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Jamal Jones

Former struggling and up-and-coming comedian

0 · 568 views · located in Zombie Apocalypse

a character in “The Days That Follow”, as played by VindicatedPurpose


“Jamal Jones. People ask me 'why Jamal?' My answer is, 'I don’t know.' That’s the name my parents gave me because my parents made me. If it was my choice I might have picked something like...Robert. I like Robert, but Jamal isn’t bad.”


“April 19th, 1983”

Place of birth:
“Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA”

“Jay Jones, Tameka Jones (née Mosley)”


What was important to the people who raised her/him:
“They worked for the money. Aside from that, the usual like family values, goin’ to church, prayin’, stayin’ out of trouble, don’t get into mix ups with the street thugs. Go to school get a good job. Don’t be a comedian. Be a lawyer, or maybe a teacher, don’t be a comedian. It was easier said than done, especially when my dad was a coke-head, and my mom was rarely ever around.”

Economic/social status growing up:
“Upper Middle Lower Class”

Ethnic background:
“Black American”

Places lived:
“Philadelphia, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago”

“I have a driver’s license only in Pennsylvania. I graduated from George Washington High School with a diploma in hand, praise God ‘cause I don’t think I would have made it without him. I graduated from a community college after two years. I'm self-taught when it comes to comedy.”

Favorite subject in school:
“Probably English, it’s weird I know, but I guess it’s fitting since I went into comedy after. It takes a good writer to make funny jokes and sets.”

Special training:
“Oh no, I never joined the Special Forces. They expect me to swim and do all that shit, I seen the Navy Seals. My people don’t swim.”

“Comedian, occasional actor, I was also in retail before that. Never goin’ back to that shit.”

“I traveled around a lot, and when I say travel I mean mainly in the US. I was lucky enough to get a break when a group of comedians including Darnell Parker and Trey Stone called me up and asked if I could join their tour. They’re the reason why I came to the UK, I was going to do a five city European tour called Bring the Afro Back, but now I’m thinking we should just bring civilization back.”

“Aside from my fellow comic friends, most of my buddies lived back in Philadelphia. I don’t really know if they still alive. Although, I will say that my imaginary friends are still alive. They tough mothafuckas. Mhmm. Chainsaws and everythin'. ”

How do people view this character:
“How do people view me? They might find me talkative, they might find me funny, they might find me offensive, they might find me edgy. I swear a lot, so people might find me insensitive or undisciplined because of my use of that language. And it’s okay, I’m okay with that. People need to realize that I’m only jokin’. I got paid to do this. I got paid to do what I love.”

Lived with:
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, they all dead by now probably.”

Fights with:
“I fight with zombies. They scare the shit outta me. When I say 'fight' I mean more like run.”

Spends time with:
“They’re probably gone too. I suppose I didn’t spend time, I wasted it.”

Wishes to spend time with:
“Probably my girlfriend, before she went zed. It was just too real, like something out of a movie.”

Who depends on him/her and why:
“Ain’t got no children, no kids, no wife dependin’ on me. I was a strong, educated, and independent black wo… man, man. Independent black man. I still am to some degree.”

What people does he/she most admire:
“I admire other comedians. They really are a special bunch of people, but that’s pretty much old world talk. Now, who should I admire? The people who make sacrifices? I've admired them. The people who do what they do to survive? That's all of us now.”

"None that I know of, but let’s hope they might all be dead too, not the Walking Dead, but just plain dead and may Jesus and his heavenly servants bless them so they won’t come and haunt me. Wait, let me just make some corrections to what I said earlier about my friends and family. They might all be undead by now.”

Dating, marriage:
“Yes, I’m dating, or I was. Marriage? Let me stop you there, bitch tried to take a bite outta me.”

“None, although, I was thinkin’ of adoptin’.”

Religious Beliefs:
“Christian, Baptist. I follow Jesus, but not like those wacko freaks who decided to call this the Rapture and get all gun nut blastin' people left and right because they think they the Lord's crusaders. Frankly I don't believe in that or the idea that this is just Pestilence. Nah. I don't have all the answers. Maybe this is part of his plan. I don't know, I don't claim to know, I'm just tryin' to live. Maybe I'm alive for a reason.”

Overall outlook on life:
“Positive, stay funny, stay alive.”

Does this character like him/herself:
“I like to think that I like myself more than I dislike myself.”

