Germz True Hollywood Stories

The question said:
I got one that I’m skeptical about doing. It was when friends of mine jumped an autistic kid back when we used to call them sped ed..and his family ended up riding around in a a team van trying to kill me.

I don’t know if that’s too inappropriate, yall think that’s too bad?
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Do it, i want to see what AI makes up as a comic. Stop asking questions and just post stories
 
My IC story about the day my soul was burned by the McDonald's chick would be awesome in comic form. That was a tragic day for me my little warm heart turned into straight ice for years after that lol
 
loud-ninja said:
How you gonna say "this your thing", which blocks others from dropping their stories in this format, but then proceed to drop 3 stories of your own that does not even following the comic format?

:hahaha:
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I was high bruh, got caught up on the moment...

This thread hit me on an emotional level. Germs the goat
 
Lou Cypher said:
Do it, i want to see what AI makes up as a comic. Stop asking questions and just post stories
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When I was living in New Jersey, I became friends with a guy named Ty. I was 15, and Ty was 25. He became my O.G. He taught me how to roll weed, slap box, steal, drink, and talk to girls. I used to look up to Ty and thought he was really cool. And I met him because he used to hang out with my cousin. They were best friends, and he used to sell weed. It always used to feel like we smoked way more of the weed that he actually sold.
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I always thought Ty was cool because of how carefree and irresponsible he was. Once, he took me with him to re-up some weed from some Jamaicans in the hood. When we got there and stepped inside, the windows were covered with black trash bags to block out the sun and any outside sight. There were two big Jamaicans with a guy who sold him weed. The lead guy in charge took Ty into another room and yelled and argued with him about me being there, while the other two sat across from me in the room, looking.
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When he got done talking to him, and we left, I told Ty it's cool if I don't go anymore, I didn't want to cause him problems with the Jamaicans if they were going to act like that. Ty pulled out a large bag he just got, and told me, "Man, fuck those Jamaican niggaz, I'm me!"
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While I should have been in school, I spent my days hanging out with ty and my cousins, listening to music, drinking, fighting, smoking, and getting high. One day, we saw the school bus pull up, and high schoolers got off. Ty pointed to one of the kids getting and said, "fuck that dude, I don't fuck with him. "I asked him why, and he told me that a year or so ago, he jacked the kid for a CD, and the kid just let him. He didn't even try to fight back; he just let him take it. I told Ty, " That's crazy to be mad about that." Ty told me, come on, let's jump him. I spent the next few days convicing ty to not to beat the kid up
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I had made it through the week, convincing ty to leave the kid alone, to the point where he was ready to let it go. Then this kid we called white boy rick came around one day and gassed up ty while he was drunk, that day was the perfect time to get the kid. Ty was so amped he wasn't going to listen to me, so when the bus dropped the kids off. Ty, Rick, and a few of our friends started to chase the kid through the projects. I went along because I couldn't stop them, but i could stop them from going too far on the kid
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hey surrounded him and rick threw the first punch before everyone started fighting the kid. A lady in her apartment threatened to call the police, and everyone ran. Ty and rick were proud of themselves and mad at me for not joining.Once we got back to our homes where we chilled. one of the neighborhood guys came and asked if we heard about the kid getting jumped.Ty said yea that was us, the guy said, "man why did you do that, the kid was special needs?"
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Ty was shocked, I laughed my ass off, Me and Ty fought, the guy broke it up and told us, he didn't make out anyone but me
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Ty started to laugh his ass off; he thought that was really funny.

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When the A-Team finally came on the block, I dipped off in the house and watched from the window as they spoke to TY. When they left i asked him what they said, he laughed and told me "them niggaz gone kill you when they see you"

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I would need to spend the entire summer ducking 6 dudes in the A Team van. One day, my Aunt was mad at me about some otha shit, sent me back to Charleston. thank god.
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Tessai said:
To you. Them stories were hall of fame worthy
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You think:

-Going back to a site that’s been dead for almost a decade
-Finding a thread about members that acted like scumbags
-Use AI to turn other people’s stories into comics

Isn’t corny?
 
Sky Davis said:
You think:

-Going back to a site that’s been dead for almost a decade
-Finding a thread about members that acted like scumbags
-Use AI to turn other people’s stories into comics

Isn’t corny?
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🙄 whatever nigga lol taking the fun outta shit
 
