began rolling joints right out there in the open. Bad idea. Cops closed in from all directions, sirens wailed, and we got out of there right quick and sped down the road (at this point we were in a car) towards the 'hood, pursued by vans and cars loaded with law enforcement agents."
"When we got to home base, I jumped out and ran to my house, dodging heavy machine gun fire along the way. I slammed the door behind me and hid under my couch. Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep. Time flew by like a brotha running from the cops, and when I looked out the window in the morning, everything was OK. The sun was shining, and my homies were outside stealing and vandalizing shit. The storm had blown over."
"That fine day, all four of us, the Big Four (Smoke, Ryder and Sweet... hell, I haven't even told you all their names before this, have I?... oh, and of course me) went on a luxury cruise, in Sweet's shit car, into downtown Santos. I was designated driver. Of course, like any voyage involving Big Smoke, part of the trip involved stopping at the closest Cluckin' Bell and gorging ourselves on tacos and burritos."
"We got a table by the window, but just as we were starting the feast, a lowrider chock-full of purple bastards zoomed by our window and shot up all our food. Shards of taco splattered all over the establishment. Big Smoke jumped up and shouted 'this shit will not stand!'. The four of us rushed outside, pushing everyone out of our way, got into our car and gave chase."
 "Lucky for us, those sumbitches had stopped at the nearest light, so we were able to get close to them and open fire from our collective Uzis. Except me of course, I was behind the wheel. The driver of the purple car panicked and slammed on it, but we followed close behind."
"Just outside the Iron Man Gym, the sumb*tches met their demise. A lucky bullet had hit their gas tank, and their car went up in flames. The purple dudes jumped out, clothes on fire, and started rolling on the pavement trying to put it out."
"'Let them burn', said Big Smoke, 'they shot my food'."
"So we sat there and watched our foes burn up. It took a long time. I swear I fell asleep, cause the next second my homies were jostling me and asking me to get up and drive them home. I liked to hear that kind of shit. It made me feel important! I dropped Sweet and Ryder off at the 'hood and then drove Big Smoke to his upper class mansion in the rich part of town. He didn't say a single word to me on the way there. I had no idea what I'd done, but I decided it was best to keep quiet. Big Smoke was the Big Kahuna of the Grove Street gang, and if he got mad, you got dead."
"As he got out of the car, he turned back and said, 'don't you ever fall asleep on the job again, you no good sumbitch!'". That's pretty much how the day ended.
"The next day all the homies were out doing shit without me, so I decided to get my ass to the gym and pump some iron. Sweet had left his car outside, so I jacked it and drove a block to the Iron Man Gym. As I walked inside I could already smell the iron being pumped."
"I noticed that the gym was desperately understocked: two dumbbells, a barbell, an exercise bike and a treadmill were all that was available to yours truly. I then saw a brotha in the corner pounding the shit out of a punching bag and tried talking to him about my plight. He looked like a pretty tough dude, so I asked him if he could teach me some sick moves to use in combat against my foes. He told me that I was just another skinny ass who thought they could amount to something, that he could whoop my ass any day of the week, etc etc... and that he ain't had nothin' to teach me. I knocked that sumbitch out so fast... with the butt of my gun..."
 "I then walked over to the dumbbells, grabbed me a pair of 20's and started doing bicep curls. I'd gotten a major adrenaline rush after putting that sumbitch out, and in my extreme state of rage I managed to do four reps, a new personal best. Some of the dawgs over by the wrestling ring started laughing, and I knew it was about me, so I put them out of their misery with my nine mil. The gym was now naturally in a state of panic, and one of the workers had called the cops, so I got out of there as fast as I could. Outside, a copper tried to ambush me, but of course I was too fast for him. Before he knew what hit him, I was already back home in Grove Street."
"My quest for natural muscle had failed, so I decided that eating me some steroids was the answer. I found some in one of my kitchen cabinets hidden in a cereal box. Someone had scrawled 'Cyanide' on it with sharpie. Bullshit. I ate a fistful and died."
CJ's diary entries ended there. After his death, he was transported to the Los Santos general hospital and revived. Where he is now, no one knows, but if more of his entries show up, I promise you guys will be the first to find out. Happy Holidays, by the way.
-KingWombat
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