What, if anything, would he/she like to change about his life:
“Are you seriously gonna ask me that? Everyone has regrets, but that’s the last thing to worry about when you’re tryin’ to survive. Thinkin’ about what I would change will never change it. It’s all about what I’m gonna do that’s gonna make a difference.”

What personal demons haunt him/her:
“Well, being a Christian, Satan is already a given. Let’s not get further into this because you know, I am…let me rephrase, was a comedian. Comedians tell stories, lots and lots of stories. Most of our stories come from life experiences. You don’t get life experiences by…well, I don’t really need to explain further.”

Is he/she lying to him/herself about something:
“If I said yes that I was lying to myself, I would not be lying to myself about me lying to myself. I do lie to myself, that’s the only thing I don’t lie to myself about.”

“Optimistic. I mean look at me.”

“The hell does this mean?”

Morality level:
“I like to think that anybody who is still ALIVE, is perfectly capable of, actually I need to back the hell away from that statement. Nowadays, people be willin’ to cut yo pinkie off for a couple of potatoes in this world. Hell, I might actually be one of those that would cut yo pinkie off for a couple of potatoes. I’m glad I found these people when I did, because I have no idea what kind of a person, or even thing, I would have become.”

Confidence level:
“Yeah. I’m confident, in front of a huge crowd in a packed theater above swelling levels of laughter. If that huge crowd were, say, a crowd of zombies, that’s another story.”

Typical day:
“Ah, there is no typical day, least not anymore.”

Physical appearance:

Body type:
“Sexy beast.”

“Semi-slumped. ‘Walk wid’ yo back straight son, what are yah, a shrimp back?’ That’s what the old folks on my block used to say all the time when they saw me walk to school.”

Head shape:
“Chrome dome. What the hell you tryin’ to say about my people?”


“The tip is a bit wide.”

“Oh I’ve got some puckers. Prodigious puckers that are a trademark of my descent.

“I could probably get a weave, but last I check the salons were closed. I might do dreadlocks.”

“Didn’t I answer this earlier? Black American obviously means black.”

“West side, east side, thug lyfe, young money, grand hustle, lmfbao. I don’t do piercings, but if my lady wanted one then I’m all for it. Scars? No I wasn’t about that life. I didn’t get shot or cut up or anything because I actually finished high school and some college.”

“Deep, baby. Maybe not like Barry White deep.”

What people notice first:
“My smile.”

“Nothin’ beats my Js. I like to dress fly, but that was before the whole world went to hell. Just give me something warm that I can run in. I would wear a snuggie if I could run in them. Lord knows you can’t outrun a zombie in a snuggie.”

How would he/she describe himself:
“I like to think I’m funny. That’s like my only redeemin’ trait. I’m more like a walkin’ pile of vices, but why does that even matter anymore? Everybody’s just tryin’ to survive the walkers, do we really have time to worry about who we are as people? Maybe we do, maybe we don’t. I like to say that I think a lot sometimes. I might be an oddball, but I realized a long time ago that everyone has a screw loose somewhere.”

“Oh yeah, I come from America, which means I’m automatically obese. Let’s see, heart disease, high cholesterol, type II diabetes, the kind that hoodlums get, that’s why they call it juvenile right?”


Personality type:

Strongest/weakest character traits:
“My strongest trait? Maybe I’m just a curious person. My weakest trait? I can be careless to people’s sensibilities.”

How can the flip side of his/her strong point be a weakness:
“Curiosity killed the cat. I thought that was true until I found out my uncle Reggie ran over it. Naw, but your greatest weakness can also be your greatest strength, er I mean your greatest strength can be your greatest weakness. Mencius said that. That’s right. You know who Mencius is?”

How much self-control and self-discipline does he/she have:
“I would say that I have a lot of self-discipline, but I also lack a lot of it at the same time. It takes a lot to be a comedian, and sometimes you’re not rewarded at all as you’re wandering the circuit. Ever since I started making money though, I started packing on some pounds and I decided that I needed to stay in shape if I wanted to live longer. I’m glad I managed to even make it this far.”

What makes him/her irrationally angry:
“I wouldn’t say irrational, but I think that anger is irrational. If you think about it, anger is an emotional response. Emotions are in an entirely different domain from logic and rationality. If people had just bothered to talk about things, everything would resolve itself. Clearly, we can’t do that anymore because zombies don’t understand English.”

