Combat Jack's gully visit to Aruba

I'll be the first one to admit that this post is a blatant piggy back (no homo Juelz Santana) to Bol's last post about his gully trip to Aruba. I'd like to start off by saying that Aruba is one gully ass of an island to visit! In 1996, a group of 15 Black music professionals (no homo Juelz Santana) including yours truly took a week-long excursion to Aruba. The minute we got there, they had all types of jigs and Mexican looking cats at the airport singing the country's praise about how Aruba was proud that they had a 1% unemployment rate and how they had a .5% crime rate. I was like "kewl!" We all get into the bus to take us to our hotel and our driver, a lil dwarf like Mexican looking Arubian (is that what you call em?) looking like Tattoo from "Fantasy Island" is all on the bus speakers, talking about how Aruba is the safest place in the eastern hemisphere, what with their 1% unemployment rate and .5% crime. Once again, I'm like "kewl". I had been to other islands like Jamaica and believe me when I tell you, dem bombaclots put the "F" in Gully.

So anyway's we get to our hotel and shit is laid out just like I picture heaven to be, drinks flowing, chicks in bikinis and thongs and 24/7 gambling. Now I'm in no way a professional gambler, but sometimes my hand at Roulette is just right. Instantly, we all start acting like savage jigs let loose in cracka ass cracka's big house and the effin party begins, drinking, gambling, smoking trees like Haliburton, water sports, all types of shit niggas from inner city New York ain't used to. My girl at the time (now Mrs. CJ) caught a later flight to join us, gets to the hotel, and realizes she that her luggage was taken to another hotel.

So for the next couple of hours she's bitching about how she doesn't have shit to wear, I'm (deeply embedded in the bliss of one too many rum punches and chronic (or whatever the fuck those Arubians call their shit) smoke) trying to calm her ass down by offering to buy her a week's supply of thongs and toe rings, and we arrange to take a trip to the hotel where her shit was dropped off, knowing damn well that those those jigs, Mexican looking cats and whatever funny looking third world natives living there already done ravaged through her shit and are having some type of lost luggage celebration up in the hills or some shit. When we get there, we speak to the front desk, and in a couple of seconds, some jigs run up on us with my girl's luggage all intact. They even brought us some type of effin complimentary fruit bowl and two vouchers to spend a night in their President Suite on account of the bus driver's/ luggage handlers' fuck-up. I'm like "Dayum, this place is really crime free, kewl!".

We arrived on Sunday, scheduled to leave the following Sunday, and every effin day leading up to our last night (Saturday) is effin paradise. Para-sailing, lobsters, drinks, all the shit I mentioned above is going on and I'm praying it doesn't end. Our last night, Saturday, my whole crew is in the casino having a blast and to top things off, I'm up by like $2,000 at the Roulette table. This was our version of boy's night out (nhjic) as our chicks were all in the hotel getting dolled up for dinner later on that evening. Man, we're all smoking cigars, drunk and shit, joking like lil bitches (no homo Juelz Santana) and after me placing like 35 chips on 8 (my lucky number) six effin Arubians (what the eff do you call em?) RUN IN THE EFFIN CASINO WITH SKI MASKS ON, ALL TOTING AK-47'S AND DEMANDING THAT WE ALL GET ON THE FLOOR!!!

Now I have never claimed to be gully, (even though I've witnessed some gully shit here in good ole U.S. of A.) but I vividly recall getting instantly sobered up and feeling real shook up under that Roulette Table. My boy Matt from Harlem (now he's gully) is all up under the very same table with about 9 other sobered up tourists, the whole effin place is silent and some bitches around the room are sobbing about how these Arubians are about to execute the whole effin lot of us gangland style. Meanwhile, my sorry ass is busy trying to stuff all my cash and Rolex watch in my socks. The gunmen are screaming out some eff'd up demands in their eff'd up language that I in no way understand, and I'm thinking that if I get murdered, it's all because I don't understand Arubian (or whatever type of eff'd up Dutch those people speak). What these gunmen came to do was they came in, pulled out the heat, and went straight to the cashier's gate, kept us all subdued at gunpoint, and cleared out everything from the Casino's cash registers and vaults (or wherever casinos generally keep their stash). After about 10 minutes, dudes got what they wanted and broke the fuck out, leaving everyone the eff alone. When we realized that dudes had broke out, we all warily got up from the tables, and when I stood up and looked at the Roulette table, I realized that my number 8 had hit with that stack of 35 chips up on it!!!! Being the true business man that I am, I demanded that I receive my winnings, cashed my shit and summarily got the eff up out of there.

Feeling a bit disenchanted with Disney-land, we rented some (about 5 of 'em) Suzuki jeeps to drive around the island that night, we're doing the tourist shit, trying to let all that gun-play shit sink in and my boy Matt gets broad-sided by an Arubian driver. After the fall-out, everyone involved in the crash is uninjured and the Arubian runs out his vehicle with machete in hand ready to wreck further damage!!! After calming dude down, we all get the eff outta there and at this point we're all ready to return to the very friendly and safe streets of N.Y.C.

The next day, on our way to the airport, our driver tells us that the gunmen from the night before went on a spree and cleaned out five other casinos before getting caught and all murdered dead by gunshot wounds inflicted by the local authorities. When I heard about Natalee Hollaway's disappearance last week, I knew that if that chick encountered any of the thuggish elements we did, she is in no way longer with us. As for Aruba, I'd rather take my chances with gully ass Jamaica, at least I can understand what the eff those rude bwoys are saying.