*This story takes place several years ago when Morgan Freeman was in a mysterious car accident
Part 1
“Can I take off this blindfold please? Gonna mess up a nigga’s hair.” Said Sway in his explicably bland way of talking.
“Shush! You don’t get to say that word and shit.” Said the slightly growling voice behind him.
“Oh oh…I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I gotta earn the right.”
“No nigga. You sound too much like a muthafucking bitch to say that. So shut yo mouth nigga. Now stop right here.”
The sweet scent of Glade Scented Cinnamon candle hung in the air as the blindfold of Sways own headwrap came undone from his eyes and he was finally presented with sight of the inner sanctum of the Bllackinati, the black illuminati. The room felt like a dark velvet hug as he looked at the elaborately adorned room with soft red satin walls with blood red curtains and glowing orange lights that illuminated the room like light from a fireplace. Pictures of other members of Black Hollywood hung in it’s annals from Denzel Washington, Samuel L. Jackson, Halle Berry, and Cuba Gooding Jr. In the center of the room was a large oak round table with names of each member name etched on the table in front of the chairs while various members mingled.
Sway in the months before this day knew of the Bllackinati existence but only through furtive rumors and now after several initiations, he was now a part of the inner circle. Tyrese was mingling with Tracey Morgan. Chi McBride meanwhile enjoyed a fine cigar with Toni Braxton and Ashanti and across from them was Katt Williams as he just entered the room behind Tracee Ross. Sway felt a bit in awe as Chris Brown pushed past his shoulder to greet Charlie Murphy. Sway knew that he was now part of the elite. The sort of best of the sort of best.
“Welcome Sway.” Said a familiar voice behind him. The entire roomed fell under a hush under the presence and gave a short bow. “We’re happy to have you here my new brotha.” As he turned around Sway finally saw the mastermind behind the Bllackinati, the leader of it all, Nick Cannon.
“Nick Cannon?” asked Sway in shock.
“Yea nigga.” He said as he held out his hand to let Charlie Murphy kiss it. “Didn’t know I, Nick Cannon, yo boy was the grand master of this all. It’s all about the downlow.”
”SO LOW!” chanted everyone in unison.
“It’s how you get hoes.” He spoke
“GET HOES!”
“Be cool everyone. I want to speak to brother Sway and indoctrinate him in our ways.”
Part 2
“So brother Sway, how is your first visit to the inner sanctum.” Swaggered Nick Cannon as he placed a guiding hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze as he led him into room.
“It’s...bigger then I ever dreamed about.” Said Sway as he adjusted his head wrap and gawked around the room at what seemed to be large gallery filled with various pictures, painting, and objects with golden plaques which Sway guessed described each one. “So where are we?”
“Bllackiniati headquarters, one of the safest places on earth, inside Steve Harvey’s big ass teeth.”
“Inside his…what?”
“Like I said. We’re inside that nigga’s teeth. Each tooth is a room. We have a war room, our meeting table, the media center and the champagne room for celebrations. Inside here we’re at the hall of accomplishments. It documents every important moment in our moments in history of media.” Nick stopped in front of an old photograph from the early 1900’s. It showed several men dressed up in top hats and suits as Nick points out the dark figure in the background with his hands up. “1890. Tobias Rutherford. First nigga to get himself photographed. The Bllackinati found out about the photograph and sent Tobias to jump in the picture. Unfortunately this was the last photograph of that nigga since he got lynched but he paved the way for the rest of us.”
Sway was in awe of the photograph as he studied the barely visible black figure behind. “He was the first. Like a black snowball effect.” He said.
“Then we have others such as Nipsy Russell. The break up and the reunion of A Tribe Called Quest. BET Network. The Cosby Show. And our crowning achievement, Tupac’s brain.” Proclaimed Nick Cannon proudly.
“Tupac’s brain?”
“Yea my nigga. Tupac’s brain. How you think he could make all those albums after he died huh?” asked Nick Cannon as he opened up a cabinet to reveal a complicated mass of wires leading directly into the base of a large fishbowl and with a brain inside of it encased in a murky looking liquid.
Nick Cannon recanted the story of how Tupac Shakur did die in the shooting in Vegas in front of Circus Circus. The Bllackinati was suppoed to prevent the shooting however they were too late to do so, although they did manage to get to the morgue and smuggle his body out to try to revive him through the magical arts and the highest procedures of modern medicine of the nineties. For all it’s attempts, they failed for not even the Bllackinati could prevent death but one radical black neurosurgeon named Dr. William “Billy” Lindsay, inspired by the idea of Frankenstien, performed a newly developed procedure of scooping out Tupac’s brain, and hooking it up to various newly developed life support systems. Dr. Lindsay succeeded and Tupac Shakur was now resurrected but without a body however through the direct stimulation of various parts of his brain, Tupac could listen to beat and create new lyrics, thus able to release new songs and albums to help further fund the activities of the Bllackinati.
“We play the beats through the wires directly into his head and Tupac’s madly genius brain comes up with new lyrics so we can release a new album to fund our efforts.”
“Isn’t that inhumane?” asked Sway as he watched the wrinkled organ floating in the bowl. “It doesn’t look like he can talk or see anything. Can…can he see us?”
“He’s fine. Tupac can’t see but he don’t need anything else. We give him all the basics to survive. And we can talk back to him and he can talk back to us. Behold Sway…” Said Nick as he picked up the microphone hooked directly into the base. “Tupac. How are you my nigga?”
At that moment Sway noticed the black speaker built into the base of the brain pod. It seemed to look like the center speaker of a strange IPOD player as it crackled to life.
“Please…kill me. Let me die…” said the computerized voice weakly.
Nick Cannon gave a laugh as he turned down the volume on the speaker. “He’s just playin. Nigga sure got funny after he died.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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