What makes him/her cry:
“I stopped crying a long time ago. I don’t know how people would react if they ever see me crying.”

“It used to be crashing and burning on a comedy tour. It used to be turning out like my father. It used to getting caught up in violence. None of that seems to matter anymore. My greatest fears now result from those things out in the forest, you know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

"Absolutely nothing useful in this day and age. I could be a cheerleader, or moral support? We need that. We need somebody to keep us happy after we've seen...oh I don't know, Jimmy getting his arm bitten off by one o' those freaks."

What people like best about him/her:
“It’s the same answer as always, they like me because I make them laugh. Sometimes I don’t make them laugh, that’s okay. I’m still down to earth.”

Interests and favorites:
“Favorite what?”

Political leaning:
“Liberal, progressive. ‘Bout time we had a black woman as President. Or maybe a First Man.”

“Panty collection. Nah, I’m just jokin’. Don’t quote me.”

Favorite Food, drink:
“Buffet and Pepsi.”

“R&B, Rap, Soul, Hip-Hop, Jazz, Classic Rock, Funk.”

“Anything by Mark Twain, he was a funny ass man.”

“Tyler Perry movies, Pulp Fiction, Django Unchained, Friday, Training Day, The Pursuit of Happyness. I liked comedy films, action flicks, and anything with Denzel Washington.”

Sports, recreation:
“Racquetball, I ran, I biked. I’ve was trying to get my cardio up since my doctor told me I should lose weight.”

Did he/she play in school:
“No, I couldn’t really afford to join the after school programs. I say ‘I couldn’t’ because if I wanted to participate in anything, it had to come out of my pocket.”

“Color? I told you I’m black.”

Best way to spend a weekend:
"Getting firewood and not hearing one of those things scream."

A great gift for this person:
“I don’t really do gifts. If you want to get me something, get me whatever, I’ll say ‘it’s nice, thank you so much,’ and so on. My family never really cared much for gifts.”

“I had a Rottweiler. No, I was not friends with Michael Vick.”

“I had a 2014 Camry.”

What large possessions did he/she own and which did he/she like best:
“Oh I had a car, a house, I didn’t have a boat. I would have to say my house ever since my financial adviser told me that my house was an appreciation asset and my car was a deprecating asset. This basically meant that my home went up in value, but my wheels became old news once I drove it off the lot. Of course, none of that matters anymore.”

Typical expressions:

When happy:
“When I’m happy? I probably might not say much. Or I might talk a lot, it varies. It’s a hard question to answer because I don’t think I’ve ever understood what real happiness was. It’s not something easily understood, and I don’t really pay much attention to my physical responses when I’m supposedly in a moment of ecstasy.”

When angry:
“I might throw things. I might cuss people out, give them the bird. I might just walk away. I’ve learned in relationships that if I ever get angry, I just leave because I don’t need to deal with that shit. That’s me relationship wise. I just realized how funny this is that I notice what I do when I’m angry. Obviously it’s so I can recall what I did and did not do while I’m on trial.”

When frustrated:
“Swear words, although sometimes I feel that I use swear words so much that they've completely lost their meaning or usefulness. Oh, you wanted my physical expressions? Uh, I don’t know, a scowl?”

When sad:
“Sad? Did you know that comedy comes from a very dark place? If I’m overly cracking jokes…”

"Let me look that up. Oh that’s right, I don’t get any bars in this place, the cell towers are…they uh…"

Laughs or jeers at:
“I laugh at people who come to my shows and get offended. I don’t know why they decide to bring their most sensitive side to a comedy show and then get offended. Did they not realize that the mothafucka on stage is jokin’? But aside from that I can laugh at anything. My pain. Your pain. Somebody after they woke up. Drunk people. Hell, I could even laugh at zombies. I say ‘could,’ but I would not.”

Ways to cheer up this person:
“You can’t cheer up the cheer-upper.”

Ways to annoy this person:
“Would you please shut the hell up with all these questions. I’m in a zombie apocalypse not a job interview.”

Hopes and dreams:
“I think now more than ever is when I’ve figured out that life is kinda precious. My only hope is to be able to stay alive and see the sunrise each day. It gives me hope that I can still open my eyes and see something beautiful even after the world has gone to hell.”

How does he/she see him/herself accomplishing these dreams:
“I figured a gun or a machete always comes in handy, but a group of people with the same goals can help me go a long way.”

