Wolf Larsen is a writer who knows New York City. He first came to New York as a college student, and has lived on and off in New York ever since.
Pricks, Cunts, & Motherfuckers sizzles with the interracial romance between a black woman and a white man who can't keep their hands off each other. This angers many black men. The background for this love story is the city of New York filled with all the lust and violence and decadency of eight million passionate New Yorkers. This is a work of intoxicating adult literature!
This interracial love story occurs at a time when most Americans – white or black – were against interracial dating. In addition, Pricks, Cunts, & Motherfuckers was written before the tragic deaths of Trevon Martin and Jordan Davis at the hands of sadistic murderers Dunn and Zimmerman.
excerpt from the novel
Pricks, Cunts, & Motherfuckers
At the West 4th Street station I swiped my card at the turnstile. The turnstile said, "Please swipe again". I swiped again. Again the turnstile said "Please swipe again". I swiped yet again. And yet again the turnstile said "Please swipe again". Frustration and impatience began seething inside of me. I swiped the &*%^$#* metrocard again and the &%^$#* turnstile said "Please swipe again."
"Fuck this!" I blurted out.
I looked around me to make sure there were no cops. There was this black preppy dude standing there looking like he was waiting for his date to arrive. He looked maybe straight maybe gay maybe bi.
So I jumped over the turnstyle. That's when some big fat nasty face of a cop came out of nowhere and said, "Put your hands behind your back!"
"But look!" I exclaimed as I reached into my pocket, "I've got money on my metrocard!"
"GET YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR POCKET!" he screamed. The cop pulled out his gun! I was suddenly looking at the wrong end of a gun! It wasn't the first time. I took my hand out of my pocket real nice and easy and slow.
"NOW GET YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR BACK!" He was in that nasty bad cop coming down from a rush mood.
"I've got money on my metrocard. Why don't you swipe it through the machine?" I asked.
"I DON'T CARE!" he yelled. And then the handcuffs were on me.
The preppy looking maybe straight, gay, or bi black guy came away from his perch on the wall and talked a moment with the cop that nearly shot me. They were a team. The white cop was the perfect caricature of a cop - he even had a walrus moustache that made him look like a wild boorish pig. The black cop looked exactly the opposite of how you think a cop should look like. They were quite a team; ugly cop and pretty cop.
They threw me in a paddy wagon with a bunch of black dudes.
"Welcome, white man!" one of them exclaimed.
I didn't say anything. It wasn't my first time in a paddy wagon with a bunch of black dudes.
Now here I was in a paddy wagon with some black dudes again. Here we were in a predominately white part of the city but 3 out of 4 prisoners in the paddy wagon were black. It was a scene as American as apple pie and the red, white, and blue waving in the air.
It occurred to me that if I were black I might not be in a paddy wagon on my way to the police station. I might be in a hearse on my way to the morgue instead with a bunch of police bullets inside of me.
At the police station 2 of my fellow prisoners from the paddy wagon joked and laughed with the police officers who had nabbed them. Those two prisoners were hard-core straight out of the penitentiary. They got along so well with the police. It was funny how the cops and the criminals were so much alike.
We were told to empty our pockets. The other three guys had no money on them - nothing. That's why they had also jumped the turnstyle before me. The two "cons" had been dumped on the streets by the prison system with nothing - no wonder they had jumped the turnstyle.
When it came time for me to empty the pockets I had a metrocard and a hundred dollars.
"Damn!" said one of the "cons".
"Why don't you tell the other cops what you saw," I said to the preppy black cop. "You saw me swiping my metrocard again and again!"
"I didn't see nothing!" he said.
The cops were rummaging through my briefcase. They came across my phone bill with my New York address. DAMN I thought as they quickly jotted down the address.
Anyway, so it's the three black dudes and one white dude in the jail cell lock-up. The cops left. Two of the black dudes (the "cons") came over to the white side of the jail cell and sat near me - they sat way too close. They wanted to make some integration. One of them said, "You were headed up to Chelsea?" The way he said it was only sort of a question. Chelsea is the gay part of town.
"No," I said. I looked him in the eyes.
Then the other dude said, "You have a lot of money on you, don't you?"
I didn't even answer him. I just took off my glasses to let them study my face. That's when they moved back to the black side of the jail cell. It was a little crowded over there, but there wasn't gonna be no peaceful integration tonight.
Copyright © 2006 by Wolf Larsen. All Rights Reserved.
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