Guest Post: Raymond James Jackson – Gamma Child

So this cat, Malon, asked me to guest post here. Some of you know him as six blocks east of mars. I don’t know why he tryin’ to front like that, goin’ by a different name. It ain’t like his real name don’t come up when you google his blog title.

But whatever, man. Don’t nobody care who he is, anyway. If they did, he’d have more than three followers – which is just sad when you consider dude has been blogging since 2005 and one of those followers is his wife.

But I’m not here to bust on this cat like that. I’m here put up some fresh content, ‘cause this dude is too lazy to get off his ass and write a new blog post. So let me get into it.

My name is Raymond James Jackson, but I go by Ray J. Yeah, I know. Don’t even say it. The only thing that cat got over me is the Kim Kardashian sex tape. And I still can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or not. I suppose I could ask Kanye.

Now, that cat trips me out, especially considerin’ he from the Chi, too – South Side. Just like me. Creative as hell. Not like me at all. I’m all about brute strength. Leapin’ tall buildings and crushin’ the earth for fun (Craig Mack ain't got nothin' on me). And I dare you to compare me to the Incredible Hulk. You’ll be drinkin’ food through your wired jaw for the next eight weeks. 

Anyways, I don’t think people give Yeezy enough credit ‘cause all they see is his ego. Yeah, what he did to Taylor Swift was bogus, but dude had a point.

Me and Bliss was talkin’ about that the other day, after coolin’ down from advanced hand-to-hand combat. You know how us metahumans do.

Bliss was sayin’ how Taylor Swift is just as creative as Kanye, but even more so – she writes and sings all her songs, and before she made it big she was a songwriter for Universal Country or Sony or one those major record labels I never listen to.

I just responded with six words – “Stronger” and Glow in the Dark Tour – and then dropped an imaginary mic and walked out the trainin’ room, like I’m a boss and I just ripped up the stage.

Not that Bliss understood the reference, with her bou’gie fine self. But that’s cool. I’m teachin’ her.

I mean, I got to, right? We’re partners. Droppin’ the imaginary mic after blowin’ somebody away in an argument (or a freestyle) is right up there with Chicago Gang Awareness training. Essential to our survival as a superhero duo. Or whatever the hell we are.

The Institute called us a government Assault Strike Team. Better than being called a superhero. Especially, since I’m not.

Either way, it don’t matter. The Institute decommissioned us after what went down in the Manor. Which is fine with me. I didn’t want to be a metahuman G-Man, anyways.

Just like I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

I’m ghost. 

Don’t let the mic hit you on the foot on my way out.