Clancy Christopher Ojala McMahon III (fondly called O-Holla by his fellow Wangstas) swaggered up to De’Vaughn and Tre, biting his lip in what was supposed to be a gansta-like way.

“Damn,” whispered Tre. “What this foo’ want now? Didn’t we tell him to quit?”

“They don’t nevah learn. You think maybe he got some sort of mental problem?” replied De’Vaughn.

“Nah. He just stupit.”

“Yo, boys wazzup?” said Clancy, the slang sounding odd on his uptown, well-educated accent.

“Whatchu want, Clancy?” said Tre sharply, his ebony arms crossed over his muscled chest.

“Dawg, I told you to call me O-Holla! I can’t be going by that bitch-ass name!”

Tre gave a De’Vaughn a look.

“Whatchu want, O-Holla?” said De’Vaughn.

“I was wondrin’...since you’s tight wit Shalika…you think you could help me score some o’ that?”

Tre snorted. “You? And…Shalika?”

“Dude, have you seen that ass? I gotta get some…”

“You high?” asked Tre.

“What? All the girlies say I’m pretty fly, for a white guy.”