General Mills
More often than not I tend to take that L.
Jezuz Krist Breh. You have seen some real shyt
Ayo! We need to hear the story of how you got locked up over there. I know that shyt is banana's
The Chronicles of RawDogbandit
- Thread starter RawDogBandit
- Start date
Ayo! We need to hear the story of how you got locked up over there. I know that shyt is banana's
This one I’ll call Jenny from the Block
Any Black man who spent time stationed in Korea knows about juicy girls. Bar girls
. The comfort specialists”
as one of my homies put it.
Professional finessers with good English and better instincts. Ask any brotha who’s been through Osan or Humphreys they’ll tell you whole sagas. But this ain’t that kind of story. Not exactly.
This one starts around May 2012—
I had just met Obama earlier that year (well… shook his hand).
I was seriously considering making the Air Force a career. I was killing it at work. Finally understood my position. I was Volunteering. Coaching. Etc
And at the same time, I was at the peak of my trafficking.
Double life.
Double blessings, depending on how you see it.
The First Time I Saw Jenny
The first time I saw Jenny, I damn near stopped in my tracks.
Early evening in Osan, right outside the base.
She was 5’9, slim thick in that “I don’t work out but I walk everywhere” way.
Jet-black hair.
Piercings in her cheeks that made her whole face smile even when she wasn’t.
Drop dead gorgeous.
She reminded me of a Korean Cassie —
soft face, mischievous eyes, a little too gorgeous to trust on sight.
And she wasn’t alone.
She was wrapped up with some brotha walking dead center down the street like he owned the whole peninsula. One of those popular E-5/E-6 dudes who always knew the bouncers by name, always had a drink in his hand, always had the other girls seeing what was up.
I saw them… and still knew I wanted her.
Not in a thirsty way.
More like: if life ever lines up right, she’s mine for at least one night.
Fast-Forward Two Weeks
A spot called Osan Lounge.
Spoken word night.
Closest thing we had to the Love Jones lounge vibe.
Sistas snapping, singing, brothas spitting. It was perfect in my opinion
Ole boy, the same dude she was hugged up with — grabbed the mic to rap, then casually mentioned he was PCSing.
In my head I said:
Bet.
A Week, maybe two. Idk
Random night out with one of my boys.
Town was dead one of those where random shyt happens
Then outta nowhere, we walk into this spot…
and there she is.
Jenny.
Posted at the bar like the femme fatale in a Bond movie.
She smiled at me first.
That playful, flirty smile like she already knew my name.
I was clean during that time — the drug money, BAH, and overseas pay was treating a brotha right.
Me and my boy talked to her and her friends maybe ten minutes,
and somehow — don’t ask me how —
she gave both of us her number.
But she wasn’t giving my boy the time of day.
He had already smashed one of her homegirls.
She said we should “kick it later in the week.”
I knew exactly what that meant.
So did he.
There’s always a little competition between military dudes, but if you were cool, you didn’t hate. And luckily, my job had me on a weird schedule — I could be off four days in a row. And I had a little more money.
The Night She Let Me Hit
I remember the exact day.
LeBron and the 2011–2012 Heat had just won the championship.
I had a hotel off base in the cut.
I probably texted six girls that night, but if you ever had soju, you know. that shyt hits without warning.
I knocked out around 3 AM.
Woke up to Korean, Filipina, and American girls cussing me out because I didn’t answer.
Except one.
Jenny.
She texted where you at
I told her where I was.
Long story short…
She pulled up and put it on me slow.
Rode me while LeBron was telling Mario Chalmers to chill on celebrating too early
I was hooked on that afterwards
After that night, we were locked in.
We went out to eat all the time.
She introduced me to Korean food the right way —
not the tourist shyt
but the “my mama cooks this” way and to restaurants that foreigners couldn’t find
She talked about wanting to be a model.
Dreamed of leaving Korea.
New York, LA, Japan. anywhere but home.
She was flirty.
Playful.
A little delusional.
But sweet in a way that hit me at the wrong time in my life.
