Post by santana on Nov 18, 2020 20:25:21 GMT -5
It was just a few days until he’d be in one of the biggest tag matches of his very long career and alongside one of the few peers he actually respects. He hadn’t been on a bender in weeks. Sure, he’s dabbled with the nose candy within the time frame. but this is Santana we’re talking about and it’s well documented that the man of the hour has a problem. Clear minded and his future looking a bit brighter, Santana stands in line at the airport, waiting for his bags to clear. Prior to today, he made sure that all remnants of drugs and alcohol were gone from his bags and there wasn’t anything that would prevent him from making the show.
“NEXT”
He stepped up and handed the TSA worker his bags before looking at his phone to see a handful of text messages from Smokey Mayfield, Santana’s manager and all-around con artist. The texts were frantic, varying from “Santana we're gonna be making bank for this show” to “Santana please tell me you’re at the airport” to the classic “Please tell me you’re gonna show up this time”. As he goes through these messages, his attention is brought up from his phone to a very large man in a TSA uniform that’s almost nose to nose with Johnson.
“AYE, THE FUCK YOU WANT!?”
Minutes Later…
Another TSA agent who’s about the same size as his large counterpart walks up to Santana who’s pretty enraged with the fact that he’s being stopped.
“AND THE FUCK YOU GONNA DO? HOW BOUT YALL MOVE THE FUCK OUT THE WAY AND LET SANTANA GET ON OR WE GON HAVE SOME PROBLEMS.”
“Sir, please step to the side.”
“SANTANA AINT STEPPING NOWHERE UNTIL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN ON.”
He steps through both men, bumping them with his shoulders before he’s immediately stopped by three law enforcement officers, all of which grab at his arms. Santana’s been in this situation way too many times not to know that if he reacts in any kind of aggressive manner, this will end badly for him. So he obliges and the officers handcuff him first, leading him through the airport before stopping by a door labeled “Security screening”. They then let him into this really plain looking white room with a metal table and sit him down on one of the two steel folding chairs, the one placed furthest from the door, of course.
“ANYBODY GON TELL SANTANA? THIS ABOUT THE HOMELESS MAN BACK IN ‘88? HE GON CLAIM HE WAS THE KING OF POP AND START SINGING PRETTY YOUNG THING SO SANTANA HAD TO POP HIM. IT WAS PRINCIPAL. YALL KNOW STREET CODE. SANTANA UNDERSTAND YOU PIGS BUT YALL AINT PUSSY. I AINT GON LET NOBODY DISRESPECT MY KNOWLEDGE OF NO MICHAEL JACKSON.”
The officers stand there momentarily with wide-eyed blank stares at their detainee until they start to leave the room one by one. Soon enough, one of the three officers comes back with a camera attached to a tripod, placing it across the table before hitting record.
“AYE, WE LIVE? AYE AYE THIS SANTANA JOHNSON HERE TO TELL ALL YOU MUTHERFUCKERS THAT YOU NOT SAFE. NOT EVEN IN THE AIRPORT. LOOK HOW THEY GOT THE OG, CUFFED UP LIKE AN ANIMAL. SHIT, SANTANA DONT BLAME EM BUT I AINT DO SHIT TO WARRANT THIS. THIS HOW YALL DO RANDOM SCREENINGS NOW!? PICK A RANDOM BLACK MAN AND HANDCUFF HIM?”
The large TSA agent from earlier walks in with one of Johnson’s bags, tossing it on the table.
“IF THE COCOA BUTTER BROKE IN THAT BAG, SANTANA IS GON BE FUCKIN PISSED.”
The same agent then unzips the bag and reaches in before pulling out a sheathed machete, property of the man in question.
“FUCK.”
He realizes now that he spent so much time making sure all of the drugs and alcohol were out of his bags that he completely forgot about Sheila, his machete.
“AYE LOOK, SANTANA CAN EXPLAIN. THATS NOT FOR WHAT YOU THINK IT IS, UNLESS YOU THINK ITS FOR CARVING MUTHERFUCKERS UP THEN I GUESS TECHNICALLY YOU RIGHT BUT.. SANTANA WASNT GON TRY TO KILL NOBODY AT THE FUCKIN AIRPORT. MAYBE UNLESS I SEE THAT SNITCH ASS HOMELESS MUTHERFUCKER AGAIN, THEN YOU MIGHT HAVE A CASE. LOOK, CALL MY EMPLOYER, THEY GON VOUCH FOR SANTANA. YALL BEST NOT BE THINKING BOUT LOCKING SANTANA UP CUS SANTANA GOT ANA AND LISA IN ONE NIGHT. TWO OF THE BADDEST BITCHES IN THE WORLD.”
