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HARLEM SHAKER: HICKSON

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HICKSON IS SIGNED TO GHETTOHEAT®!

HICKSON IS AUTHOR OF THE CONTROVERSIAL POETRY BOOK, GHETTOHEAT®.

HICKSON IS ALSO CEO, PUBLISHER, EDITOR & MASTERMIND OF THE MULTIMEDIA GROUP, GHETTOHEAT®.

HICKSON IS MERELY A CHILD OF GOD ON HIS SPIRITUAL JOURNEY…

HICKSON IS HUSTLING: HE’S DONE 850 BOOK SIGNINGS SINCE 9.6.03—YET, HAS MUCH MORE TO ACCOMPLISH.

HICKSON IS NOW CREATING A GREATER PLATFORM AT GHETTOHEAT® FOR HE & HIS ARTISTS TO BE HEARD.

HICKSON IS PROUD TO HAVE SIGNED & PUBLISHED GREAT WRITERS: NEWER WORKS RELEASED SOON…

HICKSON IS “SKATING” TO THE NEXT STAGE OF HIS CAREER—SKATE ON!, HIS DRAMATIC DEBUT NOVEL.

HICKSON IS A GREAT COOK, A LOVER OF ARTS, PHOTOGRAPHY, FASHION & MUSIC: A HARLEM HIP-HOP HEAD!

HICKSON IS LIVING WITH GREAT INTEGRITY, MORALS, VALUES & SCRUPLES, & IS LEADING BY EXAMPLE.

HICKSON IS SIGNED TO GHETTOHEAT®!

TO UNDERSTAND WHERE A MAN IS GOING, YOU HAVE TO KNOW WHERE HE’S BEEN…SKATE ON!.

 

 

ALL THE LADIES IN THE HOUSE SAY: A-O-W-W-W!!!

 

It’s 1983 and THE ROOFTOP roller-skating rink is the place to be! SKATE ON!, a coming-of-age tale about three teenage girlfriends from the Polo Grounds projects in Harlem, New York, learning life in the streets, getting into trouble and having carefree fun; while hanging out at the world’s most notorious skating rink, THE ROOFTOP. Meet the young ‘80s ladies:

 

Shani Smith – Darling, smart and naïve, this 15-year-old college student and devout Christian is growing bored of her sheltered life and “good girl” image; becoming more fascinated with fast life in the gritty streets. What happens when sweet and innocent Shani attracts Bricks, a ruthless drug kingpin from Washington Heights?

 

Keisha Campbell – Sexy, sassy and self-indulged, this 16-year-old materialistic girl is the “ghetto-princess” of Harlem. Extremely driven by money, power and the glamour of the drug world, Keisha, manipulatively goes to great lengths to get what she wants: even if it’s playing with fire by courting Bricks. Will lust and greed ruin her relationship with best friend, Shani?

 

Monique “Mo-Mo” Morrison – Rough, rebellious and raw, this 18-year-old inspiring rapper is a rebel without a cause, finding herself at war with the ghetto. An aggressive nymphomaniac, living minute-to-minute by any means necessary, will Mo-Mo succumb to the dangerous trappings of the inner city? SKATE ON! backwards into the ‘80s and reminisce on fashion, street and pop-culture, classic Hip-Hop, Dance Music and R & B at its best. Word up!

 

 

An excerpt from SKATE ON! by HICKSON: CEO of GHETTOHEAT®

A GHETTOHEAT® PRODUCTION

 

Quickly exiting the 155th Street train station on Eighth Avenue, Shani, purposely walking with her head held down low, decides to cross the street and walk parallel to the Polo Grounds; not chancing bumping into her parents. As she approaches the corner, Shani contemplates crossing over to Blimpie’s before walking down the block to the skating rink. She craves for a Blimpie Burger with cheese hero, but immediately changes her mind, fearing of ruining the outfit Keisha gave her. Shani then heads towards The Rooftop, feeling overly anxious to meet with her two friends. As she carefully walks down the dark and eerie block, Mo-Mo creeps up behind Shani and proceeds to put her in a headlock; throwing Shani off-guard.

 

“GET OFF OF ME!” Shani desperately pleads as she squirms, trying to break free. Already holding Shani with a firm grip, Mo-Mo applies more pressure around her neck. Trying to defend herself the best way she knows how, Shani reaches behind for Mo-Mo’s eyes and attempts to scratch her face. Mo-Mo immediately pushes her forward and laughs.

