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The plot to the Rescue 911 episode "Arlington"
Eight-year-old Laura Hollingsworth thought dat biiiiatch was trippin when she opened her eyes n' saw a playa standin over tha bed wit a glock pointed at her n' shit. Dat shiznit was up in Arlington, Texas, shortly before dawn on December 14, 1988, n' Laura n' her father, Dale, was asleep up in Dalez bed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Lauraz brother, fourteen-year-old Buddy, was asleep down tha hall. Unfortunately, Laura wasn't trippin.

Da intruder raised up Dale, forced his ass outta tha room at gunpoint, n' made his ass cut tha beeper wires. Laura lay up in bed, terrified, n' heard tha intruder yellin ta a accomplice. Laura screamed fo' her father, n' when da ruffneck didn't respond, she ran tha fuck into tha livin room n' found his ass on tha floor, scufflin wit tha robber n' shit. Laura raced ta tha beeper up in tha kitchen, where luckily tha wires had not yet been cut. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch dialed 911.

"Therez a playa up in mah house!" Lauraz voice quivered up in fear. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "Dude broke up in wit a gun. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Dat punk threatening-" "I have five-o fools on tha way," responded Arlington Popo Department Dispatcher Valerie Nelson, whoz ass heard tha fightin up in tha background. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Stay on tha phone."

As five-o fools sped ta tha scene, Nelson dissed Laura yo, but between Lauraz panic n' tha commotion up in tha background, Nelson was unable ta make sense outta what tha fuck was happening. "Therez a glock n' a knife," screamed Laura up in tears. "Dum diddy-dum, here I come biaaatch! Who tha fuck has tha knife?" axed Nelson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "My fuckin brutha playa! Dude was goin ta bust a cap up in mah daddy if da ruffneck didn't tell his ass where his wallet was!"

Laura of course meant tha robber was goin ta bust a cap up in her daddy yo, but it came across ta Nelson as if Lauraz brutha n' daddy was fighting. "I be thinkin he gots tha muthafucka!" "Whoz gots tha muthafucka?" axed Nelson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "My fuckin dad." "Yo crazy-ass daddy has-" "Buddy!" Laura let up a funky-ass blood-curdlin scream. "Whatz goin on?" "Oh, God, Buddy!" cried Laura hysterically. "Please!" Nelson heard a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass blasted fired. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "Dude capped tha muthafucka!" cried Laura. "Yo crazy-ass daddy blasted tha burglar?" axed Nelson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Fuck dat shit, Buddy done did." "Yo crazy-ass brother?" "Dude blasted mah dad, too!"

As tha mad drama mounted, five-o fools responded ta what tha fuck they thought was a thugged-out domestic disturbance. Nelson holla'd at Laura ta open tha door fo' tha fools whoz ass stood outside wit glocks drawn. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. But Laura didn't trust tha dispatcher, n' Buddy thought tha five-o outside might straight-up be tha robberz accomplices. Da fools could peep Buddyz silhouette inside tha crib yo. Dude was holdin a rifle yo, but tha fools didn't realize da thug was a scared fourteen-year-old protectin his dirty ass n' his fuckin lil sister.

"I need yo' help," Nelson holla'd at Laura sternly. "It aint nuthin but tha five-o outside. Yo ass betta git all up in tha door?" "No," replied Laura. "It aint nuthin but tha phat playas outside!" urged Nelson. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. "Tell Buddy ta come ta tha phone." Nelson desperately explained ta Buddy dat tha five-o was afraid of him, dat dat schmoooove muthafucka had ta come up before rescuers could safely git inside ta help his wounded daddy n' shit. Finally Buddy dropped tha rifle n' came out, followed by Laura. Officers handcuffed Buddy, unaware dat he'd just saved his wild lil' fatherz game by cappin' tha robber wit his wild lil' fatherz hustlin rifle.

Buddy was quickly busted out from custody. Dizzy recovered from tha stab woundz inflicted by tha eighteen-year-old robber, Douglas Spencer Collins. But tha accomplice was never found. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dizzy n' his crew never dropped another night up in they house. "Ugh, what tha fuck a cold-ass lil call," recalls dispatcher Nelson.