Santana starts to kinda wriggle around, prompting the sole law enforcement officer to reach.
“THIS IS HOW ITS GON END, HUH? YOU GON UP AND SHOOT SANTANA JOHNSON CUS HE WANNA KILL ANA HAYDEN AND LISA SELDON? SHIT, SANTANA DONE STABBED BOTH OF EM BEFORE AND EVEN THEN I WASN'T TREATED LIKE THIS. ANA BEEN ON TOP EVERYWHERE SHE GO, SANTANA JUST TRYNA SEE HOW THE TIPPITY TOP LOOK. I'M TRYNA FEEL THAT MOUNTAIN AIR BREEZE THROUGH MY LUSCIOUS LOCKS. SANTANA EVEN LIKE LISA. SHE A PIECE OF SHIT JUST LIKE ME AND SANTANA CAN RELATE TO IT. HOWEVER, I AINT THE TYPE THATS JUST GON RESPECT YOU AND KISS YOUR ASS WHENEVER I SEE YOU. IF WE COOL, WE CAN BE COOL… AFTER WE FIGHT. IF WE BEEFING, THEN SHIT ITS GON BE BLOODIER THAN A GERMAN SNUFF FILM. BLOODIER THAN THE HELLCATS ON THEY SYNCHRONIZED CYCLES. AYE BUT LOOK, WHEN YOU WANT TO MAKE THE MOST MONEY, YOU GOTTA DO WHATEVER IT TAKES AND IF IT MEAN KILLING TWO BITCHES YOU GOT RESPECT FOR THEN SO BE IT.”
This obviously isn’t going well for the deathmatch legend who’s now reading the room and seeing the law enforcement officer call for backup. Soon enough, the two other officers that helped escort him to the screening room step in.
“Sir, I’m inclined to tell you that right now you’re incriminating himself.”
“WELL SHIT, IT AIN'T AS BAD AS WHEN MILES LUCKY SENT THAT VIDEO THAT MUTHERFUCKERS PUT ON LIVE TELEVISION, SO SANTANA THINK HE GON BE GOOD. SANTANA SEE WHAT THIS ABOUT NOW. ANA DONE PAID YOU MUTHERFUCKERS OFF, DIDN'T SHE? SEE, THIS THE TYPE OF SHIT I WOULD EXPECT FROM ONE OF THE BEST IN THE MUTHERFUCKING WORLD. THEN AGAIN, IT COULD HAVE BEEN LISA BUT LISA HAS HAD WAY TOO MANY OPPORTUNITIES TO KILL SANTANA JOHNSON. SHIT WE ALL CRAZY IN THIS LINE OF WORK AND THAT'S WHY I AINT NEVER TEAMING WITH NOBODY THAT AIN’T AS CRAZY AS SANTANA. THIS WHY DEATHROW BY MY SIDE.”
Santana lets out a chuckle thinking about his teammate and all of the highly illegal hijinks that they’ve got themselves into. The chuckle sort of turns into a bit of a maniacal laugh and this starts to startle everyone else in the room.
“LEMME BE THE FIRST TO TELL YALL THAT SANTANA NEVER MET A JAW THAT DEATHROW AINT WANT TO SHATTER. YOU ADDING ALL THIS MONEY ON THE LINE AND THE OPPORTUNITY AT SOME GOLD. SHIT, YOU WOULDA THOUGHT WE WAS SOME PROSPECTORS IN 1850 THE WAY WE’LL KILL A MUTHERFUCKER DEAD FOR SOME GOLD. THATS WHAT ITS BOUT IN MY BUSINESS. THATS THAT CALIFORNIA GOLD RUSH KNOWLEDGE THAT SANTANA JUST DROPPED ON YALL HEADS.”
Suddenly there’s some knocking on the door, taking the attention off of Johnson whose head is just about beading with sweat right now. In walks none other than Smokey Mayfield in a fancy suit, much fancier than the cheap shit he usually gets. Smokey swiftly swoops in and lets the TSS agents and Law enforcement officers at hand know that they’ve got the wrong guy. Pulling out an envelope with a doctored document stating that Santana is a CIA agent and relaying the fact that CIA agents are in fact exempt from security screenings, Smokey wastes no time proving that he’s a master in the art of the sale, a black belt in con-artistry.
“AYE SANTANA KNOW YOU MUTHERFUCKERS WERE JUST DOIN YALL JOB BUT FUCK YALL FOR EVERYTHING YOU WORTH!”
Santana yells out at his captors he’s being pulled at the collar by his partner in crime. Despite this snafu, a good day continues to be a good day and the OG lets out a sigh of relief knowing he isn’t going to let his Death Merchant partner down. He missed his flight but Santana was never really one for flying high up in the sky without a joint or his non-prescribed prescription pills taking him there anyway. The old school vet decided to take an old school route and grab a rental, making dates by driving like the old days. This time, he had Smokey there to annoy him for the entire ride, making sure that Santana is in a horrible mood by the time he gets there. Purposefully? Probably but there's no better Santana than an annoyed and angry one.