Now I was the one walking hand in hand in Osan
One time she went to Jeju Island with her homegirls.
She told me she was going.
I said bet, have fun, text me when you land.
But life had got hectic my initial arrest, stress piling, drinking heavy.
I didn’t check in on her. When she got back? She was heated which made sense
Said,
“You didn’t check on me. You don’t care.” In her Korean accent
Whole attitude shifted brehs
Voice higher. Conversations shorter. Walking fast like she was late to a place she didn’t actually have to be. You know how women get.
I tried to explain I had shyt going on.
She wasn’t tryna hear that.
That’s when things started slowing down.
And a little after that… everything fell apart for real.
This night stands out to me for some reason
Another random night I went back to the club to see her.
We talked for like two hours.
Easy conversation.
Playful.
I’d kick it with her, her homegirls, and some of my boys getting my ass kicked at the pool table.
Korean girls were nice on them joints.
Then this older cat, early 30s, contractor type — was macking hard at the bar.
Curfew was getting close.
She looked at me and said,
“You coming over tonight?”
Then she pulled her keys off the wall
and dropped them in my hand in front of dude.
Said, “Go to my apartment. I’ll meet you. Curfew is soon.”
She told me where it was, a few streets over. I nodded like I knew.
I did not.
So here I am, keys in hand, sprinting through backstreets like a madman, trying to find it before security forces start patrolling.
I found it with minutes to spare — sweating, out of breath, acting like I just casually walked up.
Walked up a flight of steps.Her spot was wild. Two rooms.
One whole room, floor to ceiling, nothing but shoes brehs. Designer, knockoffs, heels, boots, sneakers.
Her kitchen? Empty. One bowl of ramen. Not even soju if I remember correctly .
That was it.
That night she told me older Black contractors paid all her bills. Said it casually as hell. Didn’t blink.
And I still stayed.
You had to be there to understand
We stopped talking shortly before I got locked up.
Things were getting messy.
My life was unraveling , drinking heavy, stress everywhere, and I didn’t want her anywhere near that.
She didn’t understand why I pulled back until I found her years later after I got out and told her. I didn’t have the words back then.
Sometimes life cuts people out your story for reasons you don’t understand until years later.
Jenny was one of those.
Side Note
On the bus to Cheonan when my appeal got shot down, I sat next to this tall Blood brotha who used to be in the Army. He had gotten locked up for drugs. I had heard about him through the grapevine before I went in. Tattoos everywhere. Gold grill(told the Koreans they were permanent
) Raspy voice from being in the punishment room.
We started talking about Osan.
Outta nowhere he asked me:
“You know a girl named Jenny?”
Mane we both described her to a tee.The piercings. The room of shoes. Her crew. Her laugh.
Everything.
We talked about her for months.
She was special, mane
Any Black man who spent time stationed in Korea knows about juicy girls. Bar girls
. The comfort specialists”
as one of my homies put it.Professional finessers with good English and better instincts. Ask any brotha who’s been through Osan or Humphreys they’ll tell you whole sagas. But this ain’t that kind of story. Not exactly.
This one starts around May 2012—
I had just met Obama earlier that year (well… shook his hand).
I was seriously considering making the Air Force a career. I was killing it at work. Finally understood my position. I was Volunteering. Coaching. Etc
And at the same time, I was at the peak of my trafficking.
Double life.
Double blessings, depending on how you see it.
The First Time I Saw Jenny
The first time I saw Jenny, I damn near stopped in my tracks.
Early evening in Osan, right outside the base.
She was 5’9, slim thick in that “I don’t work out but I walk everywhere” way.
Jet-black hair.
Piercings in her cheeks that made her whole face smile even when she wasn’t.
Drop dead gorgeous.
She reminded me of a Korean Cassie —
soft face, mischievous eyes, a little too gorgeous to trust on sight.
And she wasn’t alone.
She was wrapped up with some brotha walking dead center down the street like he owned the whole peninsula. One of those popular E-5/E-6 dudes who always knew the bouncers by name, always had a drink in his hand, always had the other girls seeing what was up.
I saw them… and still knew I wanted her.