“Yeah, bitch, whachu gon’ do?” Mo-Mo teases. “SIKE!” Startled, Shani turns around with a surprised expression on her face.

“Mo-Mo, why are you always playing so much? You almost scared me half-to-death!” Shani whines while panting heavily, trying hard to catch her breath.

Mo-Mo continues to laugh loudly, “Yo, I had ya heart! You almost shitted on yaself! I could’ve put ya ass to sleep, bee!”

“Mo-Mo, please stop swearing so much,” Shani replies, as she smiles and reaches out to hug Mo-Mo. Mo-Mo then teasingly tugs at the plunging neckline of Shani’s snug-fitting leotard, pulling it down to reveal more of Shani’s cleavage.

“Since when ‘Miss Goody Two-Shoes’ started dressin’ like a lil’ hoe?

Shani, quickly removing Mo-Mo’s hand from her breasts, becomes self-conscious of what she’s wearing.

“I knew I shouldn’t have put this on. Keisha made me wear this. Do I really look sleazy, Mo-Mo?”

Mo-Mo frowns. “Whah? Shani, stop buggin’! You look aiiight. I’m just not used to seein’ you dressin’ all sexy and shit.

Shani now looks towards Eighth Avenue to see if Keisha is nearby.

“Mo-Mo, where’s Keisha? I thought you two were coming to The Rooftop together.”

Mo-Mo rudely points across the street, as she loudly chews and pops on her apple flavored Super Bubble gum.

Yo, see that black Toyota Corolla double-parked by The Rucker? She in there talkin’ to some Dominican nigga named Diego we met earlier on 145th Street. We made that fool take us to Ling Fung Chinese Restaurant on Broadway. Keisha jerked him for a plate of Lobster Cantonese—I got chicken wings and pork-fried rice.”

Shani shakes her head and chuckles, “You two are always scheming on some guy.”

“AND YOU KNOW IT! A BITCH GOTTA EAT, RIGHT?” Mo-Mo asks before blowing a huge bubble with her gum, and playfully plucking Shani on her forehead.

 

Mo-Mo is a belligerent, lowly educated, hardcore ghetto-girl who’s extremely violent and wild. Known for her southpaw boxing skill and powerful knockout punches, Mo-Mo often amuses herself by fighting other peoples’ battles on the block for sport. That’s how she met Shani. Last January, Sheneeda and Jaiwockateema tried to rob Shani of her Bonsoir “B” bag near Building 1 of the Polo Grounds. Mo-Mo observed what was happening and rescued Shani, feverishly pounding both girls over their heads with her glass Kabangers. Mo-Mo didn’t even know Shani at the time, but fought for her as if they were childhood cronies. Since then, the two have become close friends—Mo-Mo admiring Shani’s intelligence, innocence and sincerity.

 

In addition to her volatile temper, ill manners and street-bitch antics, Mo-Mo is rough around the edges—literally and figuratively. Eighteen-years-old and having dark, rich, coffee-colored skin, Mo-Mo’s complexion is beautiful, even with suffering from the mild case of eczema on her hands, and with her face full of blemishes and bumps from the excessive fighting, cheap, greasy junk food, and from sodas Mo-Mo habitually drinks.

 

Bearing a small scar on her left cheek from being sliced with a box cutter, Mo-Mo proudly endured her battle mark. “The Deceptinettes”, a female gang who jumped Mo-Mo inside of Park West High School’s girls’ locker room last year, physically attacked her. Mo-Mo boldly took on the dangerous crew of girls all by herself, winning the brutal brawl, due to her knowing how to fight hard and dirty. With deep brown eyes, full lips and high cheekbones, Mo-Mo highly resembles an African queen. She isn’t bad looking at all, Mo-Mo just doesn’t take care of herself, nor was she ever taught how to. Because of this, Mo-Mo is often forsaken for her ignorance by most.

