Jack and Neal Swing in Squaresville

Here’s a short story I wrote over the past month. It’s an idea for mixing a funk theme with a fantasy that I had several years ago, but for the purposes of the project I was working on, I added a bit of beat poetry lingo into the mix.

Squaresville was looking unusually way out when Jack and I rolled up to the scene. Squares everywhere looked like someone had fell on them.

“Halt, do not come closer to the gate!” The fuzz screamed as he crawled out from behind the door. He looked like he had seen a ghost!

“Scram, before I put my leathers in your square ass. Bad enough I got to leave my groove to get our princess back.” Jack said sternly as he cracked his knuckles. The fuzz pointed his spear at Jack, as if to tell the turkey he wanted to put knuckles to the creep. Jack lost it. If he swung his leathers any harder at that fuzz’s head, he’d need airline tickets for that kind of flying!!


I know what you crazys are thinking in the bleachers… who are these Daddy O’s? We wonder that ourselves, ya dig? We’d rather be swinging like sixteen with the juiceman at Swinging City, but our princess is the only chick trusted with the recipe for thrill pills!

This cool beatnik here is Jack. He keeps his lips canned most of the time, but he can put knuckles to the creep whenever he hears the King’s jive! With his snazzy, high collared disco shirt and bell bottom trousers, he can jazz with any chick, chicken, plucked chicken, you name it. His afro, shades and goat make him a public mystery, buy everyone knows he’s groovie. The real mystery is… how does this crazy never drop his shades in a fight?

Yours truly is Neal. I groove with the God of Funk himself, and I have the beatboxing to prove it! A cat like me don’t need no axe… I can make any pad feel hairy with a good tune. I’m bald as a baby, but Jack has enough hair for the both of us.

Princess Louanne is the only chick in the land who can make us our benny. We need our thrill pills to help get our kicks, dig? Without her, we’ll be squares, and ain’t nobody in Swing City gonna groove like that!


So we’re at our favorite juice stop, the Sheared Sheep, right? I’m laying it thick on a busty chick, and Jack’s chilling with a kick stick in the corner when I feel like getting a kick myself. I ask the juiceman if he the good shit, and he lays it on me that the good shipment isn’t there. I lose my groove, Will always has a stash ready! Big Ed stumbles in the house, blowing jets that Louanne has been taken by cubes while looking for grass! The squares had whisked her to Squaresville. The cubes left us a note that they would feed her to the head shrinker, and make a square chick out of her!

“Bread for your juice, juiceman, Neal and me found our next kick.” Jack explained as he gave the man his bread. Shiiit… I am down with it… new highs along the way, and Louanne might even jazz us both for kicks!

Now where were we…

After Jack had blasted the Edison in the gate fuzz, we showed ourselves the door, giving leather to every kookie fucker that we saw.

We found the throne room, and I almost shat my long johns at what my orbs were looking at… king cube was dead, and a mazda of a beatnik if I ever saw one was standing over his body! His face was hidden under a beret and a large set of shades, and his all black clothing told as much of death as it did of beat. “Wrong side of the tracks, Allen. Why are you not grooving in Swing City?” Jack asked as he lit up another kick stick.

“Damn, Daddy O, when every beatnik you see is swinging to the same tune, is it hip anymore? I’m falling out so I can make something more hip than hip, dig? I’ll make a plucked chicken out of Louanne and make murgatroids out of you motherfuckers. I crossed the wasteland to find Louanne first, but a little bit o’ chilling helped me dig that I haven’t found it. ” Allen proclaimed with pride before Jack and Neal.

“You want to fall out? I don’t give a fuck, Louanne’s too hip for you though.” I told Allen with a hint of warning.

Jack shook his head before he ran at Allen, ready to fall on him like a lion on a gazelle. Allen grabbed Jack’s heel like it wasn’t a thing and tossed him to the throne. Allen caught himself and rushed at him with a punch that made yours truly flinch! Only problem is, Allen didn’t lose anything but his hat. “Neal, don’t be a freebee, gimme a beat!”

I gave the man a beat wilder than anything he’s heard before, I guarantee you that! Jack picked up on the beat and got his groove, nodding his head to my swingin’ jazz. Allen tried as hard as a cat can to punch Jack, but Jack was literally a step ahead, with his far out ducks and dodges, Allen was sweating as Jack fell all over Allen with a flurry of knuckles and leather. Allen came close with a few shots of his own before Louanne herself almost broke our ear drums…

“Will you mangy muthafuckas quiet down?! I’m trying to get laid, and you’re throwin’ my groove off!” The queen of beat roared as her naked prison fuzz consort awkwardly snuck out through the main hall. I could see that Allen was sweating. “I understand, it’s not cool to take someone else’s beat because I want mine.” He said with a tone of defeat in his voice. Allen calmly made his way towards the main hall, and Jack and I went to pick up our smokin’ princess, which, by the way, needed a smoke to calm her down.

The rest from that day onward was legend. Some say that Allen still wanders the wasteland, looking to get hip again. Some say that we got jazzed with Louanne, but hell if I remember it, I was probably high as a kite!


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