Not in a thirsty way.
More like: if life ever lines up right, she’s mine for at least one night.
Fast-Forward Two Weeks
A spot called Osan Lounge.
Spoken word night.
Closest thing we had to the Love Jones lounge vibe.
Sistas snapping, singing, brothas spitting. It was perfect in my opinion
Ole boy, the same dude she was hugged up with — grabbed the mic to rap, then casually mentioned he was PCSing.
In my head I said:
Bet.
A Week, maybe two. Idk
Random night out with one of my boys.
Town was dead one of those where random shyt happens
Then outta nowhere, we walk into this spot…
and there she is.
Jenny.
Posted at the bar like the femme fatale in a Bond movie.
She smiled at me first.
That playful, flirty smile like she already knew my name.
I was clean during that time — the drug money, BAH, and overseas pay was treating a brotha right.
Me and my boy talked to her and her friends maybe ten minutes,
and somehow — don’t ask me how —
she gave both of us her number.
But she wasn’t giving my boy the time of day.
He had already smashed one of her homegirls.
She said we should “kick it later in the week.”
I knew exactly what that meant.
So did he.
There’s always a little competition between military dudes, but if you were cool, you didn’t hate. And luckily, my job had me on a weird schedule — I could be off four days in a row. And I had a little more money.
The Night She Let Me Hit
I remember the exact day.
LeBron and the 2011–2012 Heat had just won the championship.
I had a hotel off base in the cut.
I probably texted six girls that night, but if you ever had soju, you know. that shyt hits without warning.
I knocked out around 3 AM.
Woke up to Korean, Filipina, and American girls cussing me out because I didn’t answer.
Except one.
Jenny.
She texted where you at
I told her where I was.
Long story short…
She pulled up and put it on me slow.
Rode me while LeBron was telling Mario Chalmers to chill on celebrating too early
I was hooked on that afterwards
After that night, we were locked in.
We went out to eat all the time.
She introduced me to Korean food the right way —
not the tourist shyt
but the “my mama cooks this” way and to restaurants that foreigners couldn’t find
She talked about wanting to be a model.
Dreamed of leaving Korea.
New York, LA, Japan. anywhere but home.
She was flirty.
Playful.
A little delusional.
But sweet in a way that hit me at the wrong time in my life.
Now I was the one walking hand in hand in Osan
One time she went to Jeju Island with her homegirls.
She told me she was going.
I said bet, have fun, text me when you land.
But life had got hectic my initial arrest, stress piling, drinking heavy.
I didn’t check in on her. When she got back? She was heated which made sense
Said,
“You didn’t check on me. You don’t care.” In her Korean accent
Whole attitude shifted brehs
Voice higher. Conversations shorter. Walking fast like she was late to a place she didn’t actually have to be. You know how women get.
I tried to explain I had shyt going on.
She wasn’t tryna hear that.
That’s when things started slowing down.
And a little after that… everything fell apart for real.
This night stands out to me for some reason
Another random night I went back to the club to see her.
We talked for like two hours.
Easy conversation.
Playful.
I’d kick it with her, her homegirls, and some of my boys getting my ass kicked at the pool table.
Korean girls were nice on them joints.
Then this older cat, early 30s, contractor type — was macking hard at the bar.
Curfew was getting close.
She looked at me and said,
“You coming over tonight?”
Then she pulled her keys off the wall
and dropped them in my hand in front of dude.
Said, “Go to my apartment. I’ll meet you. Curfew is soon.”
She told me where it was, a few streets over. I nodded like I knew.
I did not.
So here I am, keys in hand, sprinting through backstreets like a madman, trying to find it before security forces start patrolling.
I found it with minutes to spare — sweating, out of breath, acting like I just casually walked up.
Walked up a flight of steps.Her spot was wild. Two rooms.
One whole room, floor to ceiling, nothing but shoes brehs. Designer, knockoffs, heels, boots, sneakers.
Her kitchen? Empty. One bowl of ramen. Not even soju if I remember correctly .
That was it.