 

Awkwardly standing knock-kneed and pigeon-toed at five-foot-seven, big boned with an hourglass figure, Mo-Mo is a brick house! Thick and curvaceous with a body that doesn’t quit, she has ample sized forty-two D breasts, shifting wide hips, big legs, with well-toned thighs. Having the largest ass in Harlem, Mo-Mo’s behind is humongous—nicely rounded and firm. It automatically becomes a sideshow attraction whenever she appears, as everyone, young and old, stares in disbelief; amazed at the shape, fullness and size of Mo-Mo’s butt. A man once joked about “spanking” Mo-Mo’s rear, claiming that when he’d knocked it…her ass knocked him back!

 

Mo-Mo’s hair length is short, in which she wears individual box braids, braiding it herself; having real, human hair extensions. Often, her braids are sloppy and unkempt, having naps and a fuzzy hairline. Mo-Mo’s coarse, natural hair grain never matches the soft, silky texture of her extensions, but she always soaks the ends in a pot of scalding, hot water to achieve a wet-and-wavy look. Mo-Mo also never polishes her nails or keeps them clean, having dirt underneath them regularly. Rarely shaving the hair from under her armpits or bikini line causes Mo-Mo to have a rank, body odor. Someone even left a package at her apartment door one day, filled with a large can of Right Guard, Nair and a bottle of FDS Feminine Deodorant Spray, with a typewritten note attached. It read: “Aye, Funkbox, clean ya stank pussy and stop puttin’ Buckwheat in a headlock, you nasty bitch!” Mo-Mo assumed it was either a prank from Sheneeda and Jaiwockateema, or Oscardo—still sulking over Mo-Mo kicking his ass six years ago.

 

She now lives alone in the Polo Grounds, due to her mother’s untimely death six months ago—dying of sclerosis of the liver from her excessive drinking of beer and hard liquor. Just days after Mo-Mo’s mother’s death, she received a letter from Social Services, stating that they were aware of her mother’s passing, Mo-Mo’s only legal guardian, and that she would receive a visit from a social worker; one who would be instructed to place Mo-Mo in an all-girls group home in East Harlem.

Mo-Mo begged her other family members to allow her to live with them, but they refused, not wanting to deal with her nasty disposition, constant fighting and barbaric lifestyle. Nor did they wish to support Mo-Mo emotionally or financially, resulting her to rely on public assistance from the welfare office. At that point, Mo-Mo hadn’t any relatives whom she can depend upon—she was on her own and had to grow up, fast.

 

Luckily Mo-Mo’s eighteenth birthday arrived a day before she was accosted in front of her building by a male social worker, having the rude investigator from Social Services antagonize her with legal documents; indicating that she was to temporarily be in his custody, and taken immediately to the group home. “SUCK A FAT BABY’S ASS!” was what Mo-Mo yelled at the social worker before walking inside the lobby, defiantly slamming the door in the man’s face.

 

Failing most of her classes, Mo-Mo barely attends high school. She’s in the tenth grade, but belongs in the twelfth. Mo-Mo is still a special education student, now having a six-grader’s reading and writing level. Her former teachers passed her in school, being totally unconcerned with Mo-Mo’s learning disability. Their goal was to pass as many students as possible, in order to avoid being reprimanded by superiors for failing a large number of students. The school system still has quotas to meet, and doesn’t receive the needed funds from the government for the following term—if a large amount of students are held back.

 

Along with other personal issues, Mo-Mo is hot-in-the-ass, fast and promiscuous, having the temperament of a low-class whore. She’s a big-time freak, a sultry sex fiend with an insatiable appetite for men with huge dicks—becoming “weak at the knees” at the sight of a protruding bulge. Mo-Mo’s self esteem and subsidized income is low, but her sex drive is extremely high, having sex with men for cash while soothing her inner pain. Mo-Mo doesn’t sell her body for money due to desperation and destitute—she does it for the fun of it. Mo-Mo l-o-v-e-s dick, and decided to earn money while doing what she enjoys the most—getting fucked! Mo-Mo’s going to have frivolous sex regardless, “SO WHY NOT GET PAID FOR IT?” she often reasons. Academically, Mo-Mo’s slow, but she’s nobody’s fool, being street-smart with thick skin. A true survivor, one who perseveres, by hook-or-crook, Mo-Mo is determined to sustain—by all means necessary.

 

“AYE, YO, KEISHA, HURRY THE FUCK UP!” Mo-Mo beckons.