One day, when I was 16, I got off the bus in front of a huge apartment complex that spanned for blocks. I live about a mile away from it, but had to walk through it in order to get home. As I walked through its streets, I had a feeling I was being watched and followed. My paranoia kicked in, but for some reason, I didn't sense danger. Just as I was halfway through the complex, I spotted a girl, she was pop out from behind a building occasionally as I walked. Like she was stalking me. As I exited the complex, I finally called out to her to come towards me. Telling her that I know that she had been following me.
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As she walked towards me, the closer she got, the more she looked like an angel, like a golden aura was around her. She looked like a young version of Nia Long. When she got to me, she asked for my forgiveness for following me, but said that she was shy. I forgave her, and she began to walk with me as I continued walking home. We really hit it off, and I asked her for her number. She gave it to me excitedly and left me at that point to return to her projects, as I went home
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When I got home, I connected with my best friend and told him that I had met the most beautiful girl. I told him how we met, and he became skeptical. He said, "You tryna tell me that a beautiful bitch stalked you through the projects?"I told him, "Yes, not only was she beautiful, she looked like a young Nia Long". My friend told me, "Aw nigga, you full of shit, no bitch stalked you through the projects, and we don't have no bitches around her that look like that. "I sought to prove him wrong and used my house phone to call her number to let her know my friend and I were coming to see her, but she didn't answer her phone. I noticed that along with her number on paper, she also wrote her address. I decided to just go there with my friend.
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Once we got to the address, we saw three girls on the stoop, one was reading a magazine, and the other was getting her hair done by the other girl, while sitting between her legs. When we walked up, the girl doing the hair asked me a, "Can I help you? "I told her that my friend and I were there to see the girl from earlier. The girl responded to me, "Boy, I know better than that. "I asked her, ' What do you mean? She responded by looking at her friends and saying, "No these two dudes my age aint out here to see my 12-year-old sister.
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Everything around me became black, and all I could hear was the echo of my friend loudly laughing at me
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Once I snapped out of it, I realized that I could not go out like that. I could not be embarrassed in front of my best friend. I had to make things right. I turned on the charm and managed to get the 12-year-old's sister's number. Not only was I going to mack her, but I was also going to come back later and get her. That way I can prove myself to my friend that I am still the man.
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Later that evening I called the girl on the phone and told her I was coming back to her spot. She said ok. When I arrived, she let me in and told me that "she had to do dishes in the kitchen before she could spend time with me"I said ok, I would keep her company. As she washed the dishes, I noticed there were no bubbles in the water. I got up to look and saw that she had no dish soap and was just using a bar of soap to wash the dishes, like they were a baby.I thought, "Well, that's ghetto as fuck" but I didn't care because I was there to accomplish one thing.
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While I sat and waited, we talked. Her mom came home, and when she opened the door, I got scared, but she didn't even care about me. She walked right past me and went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Crown Royal from the top of it. Walked back to the living room, and two men came in the front door. They headed to the bedroom, closed the door, turned on AL Green loud, and had a loud threesome.
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As this all happened, the girl was totally unfazed. It was nighttime, her mother didn't care that a strange boy was in the house and her little sister wasn't even home. I asked the girl, where is your little sister? " She said, I don't know, probably out with some man.I said, "The 12-year-old one!" She said, "yea thats who I'm talking about"
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I sat and thought to myself, my life has been on some traumatic shit, but this is even too messed up for me. I made up an excuse that I had to go home and I bounced. I told myself, I'm never coming back around for that.
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A day later, I'm chilling in my house and my phone rings. When the voice on the other end said, "So you're just gonna fuck my sister?" I said, "Excuse me." She said again, "So you're just gonna fuck my sister?"I said, "Shorty, you 12, what's wrong with you, I'm not fucking with you, you 12." She asked, "What's that got to do with it? "I yelled into the phone, "you 12, wheres your daddy!? someone needs to teach you better," she said, trying to be coy. "Why don't you?"I told her, "Don't call my phone anymore, yo." She started cursing and threatened to have projects niggaz run down on hurt me. I hung up the phone and thought to myself why do girls always threaten to have niggaz kill me?
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Since most of what I've posted so far paints others in a more negative light and casts me as a perpetual victim of circumstances, I figured the next one should reflect the type of person I was, and I more than often deserved the things that happened to me.

At a Psychology center, our therapy group consisted of one counselor, three women, and five men. The counselor resembled Mrs. Frizzle in both appearance and upbeat innocence, naively viewing me as a charming but troubled young boy with a good heart. The three women in the group included: The Model: Stunningly beautiful, but possessed the mind of a young child. Her mother dressed and did her makeup this way, which felt wrong to me, as it left her highly vulnerable to exploitation by predatory men. The Defensive Woman: Middle-aged, permanently angry, and always dressed in black sweatpants. I recognized her attitude as a defense mechanism that would be challenging but possible to disarm. The Married Teenager: A 19-year-old with severe self-esteem issues. Because of my good looks and charm, she would be an ideal target if I could successfully pretend to be her friend.
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After ruling out the one that looked like a model, I lingered after therapy while the other two women waited for the bus, sizing up my options. The defensive, middle-aged woman made the decision for me; when I asked her age, she shot me an evil look and snapped, "Old enough to know better!"That encounter pushed me to target the married 19-year-old with low self-esteem. Seducing her was easy. Through strategic compliments, warm smiles, and intentional physical touch, I quickly secured her number and convinced her to meet up. Her marriage did not concern me, as I felt no responsibility for her fidelity. Driven by her deep insecurities, she was powerless against the attention of a handsome, charming guy like me.