What’s the worst thing he/she’s ever done to someone and why:
“Well she’s dead now, but the worst thing I ever did was not go to my mother’s funeral. I don’t really want to say anything more.”

Greatest success:
“I don’t think I’ve reached it yet, when somebody asks me about my greatest success, I think there is no ‘greatest.’ Once you reach the top of one mountain, you can see from that horizon that there’s an even bigger one to climb. It goes on and on like that.”

Biggest trauma:
“There’s been a lot. I can’t really measure them on a bad to worse scale.”

Most embarrassing thing that ever happened to him/her:
“I think I did a bit on this once.”

What does he/she care about most in the world:
“At this point, just trying to survive.”

Does he/she have a secret:
“Probably. If somebody tells you they don’t have a secret, you be careful. That’s a unicorn.”

If he/she could do one thing and succeed at it, what would it be:
"Talking. I think I'm doing fairly well at it."

He/She is the kind of person who:
“Talks to himself occasionally, like that. I am the kind of person who would not use a single word to describe himself other than maybe ‘indescribable.’”

How is the character ordinary or extraordinary:
“I say I’m ordinary like any other person on this planet. We’re all ordinary. It’s the things we do that are extraordinary.”

Core Need:
“I want to be loved. That’s what they say for this part right? All you need is love. Naw, I want to be remembered. If I die, I be like that song by the Beatles, what was it called....ah look at all the lonely people. People die and fade away. It's no different now than it was before shit hit the fan. Only difference is that there's the possibility that people come back, but they come back different. Not the same. You get what I'm sayin'? When we go, I hope somebody remembers us. Somebody down here.”

“So I put the body in my trunk and after a couple of weeks it began to smell...”

“Was not one of my better subjects, the only time it was interesting was when they talked about the psychos.”

So begins...

Jamal Jones's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jamal Jones Character Portrait: NPCs Character Portrait: Lillian Treveno Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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Lean On The Horn

Chol Castle

7:00 AM

”No, no, no please!”

The rest faded like a morning dew.

Jamal found himself on the floor of the private library of Chol Castle, his bald head on a soft pillow that needed a wash. His head was not as bald as it was when he first touched down in England. Barbers were far and few nowadays. Was the afro really coming back? Shit, he muttered in his thoughts.

That was not the only thing that needed a wash. He laid there, wrapped in sheets that looked like the kind an airline passenger would get on a transoceanic flight.

The only transoceanic flight Jamal had ever been on was the one that took him to London about two months ago. He was amazed that he had managed this far.

He felt an instinct biting him, an urge to check the doors and gates. Paranoia crept into him, and he readily accepted it these past two months. There were no words, and he was a man of many words, to describe all that he had seen.

As he laid there among the other bodies snoring from long day’s work, his eyes landed on the hatchet that rested against the wall. It was among a myriad of other hardware turned into makeshift personal protection. Then of course there was a rifle, the only real weapons they had at the castle.

He blinked a bit as he stared at the ornate golden linings and trims of the ceiling that had long fallen into disrepair. He wasn’t staring at them, it was more of a conflict within himself to get up and do what needed to be done. A yawn found its way and he decided that there was no worth in loitering any longer on the ground among the other sleepers. There was always work to be done.

Jamal propped himself up, gyrated his waist, bent his neck in circular motions, and finished off with some stretches that all produced pops. It was probably the cold. Heating was limited to the fireplaces. He grabbed one of the tattered wool sweat shirts that was wrapped around a chair.

His original three week visit turned into an unintentional permanent residence for the foreseeable future. He was not used to the dreariness of the clouds in the Isles. Nor was he used to the idyllic country side of northwestern England, he was a city boy born and raised in north Philly. He was used to the projects and the urban world.

It was different, but two months’ time and a lot of tragedies in between had worn down his resistance and forced him to cope. Jamal passed down the halls, lined with an occasional dusty old knight or painting of a Caucasian man or woman whom he knew nothing of. He was guessing that the man or woman in the paintings were nobles long deceased.

The other day he thought he had seen the Queen of Britain, but Doc pointed out to him that it was Princess Diana.

“Wadn’t she the one that died?”

“Well, many members of British royalty have died before. But yes, she was the one that died.”

Doc was an affectionate label that Jamal had given to Trevor Zacharias, the resident physician and go to person for any medical issues.

“Do you think they might be coming back?”

“They? You mean…? God, I hope not.”