“Hold up! I’m comin’!” Keisha squeakily replies with irritation in her voice, concluding her conversation with Diego, “My friends are waitin’ for me—I gotta go.”

“Can I see you again and get ya digits, mommy?” Diego begs, talking extremely fast with his raspy voice.

“Maybe! And no you can’t get my number—gimme yours!” Keisha audaciously snaps.

Diego immediately becomes attracted to Keisha’s beauty, snootiness, nonchalant attitude and bold behavior. He smiles, writing his beeper number on the flyer he received an hour ago for an upcoming party at Broadway International—while exiting the Chinese restaurant with Keisha and Mo-Mo.

Now handing Keisha the flyer, Diego attempts to wish her goodnight, but Keisha immediately interjects: “Can I get three hundred dollars?” she says, looking straight into Diego’s eyes.

Damn, mommy, what’s up? I just met you an hour ago, and you askin’ me for money already?”

Keisha pauses for emphasis, “…Are you gon’ give it to me or not?” she coldly asks, still piercing into Diego’s eyes—not once Keisha ever blinks.

“Whachu need three hundred for, mommy?”

First-and-foremost, my name is ‘Keisha, not mommy! And I don’t n-e-e-e-e-e-e-d three hundred dollars—I want it!”

Diego sits silently…simultaneously bewildered. Extremely turned on by Keisha’s brashness.

“Diego, don’t you want me to look cute the next time you see me?” Keisha insincerely asks in an innocent manner while batting her eyelashes, deceiving Diego with her fake, light-hearted disposition.

“So I’m gonna see you again, huh, mommy?” Diego nervously asks, smiling, as he pulls out a wad of cash from his pocket. The teenager’s large bankroll, wrapped in jade-green rubber bands causes Keisha’s eyes to widen.

Uh-huh,” she effortlessly replies while staring hard at Diego’s money, now loudly turning up the volume on his Benzi box; Diego’s playing his DJ Love-Bug Starski mixed tape.

Keisha bobs her head…rhythmically rocks shoulders from side-to-side…rubs her thumb swiftly against her middle and index finger…sings chorus to Money: Dollar Bill, Y’all by Jimmy Spicer; “Dollar-dollar-dollar-dollar-dollar bill, y’all!”

 

Diego observes Keisha with his right eyebrow raised, peeling off money from his bundle. He hands the dirty bills to Keisha, hopelessly gazing into her eyes.

Keisha, becoming annoyed with Diego for showing too much of an interest in her so soon, rolls her eyes and retorts harshly, “Gotta…go,” as she attempts to reach for the car handle. Before grabbing it, Keisha quickly pulls out a Kleenex napkin from her brand-new, blue and white Gucci bag with the signature “G’s”, wipes her fingerprints off the console and opens the car door with the napkin in her hand.

 

Yo, Keisha, why you wipe down my car like that?”

Keisha ignores Diego’s question and beckons to Shani and Mo-Mo, signaling them by waving her fabulous five-carat, diamond-adorned right hand high in the air, now quickly bringing it down hard to slap her right thigh.

Yo, I’m ready, y’all—let’s go!

Keisha walks around the front of Diego’s car and proceeds to cross the street, eager to enter The Rooftop. Shaking his head in disbelief, chuckling, Diego can’t believe Keisha’s sassiness.

YO, WHEN YOU GON’ CALL ME, MOMMY?” Diego yells out to Keisha from his car window.

Keisha immediately stops in the middle of the street, causing the flow of traffic to halt. She flings her long, silky, straight hair, looks over her shoulder and tauntingly replies, “As soon as you step-up ya whip, nigga. Do I look like the type of girl who be bouncin’ ‘round in a dusty-ass ‘one-point-eight’?”

 

Diego freezes as Keisha continues to speak.

 

“You don’t even take ya whip to the car wash. And stop callin’ me ‘mommy’!” Keisha concludes, flinging her hair again by sharply turning her head. She then sticks her butt out and switches while crossing the street.

 

Diego stares long and hard at Keisha’s rump, as she seductively walks away, noticing how good the young girl’s behind looks in her skin-tight blue jeans. He immediately drives towards Eighth Avenue, repeatedly hearing Keisha’s last comments over in his head. Keisha soon stands near the front entrance of the skating rink and notices the huge crowd lined-up outside, as Shani and Mo-Mo greets her.