“NEXT”
He stepped up and handed the TSA worker his bags before looking at his phone to see a handful of text messages from Smokey Mayfield, Santana’s manager and all-around con artist. The texts were frantic, varying from “Santana we're gonna be making bank for this show” to “Santana please tell me you’re at the airport” to the classic “Please tell me you’re gonna show up this time”. As he goes through these messages, his attention is brought up from his phone to a very large man in a TSA uniform that’s almost nose to nose with Johnson.
“AYE, THE FUCK YOU WANT!?”
Minutes Later…
Another TSA agent who’s about the same size as his large counterpart walks up to Santana who’s pretty enraged with the fact that he’s being stopped.
“AND THE FUCK YOU GONNA DO? HOW BOUT YALL MOVE THE FUCK OUT THE WAY AND LET SANTANA GET ON OR WE GON HAVE SOME PROBLEMS.”
“Sir, please step to the side.”
“SANTANA AINT STEPPING NOWHERE UNTIL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN ON.”
He steps through both men, bumping them with his shoulders before he’s immediately stopped by three law enforcement officers, all of which grab at his arms. Santana’s been in this situation way too many times not to know that if he reacts in any kind of aggressive manner, this will end badly for him. So he obliges and the officers handcuff him first, leading him through the airport before stopping by a door labeled “Security screening”. They then let him into this really plain looking white room with a metal table and sit him down on one of the two steel folding chairs, the one placed furthest from the door, of course.
“ANYBODY GON TELL SANTANA? THIS ABOUT THE HOMELESS MAN BACK IN ‘88? HE GON CLAIM HE WAS THE KING OF POP AND START SINGING PRETTY YOUNG THING SO SANTANA HAD TO POP HIM. IT WAS PRINCIPAL. YALL KNOW STREET CODE. SANTANA UNDERSTAND YOU PIGS BUT YALL AINT PUSSY. I AINT GON LET NOBODY DISRESPECT MY KNOWLEDGE OF NO MICHAEL JACKSON.”
The officers stand there momentarily with wide-eyed blank stares at their detainee until they start to leave the room one by one. Soon enough, one of the three officers comes back with a camera attached to a tripod, placing it across the table before hitting record.
“AYE, WE LIVE? AYE AYE THIS SANTANA JOHNSON HERE TO TELL ALL YOU MUTHERFUCKERS THAT YOU NOT SAFE. NOT EVEN IN THE AIRPORT. LOOK HOW THEY GOT THE OG, CUFFED UP LIKE AN ANIMAL. SHIT, SANTANA DONT BLAME EM BUT I AINT DO SHIT TO WARRANT THIS. THIS HOW YALL DO RANDOM SCREENINGS NOW!? PICK A RANDOM BLACK MAN AND HANDCUFF HIM?”
The large TSA agent from earlier walks in with one of Johnson’s bags, tossing it on the table.
“IF THE COCOA BUTTER BROKE IN THAT BAG, SANTANA IS GON BE FUCKIN PISSED.”
The same agent then unzips the bag and reaches in before pulling out a sheathed machete, property of the man in question.
“FUCK.”
He realizes now that he spent so much time making sure all of the drugs and alcohol were out of his bags that he completely forgot about Sheila, his machete.
“AYE LOOK, SANTANA CAN EXPLAIN. THATS NOT FOR WHAT YOU THINK IT IS, UNLESS YOU THINK ITS FOR CARVING MUTHERFUCKERS UP THEN I GUESS TECHNICALLY YOU RIGHT BUT.. SANTANA WASNT GON TRY TO KILL NOBODY AT THE FUCKIN AIRPORT. MAYBE UNLESS I SEE THAT SNITCH ASS HOMELESS MUTHERFUCKER AGAIN, THEN YOU MIGHT HAVE A CASE. LOOK, CALL MY EMPLOYER, THEY GON VOUCH FOR SANTANA. YALL BEST NOT BE THINKING BOUT LOCKING SANTANA UP CUS SANTANA GOT ANA AND LISA IN ONE NIGHT. TWO OF THE BADDEST BITCHES IN THE WORLD.”
Santana starts to kinda wriggle around, prompting the sole law enforcement officer to reach.