Jamal entered the kitchen to find the ‘Missus,’ also term of endearment, this one was for Mrs. Treveno, who was also known as the ‘Queen of the Castle.’ Not that he ever used them in her presence, she would gore him like the bulls of Pamplona. Jamal wondered whether Antonio married her out of choice.

Such thoughts were trivial, used to occupy and entertain himself in a world turned into the definition of grim.


He saw that she was reserved when he had entered, and he knew he had to be tactful. He guessed that he might have walked in after a battle had just occurred. It was just a guess. He figured he could help himself to a glass of water, water from the nearby river. He had gotten used to the taste of ‘fresh’ water.

“You’re going out today,” Lillian said.

“Out?” Jamal took a sip.

“For supplies.”

Jamal nodded as he held the cold ceramic mug in his hand. He went out every so often, so it was nothing new. The day just felt different ever since he woke up. Even before she said that he was going to be heading out, Jamal just had this feeling. He knew that he would be venturing beyond the walls.

He stood up once he was finished and placed the mug back on the mug tree.

Before he could leave, “You’re not gonna have any of the porridge?”

“Uh, maybe when I get back.”

A full stomach was hard to run on.

“It’s gonna be cold by then.”

Jamal shrugged he wondered if cold porridge would taste any different from warm porridge, “Everythin’ cold nowadays.”

He could tell she agreed when she nodded, “Be safe.”

He nodded and left her.

With the backpack strapped over his shoulders Jamal wandered out to where the jobs were posted. He saw a white kid that looked as skinny as a twig. His hair was black and he was reading some paper. He dressed like he was headed to metal concert. He had a tattoo on his left arm that was partially covered by the sleeve of his jacket.

“Hello there!” Jamal was playing to his strength as the initiator of conversations.

Ever since he arrived at the castle, there was no shortage in supply of reserved types. They had all been through much and seen much. Jamal himself was guilty of turtling for a bit.

“Hello,” the kid extended his hand toward Jamal and they shook hands, “Nikoli.”

That was his name, Jamal replied his own “Jamal. Nice to meet you Nikoli. Can I call you Nik? Or do you just prefer Nikoli?”

“Nikoli, Nik is fine too,” he pulled out a map from his pocket, “So the junkyard is north of Brampton, and Brampton is to the west of us.”

“So…that way,” Jamal pointed west, “Let’s go.”

He’d known his cardinal directions for a while ever since he started getting up to watch the sun rise. The sun always rose from the east. It was funny how little things like that went a long way in helping one survive. Jamal wondered if he would learn where the North Star was. He fancied the idea of becoming a walking compass. Not that a real compass would be any less helpful.

Nikoli shrugged in agreement, “Bikes are by the gates.”

Jamal found himself grinding down a dirt path that was familiar to him. He had been down the road several times before to reach the town to the west called Brampton for supply runs. The woods were one of the dangerous parts of the island now. Zed had been known to leap out of them.

From what Antonio had told him, Nikoli was a runner, a fast one at that. It showed in his biking, the kid was pushing it.

All the while Jamal followed behind on his bike. He was hoping their tires did not hit anything sharp.

“Car horns?” Jamal called out from behind.

“Yes. Horns from cars,” Nikoli upped the tempo at which they were going.

“I know what car horns are. What do we need them for?”

“The horns will help scare the zombies. Distraction devices. Try to keep up.”

Try to keep up? This little punk. Jamal felt like he was riding the Tour de France. He wondered how those guys did it, he felt his breath was running out. He could feel the multitude of veins bulging from his legs.

If a zed jumped out of the woods at him at that moment, he thought he would not survive the encounter. He thought he could not run, or kick, or even stand anymore for that matter.

Cahill’s Junkyard

8:30 AM

Once they reached the eastern border of the town, the two of them agreed that Brampton was a no-go. The former population center had not been mapped and scouted out completely. There were still walkers wandering around, as to how many, they could guess. Danger was unnecessary in retrieving car horns, or cans of beans for that matter, Jamal thought.

They swung northward around Brampton’s eastern border riding for about twenty to thirty minutes time, at least it seemed liked thirty minutes to Jamal’s legs. They finally reached what appeared to be a junkyard full of old cars, rust, tires, and internal parts littered in piles. Heaps upon heaps of car parts.

They stared at the organized mess for several seconds before Jamal spoke.

“Shit. I need to do more cardio,” he set down his bike, “Do you know what they look like?”