That night she told me older Black contractors paid all her bills. Said it casually as hell. Didn’t blink.
And I still stayed.
You had to be there to understand
We stopped talking shortly before I got locked up.
Things were getting messy.
My life was unraveling , drinking heavy, stress everywhere, and I didn’t want her anywhere near that.
She didn’t understand why I pulled back until I found her years later after I got out and told her. I didn’t have the words back then.
Sometimes life cuts people out your story for reasons you don’t understand until years later.
Jenny was one of those.
Side Note
On the bus to Cheonan when my appeal got shot down, I sat next to this tall Blood brotha who used to be in the Army. He had gotten locked up for drugs. I had heard about him through the grapevine before I went in. Tattoos everywhere. Gold grill(told the Koreans they were permanent
) Raspy voice from being in the punishment room.We started talking about Osan.
Outta nowhere he asked me:
“You know a girl named Jenny?”
Mane we both described her to a tee.The piercings. The room of shoes. Her crew. Her laugh.
Everything.
We talked about her for months.
She was special, mane
Wrote that one on my phone. My fault if it looks funky.
I'm home now now so I'll drop the next one in a few
I'm home now now so I'll drop the next one in a few
Entering the game
When I was stationed in Grand Forks, I had this white homie named D Streetz.To this day, he might be the most perfect Airman I’ve ever met.
The kind leadership loves.
Sharp uniform. Clean boots. Early to everything. White. Lol. Won every award.
And that left-hand jumper? Butter. Pure. He was a HUGE Kobe fam
We met in Tech School, where you learn your job before they ship you off.
They told him he was headed to Grand Forks, and I laughed at him.
Ten seconds later they told me the same thing.
Destiny really be playing too much and talking to us brehs
He left Grand Forks about a year and a half before I did. Got orders to Kunsan.
I’d see him on Facebook living the expat life — eating everything, sightseeing, partying, smiling too big.
One random day he hit me on Facebook.
“Yo, Rawdogbandit,
you trying to make some extra money when you get to Korea?”
I thought he meant throwing parties.
I’d made a little bread doing that in North Dakota and Canada.
“Hell yea, what’s up?”
“Cool dude. I’ll tell you when you get here. I saved like 50K so far.”
50 K
He didn’t have to say shyt else. That was alot of money to me back then.
This man was straight-arrow military.
The only laws he broke were underage drinking and maybe driving after two beers — and even then he’d call a taxi.
So whatever he was doing? It couldn't be that deep
A few months later, I landed in Korea.
Two weeks in, I met up with Streetz outside the base.
We hopped on a train to Seoul. My first real foreign train ride.
Also Koreans were quiet in a way I didn’t understand. Nobody was loud.
Nobody doing too much.
Just stillness and respect.
Meanwhile me and Streetz sounded like two American dudes fresh outta America —
laughing too hard, smiling too big, reminiscing.
He was telling me about everything he’d seen so far.
I had a new kid. So I justified this by saying I can take
But 22-year-old me didn’t have enough life lived to understand warnings.
Everything felt like an adventure.
My life was about to change and I didn’t even truly know it.
Streetz leaned back and asked:
“You ready?”
Then he broke it down.
For the last two years, he’d been picking up a package from base, delivering it into Korea, collecting cash, partying, heading back.
The operation had been running for seven years. Half a dozen Airmen cycled through it.
Quiet. Steady. Lucrative. He told me some were in Japan now. Guam. Germany.
New cars. New houses
I didn’t even ask what was in the package at first. That opportunity came back around though
Yeah, I know stupid.
But I was 22, cool, overseas, and I thought I could handle anything.
And the math made sense:
If it ran this long…
If Streetz was involved…
If he saved that much money…
What the hell could go wrong?
Gangnam
When we got off the train and walked into Gangnam, it felt like somebody sliced open the world and let me step into the future.
The air smelled rich.
Neon lights bounced off glass skyscrapers.
People moved fast but never messy.
Every car looked like it cost somebody’s annual salary.
At that moment, brehs?
Memphis and Grand Forks felt as far as the Moon
No corner stores.