 

“It’s about damn time!” Mo-Mo snaps. Keisha disregards her and reaches out to hug Shani.

“What’s up, college gurrrl?” Keisha playfully asks.

“Hey, Keisha! I’m fine. I’m chilling-like-a-villain.” Shani replies awkwardly, not use to using slang in her daily dialect.

“Shani, it’s ‘chillin’’ not ‘chill-i-n-g’! Why you be always talkin’ so damn proper anyway? I wonder sometimes, yo, if you really from the hood!” Mo-Mo barks.

Shani attempts to politely respond back, but Keisha rudely interjects: “So, Shani, how’s D.C.?” Keisha asks, cleverly examining Shani’s outfit from head-to-toe without her realizing what Keisha’s doing.

“I like D.C. so far. I’m very excited about attending Howard University. I just need to learn my way around campus,” Shani answers. “I—”

Feeling jealous and left out of the conversation, Mo-Mo interrupts.

“Can you two bitches learn y’all muthafuckin’ way inside this skatin’ rink?” Mo-Mo snaps before swiftly entering The Rooftop, skipping everyone standing on line.

“Mo-Mo be illin’! She betta watch her mouth ‘cause I’m-not-the-one!” Keisha retorts while rocking her neck and waving her right hand in the air, flashing her sparkling diamond ring for all to see.

 

Shani, experiencing bad cramps from her period, and the stress from sneaking off from Washington, D.C to New York City for the grand opening of The Rooftop, tightly shrugs her shoulders to relieve the tension she’s feeling. Shani inhales a breath of fresh air…slowly exhales…quickly adjusts the plunging neckline of her scoop-neck leotard to conceal her cleavage…before she and Keisha follow behind Mo-Mo inside the skating rink.

 

SKATE ON!—A GHETTOHEAT® PRODUCTION

Available soon in paperback & bilingual eBook formats (English/Spanish).

 

GHETTOHEAT® HOTNESS: HICKSON

 

HICKSON is CEO of GHETTOHEAT®. Born in Harlem, New York, he remains a true Harlemite. Graduating from the Fashion Institute of Technology in 1998, receiving a Bachelors of Science degree in Advertising and Marketing Communications, HICKSON attended college full-time and freelanced as a fashion stylist—also becoming a backstage wardrobe coordinator for supermodel, Naomi Campbell. For five years, HICKSON was in charge of coordinating her fast, intricate outfit changes at major fashion shows, until becoming fully involved in the creative process of runway shows, later freelancing as a production coordinator for a leading special events/fashion show production company; producing avant-garde shows worldwide.

His grandfather’s death and 9/11 quickly changed HICKSON’s life, soon writing GHETTOHEAT® while dealing with struggles. Poverty, pressure and passion drove him into becoming a self-made “Hip-Hopreneur”—HICKSON creating his multimedia company, GHETTOHEAT® on June 4th, 2003, focusing on self-publishing, marketing, distributing and selling his works. Determination also forced HICKSON to publish other creative artists, where he’s always seeking new talent. HICKSON’s vision is to continue producing great quality works, his favorite subjects being his people, the inner-city voices of Ghetto-America. HICKSON’s next release is SKATE ON!—his first novel.

 

HICKSON: CEO of GHETTOHEAT® & GHETTOHEAT® TV!

 
GHETTOHEAT® PRODUCTIONS:
 
GHETTOHEAT® 
CONVICT’S CANDY 
HARDER 
AND GOD CREATED WOMAN 
LONDON REIGN 
SONZ OF DARKNESS 
TANTRUM 
HICKSONBELIKE... 
LOVE DON’T LOVE NOBODY 
THICKNESS 
GHOST TOWN HUSTLERS 
BANJEE CUNT 
ULTRAFABNABULOUS 
BROTHERS BEHIND BARS 
SO SEXY 
TOUGH 
MR. GHETTOHEAT® 
SKATE ON! 
GHETTOHEAT® EATS 
TURF 
GHETTOHEAT® MAGAZINE!
 
GHETTOHEAT® | P.O. BOX 2746 | NEW YORK, NY 10027 | HTTP://GHETTOHEAT.COM/ | HICKSON@GHETTOHEAT.COM
 
GHETTOHEAT®: THE HOTNESS IN THE STREETS!!!™
 
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