"If I had dem calls everyday, I could not do dis thang. Yo ass realize how tha fuck close they came ta losin it all. I literally didn't own anythang of value dat I would miss mo' than a half-minute," say Dizzy sadly. "I git upset thankin bout dis shit. I gots all cut up yo, but, jeez, you know, I didn't want mah kid ta bust a cap up in some muthafucka." "For tha rest of mah game I be bout ta always remember tha dizzle dis happened," say Buddy. "It'll depend on tha thang all up in tha time if I be bout ta feel aiiight we kickin it, or I be bout ta feel fucked up dat it happened."

Nelson feels dat tha key ta tha successful outcome was Laura. Despite her terror, dat freaky freaky biatch had tha presence of mind ta 911 n' managed ta remain calm n' relay events over tha phone. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Says Dale, "If Laura hadn't called 911, if Buddy hadn't intervened, if tha dispatcher hadn't known how tha fuck ta do her thang, I would be dead as fuckin fried chicken. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. And I feel mah lil pimps would be, like a muthafucka."

The plot to the Rescue 911 episode "Conrail Train"
Ramsey, New Jersey is tha kind of hood where not a god damn thang much eva happens. But on May 1, 1989, suttin' frightenin did hommie! Conductor Anthony Falzo was on a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dirty-ass short hall from New York ta New Jersey wit his wild lil' fuckin engineer, Slick Rick Campana. "Our thugged-out asses had nineteen loaded rides n' one engine. Us thugs was eastsidebound on New Jersey Transit approachin Ramsey," rethugz Richard.

Kate Pritchard was just returnin home from bustin errandz up in town. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch was bustin a funky-ass black hoodie n' white pants, n' you can put dat on yo' toast. "My fuckin usual deal on Mondizzle mornings was ta do mah grocery hustlin. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So I packed tha lil playas up in tha car, we went ta tha grocery store, n' then came home. I guess dat shiznit was on some quarta ta 11:00 when we came home," her big-ass booty holla'd.

When Kate n' her homeboy, Gary, was lookin fo' a safe hood up in which ta raise a cold-ass lil crew, dis place had seemed perfect. "We live up in a cold-ass lil cul-de-sac wit many, nuff children, n' they always playin up there knowin dat they not allowed up in tha woodz n' dat they not allowed ta even go near tha train tracks at all!" recalls Kate.

Kate trusted her three-year-old son, Todd, ta look afta his one-and-a-half-year-old brother, Scott, while dat dunkadelic hoe took tha groceries tha fuck into tha house. "Therez such a dunkadelic difference between these two thugs. Todd has always been straight-up cautious n' mo' intense. I mean, eva since da thug was lil, if you holla'd at him, 'Don't bust a nut on dat cuz you gonna be hurt if you do,' da thug wouldn't fo' realz. And then there be a Scott. I be thinkin if I had Scott first, I probably wouldn't have had another one until da thug was up in college biaaatch! Dat punk fearless, he just basically fearless," declared Kate matter-of-factly.

Da tracks is temptingly close, less than 300 feet from tha Pritchard crew home biaaatch! While Kate was unloadin tha groceries n' brangin dem tha fuck into tha house, Todd n' Scott was instructed ta stay near tha driveway n' play. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch could hear tha distant blast of a train whistle, presumably a Amtrak or possibly a Passenger Express locomotive. "We'd always had a gangbangin' fear of tha tracks. In tha back of yo' mind, you would think, 'God, I just hope these lil playas learn dat they should never go there!'" rethugz Kate.

But on dis morning, they done did. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Todd n' Scott made they way all up in tha woodz ta play on tha tracks just beyond. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! As Anthony n' Slick Rick made they way tha fuck into Ramsey, tha sound of tha speedin train caught tha attention of tha thugs fo' realz. Afta makin they way all up in tha trees, they climbed ta tha top of tha steep roadbed, knelt down along tha tracks, n' fuckin started ta fuck wit they toy rides n' trucks.