No Southern humidity.
No familiar accents.
No flat lands
No dusty ass bars were they didn't let you cause you were black.
Just a new city built on money, speed, and image I wasn’t accustomed to.
I was a 22-year-old Black man with a newborn back home and an E-4 girlfriend in the back of my mind…
walking into shyt I didn’t even have the vocabulary for yet.
As we walked, Streetz pulled out a flip phone. I later learned ALL of that is still tracked. Every cell phone purchase. Even burners
“Yo, we’re here.”
A few minutes later, a car pulled up —
low to the ground, matte black, tinted windows, engine rumbling low like it was clearing its throat.
Tokyo Drift energy. It screeched to a stop in front of us.
Streetz hopped in the back.
I slid into the front after ole boy said
“Yo Raw, get in the front”
Inside was a Korean American dude —
fade sharp, bomber jacket clean, Rolex, gold chain
He was calm, but I wasn't sure if he was truly the violent type. We’ll call him Jay Woo-shi.
He looked me over, smirked, and said:
“Yo, what’s good, Rawdogbandit?
Streetz told me all about you.”
Then he pulled off into Gangnam traffic speeding. Gangnam is beautiful asf btw
“Open the glovebox for me and hand that envelope to Streetz.”
I opened it. Inside was a fat ass envelope.Crisp Korean bills. Several different colors.
Later that night I’d find out it was $15K.
Streetz took that shyt without blinking.
“That’s your going-away present.”
And in that moment brehs, something shifted in me.
The lines in my life damn near blurred. I hadn’t seen that much cash honestly at once.
The world changed. I always had ambition. But this was different.
But looking back brehs.
The moment I touched that envelope, somewhere a clock started ticking.
But in that car, in that city, at that age?
A young breh was in.
When I was stationed in Grand Forks, I had this white homie named D Streetz.To this day, he might be the most perfect Airman I’ve ever met.
The kind leadership loves.
Sharp uniform. Clean boots. Early to everything. White. Lol. Won every award.
And that left-hand jumper? Butter. Pure. He was a HUGE Kobe fam
We met in Tech School, where you learn your job before they ship you off.
They told him he was headed to Grand Forks, and I laughed at him.
Ten seconds later they told me the same thing.
Destiny really be playing too much and talking to us brehs
He left Grand Forks about a year and a half before I did. Got orders to Kunsan.
I’d see him on Facebook living the expat life — eating everything, sightseeing, partying, smiling too big.
One random day he hit me on Facebook.
“Yo, Rawdogbandit,
you trying to make some extra money when you get to Korea?”
I thought he meant throwing parties.
I’d made a little bread doing that in North Dakota and Canada.
“Hell yea, what’s up?”
“Cool dude. I’ll tell you when you get here. I saved like 50K so far.”
50 K
He didn’t have to say shyt else. That was alot of money to me back then.
This man was straight-arrow military.
The only laws he broke were underage drinking and maybe driving after two beers — and even then he’d call a taxi.
So whatever he was doing? It couldn't be that deep
A few months later, I landed in Korea.
Two weeks in, I met up with Streetz outside the base.
We hopped on a train to Seoul. My first real foreign train ride.
Also Koreans were quiet in a way I didn’t understand. Nobody was loud.
Nobody doing too much.
Just stillness and respect.
Meanwhile me and Streetz sounded like two American dudes fresh outta America —
laughing too hard, smiling too big, reminiscing.
He was telling me about everything he’d seen so far.
I had a new kid. So I justified this by saying I can take
But 22-year-old me didn’t have enough life lived to understand warnings.
Everything felt like an adventure.
My life was about to change and I didn’t even truly know it.
Streetz leaned back and asked:
“You ready?”
Then he broke it down.
For the last two years, he’d been picking up a package from base, delivering it into Korea, collecting cash, partying, heading back.
The operation had been running for seven years. Half a dozen Airmen cycled through it.
Quiet. Steady. Lucrative. He told me some were in Japan now. Guam. Germany.
New cars. New houses
I didn’t even ask what was in the package at first. That opportunity came back around though
Yeah, I know stupid.
