“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” – Philippians 4:13.
“Talkin’ out his neck, pistol to his throat. Blow this motherfucker, he gone choke. On the ground, on the floor. Someone pick him up, take him to the morgue.” – “Faneto” by Chief Keef
I know what you’re thinking. “Eugene, what do Mormon youth pastors know about slinging blow?” and “Gene, you’re from Provo, Utah, why did you move to Little Haiti, take over a corner, and let your life devolve into a bloody tit-for-tat street war with a group of vicious gangsters, spending your days stacking bodies, and your nights moving kilos?”
Allow me to smack you with the Good Book, the ultimate truth. Luke 6:37 says, “Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.” Art thou wiser than the Bible? Of course not.
With that blessed truth ringing in your ears, hear me out.
As a young man, growing up in the shadow of Brigham Young University, my first dream was to be a youth pastor for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, commonly called “the Mormons.” I achieved that dream at twenty-one years old – hard work pays off. Ministering to the up-and-coming leaders of the one true faith has been a joy, and I am forever thankful in my soul. The last ten years have been rewarding beyond all measure. I feel the closeness of the Lord in my heart and it keeps me warm. Amen.
My second dream came late one evening, after watching Scarface. It began as a seed in my subconscious. This seed blossomed into a lovely flower of an idea, and 2021 is the year I hoped to bring it to fruition. My New Year’s resolution: I will struggle, strive, and murder to become the kingpin of a worldwide, Miami-based, drug trafficking organization.
I will destroy anyone in my way. I will take no prisoners.
However, the game is no joke and trappin’ ain’t easy. There were numerous unforeseen obstacles to establishing myself as a gangland legend. It turns out Mormon youth ministry is not the best preparation for thug life. Three specific difficulties jump to the front of my mind.
The first challenge being that the Latin Kings are not willing to compromise on anything. Proverbs 25:28 says, “He that hath no rule over his own spirt is like a city that is broken down, and without walls.” Self-control is critical to effectively running these streets. You know who has zero self-control? Chopper K, the Latin King’s boss – that young man is unreasonable.
When I arrived in Miami, I went around with muffins, door to door, on my bicycle, missionary style. I know how to make a good first impression. One thing led to another and I met Chopper K. When I explained my plan to dominate the game, Chopper K laughed, which I found to be disgraceful. (He didn’t laugh when my Glock clapped, and I dissolved his body in a vat of acid. Bitch.)
My second challenge: the Colombian suppliers are consistently reactionary with very little patience. Romans 12:12 says, “Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation.” You know who is not patient? Pablo, my South American connection. One missed payment and he gets all upset. Whatever happened to “the customer is always right?” Pablo, I hate to be so direct, but this is for you: When you executed my second in command, Elder Smith, with a chainsaw in a dirty bathroom, that was downright unprofessional, and I did not appreciate it. I had no choice but to hire a group of ex-Blackwater mercenaries to take out your village back home. Disrespect me and I hit you with motherfucking war crimes. Fuck the Geneva Convention. Bitch.
Finally, the constant murder is taking a toll on my mental wellbeing. Mathew 18:15 says, “Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone.” When I provide the other dealers deadly corrections, it’s not because I’m being a tough guy. It is because I am doing what the Bible commands.
When I did my Mormon mission in Oslo, Norway, I thought I’d seen some things. Norwegians are a cold people, and in winter, it gets dark at two p.m. That was a difficult period in my life. You know what else is hard? The never-ending viscera-filled gang warfare, the countless senseless executions, and the rivers of blood flowing the streets in crimson waves. Don’t fuck with me or I will cut down your entire family tree. Bitch.
With all that said, I’ve decided to take a step back. After the recent spate of machete homicides, and the numerous car bombs, and the triple murder at the bodega, I’ve realized I need to regroup. I’m going back to Provo for a spell, a little mental timeout, but I will return. There is no quit in me.
Mark my word, friend, I will take over. All will bend the knee before my greatness. I will off a motherfucker at the drop of a hat. Proverbs 28:1 says, “The righteous are bold as a lion.” Never forget, I am the motherfucking lion and I’m always ready to eat. I’ll leave a muffin on your tombstone.
Stay blessed. Bitch.