“Yeah…” Nikoli’s response was dragged out, it seemed he was unsure of himself.

“Alright, um you can find the horns,” Jamal cleared his throat, rifle in hand.

“And what about you?” Nikoli dropped his bag on the ground.

“I’m standing guard,” Jamal motioned with his rifle.

He had no idea what car horns looked, he was no car expert. He liked cars for how they looked, not how they worked.

Nikoli shrugged and went about searching through the parts. Whenever he found a horn, he would drop it into the one of their two backpacks. The horns were somewhat heavy pieces and would probably weigh them down on their return trip, so they were aiming for maybe five or six horns before packing up to go.

They could not test the horns to see if they still worked because both knew that was a bad idea especially out in open and unfamiliar territory.

Minutes later, Nikoli’s bag was already full. He was rummaging through another pile, digging through the parts required some effort. Some pieces were heavier than others. To Nikoli it was like playing jenga, but there were no mugs of hot chocolate or friends in company. No, just a jumbled mass of parts that became obsolete in the old world and whether or not their usefulness would be revived in this new world was a question to be answered.

Jamal wandered about the mess, seeing if he could find anything handy. Nothing. Nothing but car parts.

Lord help me find a knife or somethin’, maybe like a comb, but please not one of them.

Nikoli continued searching, and just as he turned, crack, boom!

Blood splattered, he shied away and fell against the junk. The pile of meat fell down beside him, Nikoli kicked his feet against the thing as it tried to reach him with its mangled arms. Its flesh was the color of pneumonia, and had the yellow of a hepatitis patient’s eye.

The blood was long dried and coagulated. The solid mass of red was only disrupted by blunt force such as that of a bullet at a high velocity from a rifle.

Jamal had the gun aimed at the fallen flesh. His mouth was agape, but he was unsure if he could even say the words, ”Oh shit…did you see that mothafucka drop?”

He may have been born and bred in Philly, but he was no street thug. He only learned to use a gun recently when he was on the run.

Now is not the time man, Jamal could see Nikoli was visibly shaken. They had to go.

Jamal’s eyes skipped around the junkyard at possible points from which more could pour in. It was a metal forest from which they could be ambushed. The loud bang was surely going to alert more of them. He looked at the bag that Nikoli managed to fill, and he ran over with his. They transferred some of the load over so they both would be able to bike back.

Was there more of them? Jamal grabbed his bag, and the two immediately ran for the entrance from which they came. The bag was heavy. The comedian could hear more groans.

“Aw shit man…” he swore under his breath.

Jamal chose to say nothing more and save his breath for the bike ride back to the castle.

9:15 AM

On the bike back, their conversation was interspersed with glances, boasts, and breathing. The bags of metal were strapped over their shoulders. Jamal rode with one hand steering and the other hand on the rifle.

“You know, we don’t have many of you people back in Russia,” Nikoli’s eyes shifted to Jamal, who rode beside him.

Jamal glanced at him, and saw that he was watching the over-arching branches. As if zombies could climb trees and attack from the skies. If they did, Jamal guessed that humanity would have gone extinct a month ago.

You people?” Jamal looked at him with a screw eye.

“Blacks. Black people,” Nikoli exhaled.

The kid was blunt, Jamal laughed, “I’m sure they don’t have many people of any color anymore back in Russia.”

Nikoli glanced at him unsure what he meant.

Jamal did not hear a laugh, “The zombies.”

“Ah,” Nikoli chuckled, the joke dawned on him.

At least he could still laugh, usually when a joke is explained, it loses its potency.

“They tell me you’re a comedian?”

“Was a comedian.”

“I see a lot of black comedians.”

“Yeah? Like who?”

“Dave Chappelle?”

Jamal shook his head, “He ain’t that funny.”

He pushed ahead and turned back at Nikoli half-yelling an added response, “Plus he dead.”

That last part may not have been true, but Jamal could give a rat’s ass as to which celebrity was still alive now.

“Tell some of your jokes then,” Nikoli caught up.

Tell some jokes? Some of my jokes? Kid. A good joke requires proper planning and thought put into it. I can’t toss one up, it’s not like music or magic. My jokes are an acquired taste. You need an intellect to understand them.”

“So you don’t have jokes,” Nikoli laughed and rode ahead.

Jamal looked at him, smart ass cur, he paused, “Man keep your eyes forward, those things can jump from trees now.”

Damn these horns are heavy.