But I was 22, cool, overseas, and I thought I could handle anything.
And the math made sense:
If it ran this long…
If Streetz was involved…
If he saved that much money…
What the hell could go wrong?
Gangnam
When we got off the train and walked into Gangnam, it felt like somebody sliced open the world and let me step into the future.
The air smelled rich.
Neon lights bounced off glass skyscrapers.
People moved fast but never messy.
Every car looked like it cost somebody’s annual salary.
At that moment, brehs?
Memphis and Grand Forks felt as far as the Moon
No corner stores.
No Southern humidity.
No familiar accents.
No flat lands
No dusty ass bars were they didn't let you cause you were black.
Just a new city built on money, speed, and image I wasn’t accustomed to.
I was a 22-year-old Black man with a newborn back home and an E-4 girlfriend in the back of my mind…
walking into shyt I didn’t even have the vocabulary for yet.
As we walked, Streetz pulled out a flip phone. I later learned ALL of that is still tracked. Every cell phone purchase. Even burners
“Yo, we’re here.”
A few minutes later, a car pulled up —
low to the ground, matte black, tinted windows, engine rumbling low like it was clearing its throat.
Tokyo Drift energy. It screeched to a stop in front of us.
Streetz hopped in the back.
I slid into the front after ole boy said
“Yo Raw, get in the front”
Inside was a Korean American dude —
fade sharp, bomber jacket clean, Rolex, gold chain
He was calm, but I wasn't sure if he was truly the violent type. We’ll call him Jay Woo-shi.
He looked me over, smirked, and said:
“Yo, what’s good, Rawdogbandit?
Streetz told me all about you.”
Then he pulled off into Gangnam traffic speeding. Gangnam is beautiful asf btw
“Open the glovebox for me and hand that envelope to Streetz.”
I opened it. Inside was a fat ass envelope.Crisp Korean bills. Several different colors.
Later that night I’d find out it was $15K.
Streetz took that shyt without blinking.
“That’s your going-away present.”
And in that moment brehs, something shifted in me.
The lines in my life damn near blurred. I hadn’t seen that much cash honestly at once.
The world changed. I always had ambition. But this was different.
But looking back brehs.
The moment I touched that envelope, somewhere a clock started ticking.
But in that car, in that city, at that age?
A young breh was in.
Last one for tonight. I'll drop something else tmmrw.
“Yo, RawdogBandit, this is how it goes down,” Jay Wooshi and Streetz told me.
“Every few weeks a package comes in. Candy and coffee inside.
‘Coffee’ is the code word.
Pick up the coffee. That’s it.”
Easy enough, I thought.
Jay Woo-shi dropped us off somewhere deep in Gangnam after that first night out.
Looking back, I realized he only partied with me one time.
He had a wife, a kid, and a whole life outside the nightlife.
I was too young, too American, too entertained by the neon to see the chessboard.
We ended up partying with some rich Korean kid Jay introduced to Streetz, way past curfew.
That was my first time dancing with a Korean girl.
They had no rhythm, but a brotha from Memphis wasn’t complaining — I was hooked.
When I got back to my hotel, I called my girl at the time.
She told me straight up:
“Don’t do it.
If you do, we’re done.”
I obviously didn’t listen. And lied to her.
The First Package
A few weeks later, I picked up my first package.
It was light asf
I’m not sure I even breathed right walking that shyt off base.
I met Jay Woo-shi and got 5,000 dollars’ worth of Korean won for it. The early runs were always around that.The most I’d get on those first few was $7,500.
I took a taxi off base and partied for a few nights.
Living like a young king who didn’t;t give a fukk. Whenever anybody asked. I told them it was BAH and overseas pay.
By April, I finally learned what was actually inside the package.
We were in a nice hotel suite.
When I walked in, three people were already there:
-Jay Woo-shi
-A club owner I became cool with
Jay handed me an envelope full of money… then opened the package.
Some of the Coli’s brehs favorite activity
Marijuana.
Exactly what I expected — but I didn’t expect this much.
