The Confusing Case Of Steve Blackman

Steve Blackman was always a very serious character. From a young age he would take his nunchucks to the jaw of any weans giving him jip on the playground, and whenever his principal would ask "where the fuck did you get nunchucks? you're only 8" he'd reach in and pull their larynx clean out, telling them "if you want this back, you're gonna have to learn how to use it properly" but it was such empatic statements that would prove to be his downfall.

Along with having a pretty serious view on all things in the eh...world I guess? Aye we'll go with world. Blackman took great pleasure in inserting in his own surname in any vaguely threatening statements he might make, but as a result, thats all those words ever meant to him. Anytime he heard "black" and "man" combined, all he saw was his own, perfectly square heided image staring back at him. We'll call it a "blind spot" or "incredibly fuckin stupit" if you prefer, but he was caught up in his own hype. First ever guy to wrestle in spacious suit trousers, and first ever guy to show less emotion on his facial expressions than Lance Storm. I think he was the intercontinental champion for a while anaw. He was at least brought up in some manner of creative meeting involving the IC Belt, so he was big shit for a while. Blackman needed taken down a peg or two at the hands of one of his own people.

So he pulled up outside The YMCA, with the baton he stole from his Police Officer pal, because he was "being a fucking sissy..standing there like a goddamn sissy ass" his pal thought about reporting Blackman to the police, then he realised he was the police, and walked around the pub chanting "I am the the law!" in a demonic high pitched voice. This gathering might have included some acid, or at least poppers. Anyway. He had the baton because it was Thursday night, and thats the night Blackman set aside every week to jump in to the local YMCA, and leather some fairies with a baton. Don't mistake the for homophobia either, he just really hates guys who dress up in outfits that dont suit their proper vocation. As he was inside, he left his old pal Ice Cube in the car, urging him to "watch my car, make sure nobody mess wit it" but what he forgot was that he owed Ice Cube 10 grand from a poker game the week before. I know what yer thinking...how the fuck is Steve Blackman forgetting about 10 grand debts? Acid mate. Mind earlier I said he was taking that acid? That MDMA? The party pills. Mind? Anyway. He'd gubbed some of them and forgot who he was for a while. So when he allowed Ice Cube to hang out on the passengers side, he saw no problems with it. Ice Cube did. Ice Cube stole Blackmans Ford Capri and rode off into the sunset with it. As Blackman wiped the blood from his top lip after taking his weekly doing from the YMCA lads he tried to bully, he realised his car was GAWN. Nowhere to be seen. Nae Ice Cube either, so he could only assume a gang of Mexican druglords, or Kurgan had commandeered the vehicle. No other man, or group of men could topple Cube. No in this lifetime.

A beggar was hanging about outside the YMCA, and Blackman flung a penny between his eyes and screamed "INFORMATION!" The tramp told him a black man sped away in the vehicle, driving the car whilst somehow pishing out the sun roof, bellowing "FUCK STEVE BLACKMAN" whilst talking to Ken Shamrock on speaker phone. And Blackman heard nothing but the words "black" and "man" everything else faded into fuck all. He heard those two words, audibly gulped, and breathed the words......

"Theres two of us"

He took off down the street full pelt, with a signed 8x10 he carries of himself, pointing to it and screaming "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN! HE STOLE MY CAR...THEY'VE FUCKIN CLONED ME! CAN YE BELIEVE IT?" even stopping to ask a man who was stapling lost dog posters to a leisure centre tae empathise with the poor guy, telling him "I hear ye boss, you staple the fuck outta that leisure centre....my clone stole my motor!" and all of a sudden he seen it. From across the road, he saw the car pulling away from a wee Watermelon Market, and recognised it as his own. He kicked into high gear immediately, running at a speed of over 50mph. Faster than Andy Murrays second serve. Caught up with the motor and dived on the bonnet, with the impact of jumping on to a moving vehicle knocking him out briefly. When he came to, he looked up to see Ice Cube standing over him. First thinking "I must be in the hospital and here's my pal Cube brought my personal cd player, and a galaxy caramel in for me" but then he remembered some cunt who looked exactly like him stole his motor! He had to get back on the hunt.

"Cube, I've nae time tae read yer get well soon card, and I've certainly nae time to count the money the whip round at my work raised...I need tae find that motor, my clone stole it"

"Whit? Ye talking about yer clone stole it?" said Cube, calling upon his Rutherglen roots.

"I asked the bum, the bum said...'black man stole it'...I'm the only Blackman...the one and only, human swiss army knife, the dangerous dude...I'm the dude...so they cloned me man...they fuckin cloned me, can you believe it?" Ice Cube looked upon the wide eyed Blackman and wondered how he hadn't realised he was still lying on top of the car he was currently looking for, and decided it was best to come clean. Purely cause this zoomer wouldnt remember a fucking thing he said in 5 seconds anyway.

"No...A black man stole it....an African American male...me...American hip-hop artist, actor and entrepeneur...Ice Cube, you owe me 10 grand from a poker game ya dumb mutha fucka..this is collateral...you're still on the fucking car"

"Wait a minute....you don't look anything like me. Did the homeless man lie?" pondered Blackman, still missing the point in the whole thing, because acid.

"I'm trying to tell you man, I did it. I am a black man"

"No you're not"

"Yes I am, I was born in.....ah fuck it, I saw the guy you're after...he went that way!!!" Cube decided the best way to eradicate this problem is to send a probably concussed man running down a busy road, looking for someone who looks exactly like him driving his car. Because Ice Cube is a belligerent muthafucka, who acts out of self interest almost all of the time. Thats why theres never been a third "are we there/done yet" movie, cause he consistently ignores what the PEOPLE want.

So his good pal Steve Blackman continued running down the road. Looking for a clone that never existed. Running until he grew old, and his special flexy dress trousers were no longer suitable wrestling attire. Cause wrestler are holograms now, and all forms of entertainment takes place at a hub we can all plug into via our Iphone 14920. Fucking technology eh. Stifles creativitiy so it does.

Ice Cube sold the car on Craigslist, and Steve Blackman kept on running. And kept on doing acid. Until he died aged 56. By running off the edge of the grand canyon, last heard muttering the words "maybe he's down there!" into an imaginary walkie talkie.

I suppose the moral of that story is, don't to drugs with Steve Blackman. And egotism is a sin. That one tae.

https://www.justgiving.com/Martin-Smith46