“THIS IS HOW ITS GON END, HUH? YOU GON UP AND SHOOT SANTANA JOHNSON CUS HE WANNA KILL ANA HAYDEN AND LISA SELDON? SHIT, SANTANA DONE STABBED BOTH OF EM BEFORE AND EVEN THEN I WASN'T TREATED LIKE THIS. ANA BEEN ON TOP EVERYWHERE SHE GO, SANTANA JUST TRYNA SEE HOW THE TIPPITY TOP LOOK. I'M TRYNA FEEL THAT MOUNTAIN AIR BREEZE THROUGH MY LUSCIOUS LOCKS. SANTANA EVEN LIKE LISA. SHE A PIECE OF SHIT JUST LIKE ME AND SANTANA CAN RELATE TO IT. HOWEVER, I AINT THE TYPE THATS JUST GON RESPECT YOU AND KISS YOUR ASS WHENEVER I SEE YOU. IF WE COOL, WE CAN BE COOL… AFTER WE FIGHT. IF WE BEEFING, THEN SHIT ITS GON BE BLOODIER THAN A GERMAN SNUFF FILM. BLOODIER THAN THE HELLCATS ON THEY SYNCHRONIZED CYCLES. AYE BUT LOOK, WHEN YOU WANT TO MAKE THE MOST MONEY, YOU GOTTA DO WHATEVER IT TAKES AND IF IT MEAN KILLING TWO BITCHES YOU GOT RESPECT FOR THEN SO BE IT.”
This obviously isn’t going well for the deathmatch legend who’s now reading the room and seeing the law enforcement officer call for backup. Soon enough, the two other officers that helped escort him to the screening room step in.
“Sir, I’m inclined to tell you that right now you’re incriminating himself.”
“WELL SHIT, IT AIN'T AS BAD AS WHEN MILES LUCKY SENT THAT VIDEO THAT MUTHERFUCKERS PUT ON LIVE TELEVISION, SO SANTANA THINK HE GON BE GOOD. SANTANA SEE WHAT THIS ABOUT NOW. ANA DONE PAID YOU MUTHERFUCKERS OFF, DIDN'T SHE? SEE, THIS THE TYPE OF SHIT I WOULD EXPECT FROM ONE OF THE BEST IN THE MUTHERFUCKING WORLD. THEN AGAIN, IT COULD HAVE BEEN LISA BUT LISA HAS HAD WAY TOO MANY OPPORTUNITIES TO KILL SANTANA JOHNSON. SHIT WE ALL CRAZY IN THIS LINE OF WORK AND THAT'S WHY I AINT NEVER TEAMING WITH NOBODY THAT AIN’T AS CRAZY AS SANTANA. THIS WHY DEATHROW BY MY SIDE.”
Santana lets out a chuckle thinking about his teammate and all of the highly illegal hijinks that they’ve got themselves into. The chuckle sort of turns into a bit of a maniacal laugh and this starts to startle everyone else in the room.
“LEMME BE THE FIRST TO TELL YALL THAT SANTANA NEVER MET A JAW THAT DEATHROW AINT WANT TO SHATTER. YOU ADDING ALL THIS MONEY ON THE LINE AND THE OPPORTUNITY AT SOME GOLD. SHIT, YOU WOULDA THOUGHT WE WAS SOME PROSPECTORS IN 1850 THE WAY WE’LL KILL A MUTHERFUCKER DEAD FOR SOME GOLD. THATS WHAT ITS BOUT IN MY BUSINESS. THATS THAT CALIFORNIA GOLD RUSH KNOWLEDGE THAT SANTANA JUST DROPPED ON YALL HEADS.”
Suddenly there’s some knocking on the door, taking the attention off of Johnson whose head is just about beading with sweat right now. In walks none other than Smokey Mayfield in a fancy suit, much fancier than the cheap shit he usually gets. Smokey swiftly swoops in and lets the TSS agents and Law enforcement officers at hand know that they’ve got the wrong guy. Pulling out an envelope with a doctored document stating that Santana is a CIA agent and relaying the fact that CIA agents are in fact exempt from security screenings, Smokey wastes no time proving that he’s a master in the art of the sale, a black belt in con-artistry.
“AYE SANTANA KNOW YOU MUTHERFUCKERS WERE JUST DOIN YALL JOB BUT FUCK YALL FOR EVERYTHING YOU WORTH!”
Santana yells out at his captors he’s being pulled at the collar by his partner in crime. Despite this snafu, a good day continues to be a good day and the OG lets out a sigh of relief knowing he isn’t going to let his Death Merchant partner down. He missed his flight but Santana was never really one for flying high up in the sky without a joint or his non-prescribed prescription pills taking him there anyway. The old school vet decided to take an old school route and grab a rental, making dates by driving like the old days. This time, he had Smokey there to annoy him for the entire ride, making sure that Santana is in a horrible mood by the time he gets there. Purposefully? Probably but there's no better Santana than an annoyed and angry one.