Two pounds worth.
I’d been smoking off and on since I was sixteen, but I never checked the weed laws in Korea.
Didn’t think I had to. I smoked only a few times. Mostly in Busan.
For whatever reason, maybe curiosity or stupidity, I asked:
“How much y’all selling this for?”
Jay smirked.
“Guess.”
“Twenty a gram?”
“Nope. Higher.”
“Thirty?”
“Nope.”
“Fifty?”
The club owner and the nephew started laughing.
“Seventy?”
Jay just shook his head.
“One hundred a gram.”
That hit me.
Do the math brehs
And I was getting five to seven thousand.
That’s when it clicked brehs
I was getting screwed
That realization sat harder than the soju.
That night, the club owner and the nephew took me out.Bottles everywhere.Girls everywhere.
Kpop, Lil Wayne and Drake.. Rich ass Korean kids blowing money they didn’t earn.
I had way too much to drink.I started thinking about my son.Started thinking about how I was the one risking it all. I got liquor courage.
So I called Jay Woo-shi — drunk and loud as fucl
“I need a little more,” I told him.
“I’m the one taking the risk.
I’m the one passing this to whoever’s next.
I need more.”
Jay didn’t yell.
Didn’t threaten.
Didn’t even sound surprised.
“Ok cool. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The next morning, he called:
“You hungry? Come eat with me and the boys.”
If you don’t know Korean culture, let me explain
When this involved in the Mafia invites you to eat with his whole crew, it’s either
-respect or a warning
I didn’t know which one I was walking into. I was dumb asf looking back
I showed up to the restaurant.
About nine Korean dudes were sitting there — all dressed clean, all with that Outsiders vibe, hair slicked, jackets sharp, some sleeves rolled and shyt
looking like they belonged in a street fashion ad lmao
My stomach dropped. I was nervous asf
I legitimately thought this was a goodbye dinner.
I thought I was done for.
After a couple rounds of Soju and eating
One dude — Korean American name Jason(I had smoked with him multiple times in Busan and hit a few massage parlors he owned) lo
“I heard you were asking for more money.”
. Everybody didn’t fully talk English but I noticed they were listening
I don’t know where the courage came from, but I said:
“Yeah. I’m risking everything. The Air Force
I need a little more.”
The club owner smirked. The nephew of the CEO corporation laughed like I had said something bold but true.
Jason nodded slowly.
“Nobody ever questioned us before.
We respect it. All the whit boys use to just go with it.
Jay Woo-shi leaned back, relaxed, and said:
“We’ll give you a bigger percentage.
You earned it. You cool asf. We respect black Americans.(or some shyt like that)
And that was it.
Not a threat.
Not a lecture.
Just business.
They increased my cut enough to make my head spin, enough to make me feel smarter than I really was, enough to keep me in the game without realizing how deep the water was.
Looking back now, I know the truth: The universe was telling me to get the hell out the game.
But at that table?
I thought I had won. I thought I wasincluded in the family. I thought I was better than I was.
I got arrested less than six months later
I also found out eveyrbody in the Korean Mafia is bytchmade and would snitch without hesitation.
“Yo, RawdogBandit, this is how it goes down,” Jay Wooshi and Streetz told me.
“Every few weeks a package comes in. Candy and coffee inside.
‘Coffee’ is the code word.
Pick up the coffee. That’s it.”
Easy enough, I thought.
Jay Woo-shi dropped us off somewhere deep in Gangnam after that first night out.
Looking back, I realized he only partied with me one time.
He had a wife, a kid, and a whole life outside the nightlife.
I was too young, too American, too entertained by the neon to see the chessboard.
We ended up partying with some rich Korean kid Jay introduced to Streetz, way past curfew.
That was my first time dancing with a Korean girl.
They had no rhythm, but a brotha from Memphis wasn’t complaining — I was hooked.
When I got back to my hotel, I called my girl at the time.
She told me straight up:
“Don’t do it.
If you do, we’re done.”
I obviously didn’t listen. And lied to her.
The First Package
A few weeks later, I picked up my first package.