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Within a couple of weeks of phone calls, she began professing her love and offering to leave her husband for me. I had no interest in a relationship; my goal was simply to have fun until I grew bored. As she began visiting my home, I systematically broke down her trust and self-esteem issues to make her feel completely safe. However, the closer we got to the bedroom, the more intense her declarations of love became. Realizing this obsession posed a massive threat to our therapy group—which strictly forbade members from dating—and risked exposure to her husband, I shifted tactics. I weaponized her deep adoration to extract a strict promise that she would never tell anyone about our relationship.
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We finally slept together, which made me feel so proud that I skipped group therapy that week to relax at home. My celebration was cut short when the counselor called with troubling news: during that day's session, the girl announced her depression had lifted because she found a new man—me. Shocked by the exposure, I immediately pivoted to lying. I told the counselor I had only offered phone support and walked with her in the park to ease her loneliness, claiming she must have misinterpreted my platonic kindness. The counselor bought the lie, suggesting the girl might be suffering from delusions. When she asked if I would feel more comfortable if the girl was removed from the group, I agreed without a shred of remorse, telling her that was exactly what should happen.
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Fortunately, the girl went to Miami with her family for a week, giving me a temporary reprieve from therapy drama. Though we spoke on the phone during her trip, I resolved to break up with her the moment she returned to town. When she got back, I took her to a bench near the river pier to let her down softly. As I held her hand, I noticed her wedding ring was missing, but a distinct tan line remained on her finger. This meant she had worn the ring with her husband in Miami, only removing it to see me. Even though I had no right to be offended, her hypocrisy infuriated me; I couldn't stand that she was playing games with me the same way she lied to her husband. I never made her aware of how I felt. I kept my anger to myself and figured I'd break up with her over the phone; I didn't care to do it in person.
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The day before the next therapy session, I was sitting on my porch with my female cousin when the girl called. I told her flat out that I never wanted to see her again, prompting her to spend the next five minutes begging me to reconsider. Because I had the phone on speaker, my cousin grew so annoyed by the whining that she snapped out loud, "If that was me, I would've already hung up on your butt." Exploiting the moment, I chimed in, "Yeah, don't you just want to hang up on me?" Misinterpreting my cousin as a new love interest and believing I had intentionally humiliated her, the girl went completely silent, began crying heavily, and hung up the phone.
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I showed up to therapy that week and saw the girl standing in the lobby with her mother, both shooting daggers at me. I didn't care. When I was young, I was not a good person.
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One more, me being a shitty person for good measure.

I was just a young guy working as a furniture delivery driver, and that is where I met Mike. Mike was forty, a Black man with a bit of a belly, but he took me under his wing like a big brother. He even helped me get my very first car—this tiny, dropped-low Isuzu pickup truck sitting clean on Dayton wheels and rims. Now, Mike wasn't exactly a male model, but let me tell you, the man had serious game. He cheated on his wife constantly, usually with women who came into the showroom to shop for furniture. And his wife? She was beautiful. A forty-year-old light-skinned nurse with the warmest face and a smile that could light up a room. But Mike didn’t care. He loved living life on the edge, and he never felt a single shred of guilt about what he was doing. He kept me close because he knew I was cool, I was loyal, and I wasn't going to mess up his operation or get dead in his business. He just loved being exactly who he was.
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So, one night around one in the morning, my phone rings. It’s Mike. He tells me that he and his wife got into a massive argument, she took off with his car, and now he’s panicking. He’s actually worried that she might be out cheating on him. The irony was wild. I’m thinking to myself, man, that serves you completely right. But out loud, I just gave him some sympathy and told him I was sorry he was going through that. Then Mike hits me with, "Hey man, I helped you get your car. You've got to help me find her."I told him it was one o'clock in the morning, but he straight up told me that I owed him. So, I got dressed, walked out, and hopped into the exact same low-rider Isuzu pickup he helped me buy to go pick him up. We drove around the city for about two hours, just hunting for her in the dark. Finally, Mike says he thinks he knows exactly where she is. Turns out, she was at this house party deep in the hood that was still going strong into the early hours of the morning. When we pulled up to the house, Mike turned to me and said, "Wait in the car, and don't get out."
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He walked into that house, and a few minutes later, he came bursting back out. He was dragging his wife by the arm, and she was fighting him tooth and nail, trying to pull back inside. Before he could even get her to the street, four guys rushed out of the house and completely surrounded Mike. He had to let his wife go, and right then and there, those four guys started unloading on him. They drop him to the ground and just start stomping and beating him down. Suddenly, one of the guys stops, looks straight over at the truck I'm sitting in, and yells out, "This fool had the nerve to bring somebody with him!"The whole group stops beating Mike, turns around, and starts marching right toward my car.I looked at Mike bleeding on the pavement. Then I looked at these four dudes locking eyes with me. Before they could even touch my door handle, I slammed that Isuzu into gear, hit the gas, and pulled right off. I left him there and drove straight home. I crawled into bed and slept like an absolute baby, because at the end of the day, Mike’s problems were not mine.
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