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SOURCE: “The mother of the 6-year-old boy who was wounded by gunfire in Roxbury lashed out at Mayor Martin J. Walsh last night, calling him a “liar” and insisting her son’s father was not the intended target of Sunday night’s shooting.”
I have a hard time believing this one, Turtleriders, for several reasons. First, what could a 6-year-old possibly do to warrant a slug to the back? Snap your soon-to-be-collectible Dandelion Yellow Crayola in half, shiv you with a modified Capri Sun straw…? Second, Dad has been identified by friends as Rufus “Rugga” Wornum, 32, of Roxbury. As I’m sure your well-oiled minds have gathered from those +/- dozen words, Rufie-roo is an upstanding citizen, a pillar of the Roxbury Community – a member in good standing of Din-du-nuffin, Inc.
Rufie’s racked up three gun charges since 2011, one of which stemmed from a drive-by incident in which the vehicle he was riding was suspected of popping some dude on St. James Street in Roxbury.
Kids… what is one of the most fundamental life lessons we learn before the age of, say, 21?
You do not shit where you eat. Again, I repeat, you DO NOT shit where you eat. That’s how we get into situations where our kids get smoked. But, I digress…
When the five-oh got Rugga and his riders to pull over, they found a burner, in plain view, next to Rugga in the back seat; the heater had one in the hole, cocked and ready to go. If you’re not a frequent visitor to the fine enclave that is Roxbury, it’s SOP to ride around with a gat on display, even if hosing someone down with lead isn’t on the agenda for that day. Anyway, Rufus ended up getting bagged and spending 3 years in the clink for this particular douchecapade, being released in November 2015.
Supposedly, Rugga has been cleaning up his life post-release. He’s become a dedicated family man according to community leader Rufus Faulk, who is currently running for Tito Jackson’s empty seat for District 7 on the Boston City Council. But… who really knows. What we DO all know is that street beefs have no expiration date. You could have done something in 1948, then take a walk through the wrong section of town in present day, and BAM! OG Grampa Barry comes out the cut with a shank and you’re just fucking toast, guy.
I mean, I’d hold a grudge against a dude walking around in those poorly shredded jeans and a hand towel hanging out of his waistband, too.
What’s most disturbing about all of this is, Rugga, according to reports, “…was combative … and combative to the poor doctors.”
Him? Combative? Nah, B, chill, must’ve been someone else.
Now, imagine you’re the doctor who is dealing with the heart-wrenching reality of a fucking KINDERGARTNER in front of you with a bullet wound which sliced through his tiny back and out near his fucking genitalia, and you’re wondering how to treat him properly so the physical impacts are limited… then you have this “reformed” skagbag gangbanger in front of you, who also happens to be the father of this child, not giving you pertinent information to help said child and just being a straight up spaz. This is why North Shore Turtlebabe doesn’t work with the public. I would’ve slapped this slugrake-cum-fuckknuckle faster than you could issue the hood warning cry of “SKEE-YOOOOO!”
Of course, mom is standing by her man, saying “HE DIN DU NUFFIN!” and accusing the Mayor of Boston and even the Bonston Police Commish himself of lying. She insists that her baby daddy was not a target, that this was a random shooting, and that both the Mayor and the Commissioner are judging Rugga based on his rap sheet.
Even Marty and The Commish are perplexed on this one; Marty’s caught here looking like Curious George in a conundrum. Rugga straight up told the officers himself at the scene that he believes he was the intended target, not his son. Of course, he’s since backtracked and stopped cooperating with the fuzz. But I guess everyone is just lying on them, callin’ them out their names for the sake of it, right? Right.
I will never understand, nor try to, when a woman stands by her man when it places her child(ren) in imminent danger. This gravy dumpster had more to say about Rufie and the words that may or may not have came out of his mouth than she did about her child’s well-being, only being quoted as saying: “I’m worried about my kid” before going on a tangent about the Mayor and the police. Those poor kids don’t stand a fucking chance, folks, and that’s the biggest tragedy here.
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