It was light asf
I’m not sure I even breathed right walking that shyt off base.
I met Jay Woo-shi and got 5,000 dollars’ worth of Korean won for it. The early runs were always around that.The most I’d get on those first few was $7,500.
I took a taxi off base and partied for a few nights.
Living like a young king who didn’t;t give a fukk. Whenever anybody asked. I told them it was BAH and overseas pay.
By April, I finally learned what was actually inside the package.
We were in a nice hotel suite.
When I walked in, three people were already there:
-Jay Woo-shi
-A club owner I became cool with
- A rich kid — nephew of a major Korean corporation(I would hear his name later in court)
- And Jay’s pregnant girlfriend sitting quietly in the corner. Just smiling lol.
Jay handed me an envelope full of money… then opened the package.
Some of the Coli’s brehs favorite activity
Marijuana.
Exactly what I expected — but I didn’t expect this much.
Two pounds worth.
I’d been smoking off and on since I was sixteen, but I never checked the weed laws in Korea.
Didn’t think I had to. I smoked only a few times. Mostly in Busan.
For whatever reason, maybe curiosity or stupidity, I asked:
“How much y’all selling this for?”
Jay smirked.
“Guess.”
“Twenty a gram?”
“Nope. Higher.”
“Thirty?”
“Nope.”
“Fifty?”
The club owner and the nephew started laughing.
“Seventy?”
Jay just shook his head.
“One hundred a gram.”
That hit me.
Do the math brehs
And I was getting five to seven thousand.
That’s when it clicked brehs
I was getting screwed
That realization sat harder than the soju.
That night, the club owner and the nephew took me out.Bottles everywhere.Girls everywhere.
Kpop, Lil Wayne and Drake.. Rich ass Korean kids blowing money they didn’t earn.
I had way too much to drink.I started thinking about my son.Started thinking about how I was the one risking it all. I got liquor courage.
So I called Jay Woo-shi — drunk and loud as fucl
“I need a little more,” I told him.
“I’m the one taking the risk.
I’m the one passing this to whoever’s next.
I need more.”
Jay didn’t yell.
Didn’t threaten.
Didn’t even sound surprised.
“Ok cool. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The next morning, he called:
“You hungry? Come eat with me and the boys.”
If you don’t know Korean culture, let me explain
When this involved in the Mafia invites you to eat with his whole crew, it’s either
-respect or a warning
I didn’t know which one I was walking into. I was dumb asf looking back
I showed up to the restaurant.
About nine Korean dudes were sitting there — all dressed clean, all with that Outsiders vibe, hair slicked, jackets sharp, some sleeves rolled and shyt
looking like they belonged in a street fashion ad lmao
My stomach dropped. I was nervous asf
I legitimately thought this was a goodbye dinner.
I thought I was done for.
After a couple rounds of Soju and eating
One dude — Korean American name Jason(I had smoked with him multiple times in Busan and hit a few massage parlors he owned) lo
“I heard you were asking for more money.”
. Everybody didn’t fully talk English but I noticed they were listening
I don’t know where the courage came from, but I said:
“Yeah. I’m risking everything. The Air Force
I need a little more.”
The club owner smirked. The nephew of the CEO corporation laughed like I had said something bold but true.
Jason nodded slowly.
“Nobody ever questioned us before.
We respect it. All the whit boys use to just go with it.
Jay Woo-shi leaned back, relaxed, and said:
“We’ll give you a bigger percentage.
You earned it. You cool asf. We respect black Americans.(or some shyt like that)
And that was it.
Not a threat.
Not a lecture.
Just business.
They increased my cut enough to make my head spin, enough to make me feel smarter than I really was, enough to keep me in the game without realizing how deep the water was.
Looking back now, I know the truth: The universe was telling me to get the hell out the game.
But at that table?
I thought I had won. I thought I wasincluded in the family. I thought I was better than I was.
I got arrested less than six months later
I also found out eveyrbody in the Korean Mafia is bytchmade and would snitch without hesitation.
Korean Prison Circa 2013
KingsOfKings
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