Code Name: Malcolm Z
File Name: Tiberius Hexagon Jefferson
Primary Team Rossman Specialty: The voice of common sense and reason. Oh, and the main fire-power of Team Rossman.
Goal in Life: To get everyone to stop being so stupid.

Oh, this is a funny story. See, this photo was taken when we all tried to pull a "Punk'd" on Malcolm Z by letting his best pal, Clitoruz Poon (on the right), tell Mal that he had been turned in to the cops as the neighborhood drug kingpin (which in all honesty he was/is), just so Clit could save his own ass from butt-banging prison.

Long story short, our fake cops showed up, Malcolm Z grabbed Clit's handgun and used Clit as a hostage, but then when Malcolm found out that the gun wasn't loaded he pulled his own piece, took out two of our cop actors, and blew Clit's head clean off his shoulders. Holy shit, you should have seen the last look on Clit's face! Priceless!

After he wiped the bits of Clitoruz off his face, and we explained the whole thing to Malcolm Z, he just shook his head and chuckled. "Heh! You damn well got me, bitches. Mothafuckas got me."

I first met the capricious and bad ass Malcolm Z when I took a wrong turn while trying to visit the MegaPlayboy in the hood one day. Malcolm approached my car as I tried to make a u-turn using his driveway, and he asked me if I wanted "to buy a brick" as he peered through the driver's side window that he had just shattered with the butt of his gun. I declined, pissed my pants, and then axed the brother if he would spare my life if I put him on my webpage and made him "a world famous mo' fo." Thankfully he agreed, and even more thankfully he doesn't know how to look up anything online, or he'd know that my offer wasn't really an honor, or that there was no way he could ever be famous for appearing on my site since only 3-4 people a year stumble upon it.

Whenever Malcolm Z is generous enough to let me and any of my pals hang with him (just NEVER the Wolfman though... I never asked why, and quite honestly I don't think I want to know. Though it might have something to do with the Wolfman sacrificing the Z-mobile to Satan by painting pentagrams all over it, dripping wax all over the upholstery, filling the windshield washer fluid up with puppy blood, stuffing a lit rag into the gas tank and pushing the whole thing off of a cliff. After that it was just never the same ride again), we all have to meet at the KFC with either ski masks or in blackface so that we "won't get no motherfuckah caps" up our hineys. Heh, you should see Chi-Chi as a black man. When he gets that crazy wig on he looks just Don King.


I remember that one time that Malcolm Z tried to join the Black Cougars and they ended up kicking his black ass out of their clubhouse because he was too much of a bad ass for even THEM to handle. Man, he was PISSED OFF.

I think that's when he got all Highlander and Terminator on them and proclaimed, "There can BE only one bad, black brother! Hasta la vista, bitches!" Then he set off the charges. I swear, you could see the light show from Alabama. It was glorious.

Ever since Malcolm Z joined Team Rossman (or as Malcolm Z refers to us, "The Z Bitch Crew") things have never been boring. Life threatening, yes, but never boring. I remember that one time we were all hanging out at the DQ in the ghetto (well, Team Rossman was all chained to a light pole in the parking lot and Malcolm Z and some of his "homies" were throwing bottles, stones, and, for some reason, razor blades at us), and those cops came up and started causing trouble. The pigs were all like, "Yo, street-shit, what it is? Why you pollutin' the D-fuckin-Q with yo filthy presence?" And Malcolm Z and his buddies were all like, "Back off, motherfuckerbitchass! Yo, we jus' be chillin' like a shillin'. Why you gots to be like that?" Then the cops were all like, "OOOOoooh! Oh ho HO! You did not just 'motherfuckerbitchass' us, now, did you? Goddammit, boy, jus' go home and have some o' yo damn watermelon and leave all us good edumacated peeps alone to go to our DQ in motherfucka peace. You hear me?"

Somehow my chained pals and I got lucky when a stray bullet shot off our bindings, and we all dove into the dumpster behind the ice-creamery in order to weather the flying ammo. Well, Jimmy Jammer took one for the team when I had to throw him at one of the approaching African American cops who was chasing after us 'cause most of us were wearing ski masks or shoe polish (due to the previously mentioned Z requirements for being a Z bitch... Keep up with me here).

At least that incident wasn't as bad as the "Church's Chicken Massacre of 2003". God, I can still see the blood, chitlins, and severed limbs when I close my eyes.... The horror...

If you ever wanted to know where Malcolm Z got his bad-assness from, take a look at the picture of his daddy to the left. This was taken at the height of his popularity and ass-kicking days as Pimp-Daddy LeRoy the Pussy-Whipper.

PDLPW was a baaaaad mo'fo'. He could get you whatever flavor of lady you wanted (his specialties were ex-nuns and smelly pirate hookers), and for the perfect price. PDLPW was probably the only man who Malcolm respected more than his damn self. Unfortunately, PDLPW was gunned down by his own brother (his real, blood-related brother) when he found out that the Pimp-Daddy was whoring out his wife. Malcolm once told me that if his uncle didn't kill his daddy for that instance, then he probably would have, since he inadvertently rented his aunt for the night one time. He doesn't go into any details about how this incestuous fuck-up occurred, and I wisely don't ask, seeing as he runs off to either puke or rinse his mouth out with Listerine whenever somebody mentions the word "aunt."

Rest in peace, Pimp-Daddy LeRoy Pussy-Whipper.

Another thing that Malcolm Z is infamous for (besides starting giant gang wars between the blacks, Chinese triads, the Latinos, yakuza, Italians, Irish and the cops) is donating body parts to the shady Dr. Dave for his illeg-... interesting experiments on the human body and its many pulpy parts. Every time the good Doctor starts bitching to me that my supply chain of cadavers is too slow, zip bang boom, a major drive-by occurs across town and Malcolm Z mysteriously appears the next day at the Doc's lab with 5 to 32 new bodies in various stages of "wholeness".

I once tried to get on Malcolm Z's case about his over-supplying Doctor Dave with stiff slabs when my sources run dry, but he just sat me down and explained in a soothing calm voice that he "was jus' helpin' a brotha out, bitch.. Why you gots ta be like that? Why you be all 'willy nilly' 'bout shit that just don't make no never mind? Jus' be cool, bitch." I had to sit there and take all his patronizing too because it's really hard to run or fight with a 6 inch knife wound in your lower intestines. Though, by that time I was pretty glad that Dr. Dave had all those extra bodies because then I had my choice of innards from any of the local druggies he had laid out in his lab. It's interesting how things work out.

Malcolm Z Quote: "Everybody knows that the world is full of stupid people... But what I don't get is why they gots to make all them laws against killin' all them stupies? Goddamn pigs..."


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