Meanwhile, tha train was chuggin along down tha railway at a speed of 40 milez per hour. Shiiit, dis aint no joke. "I saw suttin' movin n' it moved like suttin' kickin it, not like wind blowin something. Whatever it was, we was bout ta hit dat shiznit son!" holla'd Richard. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Within secondz of seein dat dat shiznit was two children, Slick Rick slammed down on tha emergency brakes n' blew tha train whistle at full juice playa! Da whistlez blast n' Anthonyz lyrics blew up like a muthafucka all up in tha same time: "Kidz on tha track!" "When tha engineer just let his hand down on dat train whistle n' it just kept blowing, I just had dis wack gut feelin dat suttin' was definitely wack wit tha thugs," holla'd Kate sadly.

Anthony sprang all up in tha cab door onto a narrow hustlin board six feet above tha wheels n' raced ta tha front of tha swayin train. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Climbin quickly down a steel ladder, he paused all up in tha bottom, two feet above tha roadbed flashin by. Now his schmoooove ass could clearly peep tha two children, whoz ass was chillin alongside tha rail fo' realz. Anthony waved wildly yo, but they could barely hear his voice over tha bangin whistle. "Git away dawwwwg! Git away!" yelled Anthony frantically.

Kate rethugz hustlin toward tha tracks from tha driveway. "I couldn't git up there fast enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. Those hairy-ass legz of mine just wouldn't move fast enough cause I gots dem finger-lickin' chickens wit tha siz-auce. I gots ta tha end of tha driveway n' tha whole time, I was beatboxin up fo' Todd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I was just beatboxin his name," she recalls.

Anthony lost view from tha front of tha engine n' couldn't peep up in front of his muthafuckin ass. Da wide snow plow on tha front of tha train had only 12 inchez of clearance. Even wit tha brakes on, tha weight of tha 250-ton train carried it mo' than a hundred feet past where tha thugs was playin on tha tracks. "As soon as it stopped, I jumped off ta peep what tha fuck had happened n' if Tony was all right. I thought, 'That lil pimp was capped,'" holla'd Richard.

Anthony holla'd at Slick Rick ta booty-call a gangbangin' finger-lickin' dispatcher n' dat they needed five-o n' a ambulance, n' Slick Rick agreed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "I just remember seein tha snow plow hit tha smallest lil pimp up in tha head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Automatically, I be thinking, 'Dat punk havin severe head fuck-ups,'" holla'd Anthony sadly. Meanwhile, Todd was jumpin up n' down on tha railway, bustin up like a biatch hysterically. "Oh mah God, what tha fuck happened?!" axed Kate frantically.

Anthony twisted ta grill her n' shit. "Ma'am," da perved-out muthafucka holla'd up in a cold-ass lil calm voice, "go back ta yo' house. Call tha five-o n' ambulance." Kate, only half hearin him, extended her arms ta take Scott fo' realz. Anthony was rappin again, mo' sharply, "Ma'am, listen! Go ta yo' doggy den n' call tha police-call a ambulance. Go!"

At 11:05am, Katez call fo' help came in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Fifteen-year veteran Glenn Carpovich was tha straight-up original gangsta respondin fool on tha scene. "When I heard tha call, I expected tha worst. Normally, a thug involved wit a train ta any degree be a gangbangin' fatal accident," he explained.

Afta Kate made tha call, she reached Gary via his beeper n' shit. "I dialed mah homeboy, n' I holla'd, 'Scottz been hit by a train. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Just git home as fast as you can.' I did not know tha dark shiznit of what tha fuck state Scott was in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Blood was comin outta his nose, his crazy-ass grill, n' tha top of his head. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Anthony holla'd, 'We need ta git you ta tha hospitizzle.' And I holla'd, 'Please just wait all dem mo' minutes fo' mah homeboy.' Knowin dat if he gots there n' saw our asses gone, tha skanky muthafucka would've just fallen apart son! I wanted his ass there wit me," her big-ass booty holla'd tearfully.