stan duke

PART 1: The Start of The Job

Look, this was my personal diary. About my life to be a great rapper For sure, yes. My name is Stan Duke, I’m a fan of many great rappers, Iggy Azelea, George Watasky, Slim Shady, Juicy j… you name it. I want to be like them, but it was a struggle. Everything I had experienced in my life to be a rapper was only the most I could know. If you read my diary, do not make fun of me. I’m warning you. You don’t want to experience the things I had done. Just to make sure it was worth it.

Now, I’ll begin my story…

(Warning: HIGHLY unpleasant language can be found throughout the book.)



I was born in Mississippi. I was twenty-one by that time. Well, yes, my life here wasn’t any fun. We lived in a small cottage, a very old, dusty, rotten wooden cottage. I had just gone out of the army, while being a lowly farmer with my parents-well, DIVORCED parents. I live with my dad, Josh Duke, who tried hard not to get drunk. But in any way, he looked just like a big-ass slob. He has a pot bellied frame, an unshaved mouth and with a broken white sweater and old jeans he usually wears, which he looks like a seventy-year old been a massive slob all his life. He was many years younger than that, and he is a good dad. He worked with me as a farmer, well, almost every day, and we didn’t get enough money since rarely customers would come and buy some of our own grain. Well, it’s been nearly a year of doing this and my dad only had 450$ for his profit. I always saved my god dam money in my tiny piggy bank, well, a single penny.



JUNE 21TH

I was lazily having a day off and staying in my room, writing this diary.

I put down my book and started to turn on the radio in my CD player, just in front of my bed, dusty and worn. I was listening to ‘Guts over Fear’ song by Slim Shady. You know, I personally was a fan of him.

AS YOU CAN SEE IN MY ROOM, the walls are taped with posters of many MCs that I adore and love, though my dad disapproves that. He always discourages me to be like one of them and forces me to work hard as a farmer. Still, that doesn’t destroy my dreams of becoming a rapper and make our family not being poor anymore. But I don’t think I can persuade him, anyway.

I am wearing a small worn Slim Shady T-shirt and black jeans, with black hair a bit short, small brown eyes and a happy attitude.

I was listening to the Slim Shady song when-

“Son! Come out now! Today’s the big day! We were going to Mom’s house now!” My dad called from downstairs.

Oh, great. I thought.

“Maybe for about five minutes?” I called.

“Are you listening to another MC Song again? I don’t approve that.”

“What?”

“Get out of that god dam room now!”

I quickly turned off the music and scrambled out of the room. Well, I was happy, anyway. I can finally visit my mom!

I head toward the wooden dining table, where a small bowl filled with spinach soup is awaiting for me. I tasted the soup. It was okay to me, but not to you because it smells like a bowl of greasy bitter oil with overly dense salt seasoning in it.

See, my dad’s a freakin’ stupid terrible cook.

My dad walked over to me in a blackened white bathrobe that actually forces him to become thin apart from his own chubby form. He is wearing a serious look on his face.

“Mister.” He said.

This isn’t good. Whenever he said ‘mister’ to me means I’m in trouble.

“What?” I asked.

“I did not approve of you been king on those stupid rappers. Really, they were just songs. They didn’t contain any meaning. That was just pop culture.”

“Hell, no. Slim Shady learned lessons in his life, and I can, too! What’s wrong being a rapper?”

“Music was nothing to me.” My dad replied.

“Why can’t you just give yourself a break and let me have my dream for one day?”

“I can only say that. Sorry, son, but I don’t like that. Working hard was more important. And that’s it.”

Well, same old thing. He always says that. ‘I don’t approve of blah blah blah whatever blah blah blah.’

Hell yeah that was sick. Whatever he says.

I finished my spinach soup quickly, and brushed my teeth. Then, with my dad, walked out of our house. ‘Mom’s house was about twenty miles away, and we usually go there by walking, which takes a lot of effort. It takes usually five hours to get there so we rarely come to our mom’s house.’

So by noon, we finally reached mom’s house. It was tiring since the sun was reaching a high fever temperature. Every time I get to mom’s house, the first thing I do is curse. And I said when we arrived at our mom’s house…

“Aw, s***!”

“Don’t try to curse.” My dad said.

“Oh, sorry.”

Mom’s house, compared to ours, was like an empire if you asked me. Dead seriously, we looked like a bunch of peasants.

Mom’s house is colored marble white and two stories tall, with a red concrete roof and a shiny wooden door with a sign on it! Hell yeah I want one! Our house has only a crappy, mud-covered fragile wooden door, anyway. I sure at least I could get the hell out of that one!

I knocked the door. It opened.

“Hey, little sweetie!” A sweet strawberry voice called out. It was my mom, in her mid-fifties, with pale skin, blonde hair, which didn’t match her 45-year age, anyway. She looked beautiful for that kind of age.

“Hi, mom.” I said. “Great to see you.”

“You look so handsome, darling!” My mom cooed.

“No time for this.” My dad interrupted. “We need to take care some s*** here.”

Me and my dad headed into mom’s house. My mom, named Em Duke, has a warm personality even at hard times. She has one thing opposite of my dad: She ENCOURAGES me to become an MC.

Well, when I first know it, I thought, Oh, my ass! She told me she wasn’t a fan of rappers, but, well, she knew them better than I do.

My dad and I were not familiar with mom’s furniture, but we had been like, um, twenty times here or something. What I can say is that the entire house, it’s carvings, pictures, designs, are all white. Even the bowls and couch and teapot-are white.

We sat down on the couch while mom prepared green tea for us. I sipped it. It wasn’t like those teas with dense over-flavored smells. Hell no! It was like water, but very soothing with an added natural plant like smell.

“Good tea, mom.” I said.

My dad also liked it. He then quickly said: “Dear, I am very concerned about our son.”

Mom groaned. “Oh, god dam, haven’t I’ve told you, like, two thousand times already? Why are you still concerned?”

“Studying is more important. THAT’S WHY.”

“Well, you aren’t very sure-”

“Rapping is just music, Emily. Only little d***s like Eminem would ever do it. And you don’t know WHY.”

Okay, anyway, I’ll tell you why my dad was like that. He has told me once, but I didn’t give a damn about it. He loves music when he was working as a businessman. But one time, really, when he was at his wedding day, some rapper/terrorist gunned down my dad’s employee and bombed down their building and our home. He quit badly, but mom was only sad for about two days and tries to cheer up my dad, but, well, dad did not cheer the hell up. He eventually ended up as a farmer. A very, VERY, S***TY OLD FARMER.

Yes, my dad is very anti-music like now since after that incident.

Well, cut back to where we’re going.

“It’s not just music. IT’S their life!”Mom said.

“Making life out of music? Hell, no.”

“You know, you shouldn’t let your son remain as a farmer.”

“Why?”

“Rapping can make money more than doing farmer stuff. Give your son just a break. It can change his and our lives.”

“You know my past-”

“Oh, just forget it. It was just a rapper gone insane and killed somebody, that’s all.”

“But that’s my employee.” My dad said. “All rappers are all junk like that!”

My mom slammed the table. “Don’t you judge them like junk okay? Just let your son has his dream-for once!”

“But that’s-”

“Oh, quit your whinnying, damn! Well, you and your son need to have an entire next 24 hours in my house. We can talk about it later.”

“I hope sure not.” My dad said silently.

以上內容節錄自《STAN DUKE》陳立恩（Andy Chen）◎著．白象文化出版

PART 1: The Start of The Job

Look, this was my personal diary. About my life to be a great rapper For sure, yes. My name is Stan Duke, I’m a fan of many great rappers, Iggy Azelea, George Watasky, Slim Shady, Juicy j… you name it. I want to be like them, but it was a struggle. Everything I had experienced in my life to be a rapper was only the most I could know. If you read my diary, do not make fun of me. I’m warning you. You don’t want to experience the things I had done. Just to make sur...

PART 1: The Start of The Job
PART 2: The Art of Rapping
PART 3: The Revenge
PART 4: The Battle
EPILOGUE

PART 1: The Start of The Job
PART 2: The Art of Rapping
PART 3: The Revenge
PART 4: The Battle
EPILOGUE