THE WAR DOGS MOTORCYCLE CLUB
1976 APRIL
It’s been two days since we came up with the idea but we finally came up on a decision; War Dogs. That’s the name we’re gonna use for the new club. Since we’re all ex-military, it seems quite suitable for us too. It would have been easy for us to join along with the white supremacy, Blue Sons Motorcycle Club but how could we leave <insert black nickname> to fight against this world all by himself. Let’s face it – the world is cruel to black men looking to make a few pennies. He had saved Bobby’s life back in the war and Bobby said he ain’t willing to let the guy down. We don’t owe him anything at all but Bobby’s our leader and <insert black nickname>’s our friend. The one thing we learned after we lost Red in ‘Nam was that we needed to stick together, which is what we’re gonna do. The skills and trades we had learned in the USMC puts us at better odds against the Blue Sons but we were outnumbered massively. They stand at 25 strong, patched members whereas we stand as seven guys; Bobby, me, Harry, Mac, <insert black nickname>, Rusk and Slick. We know exactly what is gonna happen if they catch wind that we’re setting up a new club - especially one what accepts any races…

1976 JUNE
We finally managed to find a decent place for rent. It was a rundown old Rhythm and Blues recording studio which we’re gonna lease for $76 a month. Bobby said he wants to eventually buy the place but we’re gonna have to see how things take off at first. Bobby even managed to get us some sweet denim vests stitched out with a club logo on the back of it though it’s best if we don’t use them yet. The Blue Sons already approached a few of us down at Fatso’s Bar and Grill but we told them it was all legit. The Blue Sons operate by dealing any narcotics they can get their hands on but as of late it’s been mostly ecstasy and meth. All we want is a club that admires motorcycles, not a criminal organization. Money doesn’t do anything for us as long as we’re able to fund our club and have a good time.

1976 DECEMBER
It’s been just over two year since we got back from ‘Nam and none of us have managed to find a way to earn a decent living. There’s nothing out there for vets like us and I doubt there ever will be. We’re trained killers and that’s all we’ll ever be labelled in society. One good point is we’ve finally decided it’s time to start wearing our cuts. Show Arizona that they don’t need to deal drugs in order to hang around with a good and honest motorcycle club. We decided on taking the ‘Arizona’ bottom rocker for our vests but I don’t know why in all honesty. It was Bobby’s idea, but I think shit’s gonna turn bad with the Blue Sons. They use the Arizona bottom rocker on their vests too and we all know they try and claim this place as their own. We’ll see how things pan out. One more positive is that the club house is finally done. We got ourselves eight dorms made if there was ever any crazy parties happening or any shit going down, our guys could just stay over. Just before the dorms is a huge lounge which the old recording studio used to use as a reception. We converted the reception area into a sweet looking bar and managed to get a few old sofas and chairs put in. Fatso gave us his old bar stools to use as a gift for practically keeping him in business for two year, ha. I just hope we can make ourselves a good living to keep the place up.
1977 FEBRUARY
We had our first church today and we voted in on who should be what rank. It went as follows:
President – Bobby
Vice President – Me
Secretary – Harry
Treasurer - <insert black nickname>
Sergeant At Arms – Rusk
Road Captain – Mac
Patched Member - Slick
We also voted in two new prospects, Aaron Dartford who we named Dart. Dart had started hanging around shortly after he saw our showdown with the Blue Sons down at Fatso’s Bar and Grill. His father was a biker enthusiast but was always a hater of the Blue Sons for reasons we didn’t know or care about. The second was Fatso’s son, Bart. Bart isn’t a big guy like his old man. In fact he’s quite the opposite of him. A slim picking are the words I’d use to describe him Nonetheless he was interested in joining the club and we didn’t have a lot of choice. Bobby said we had to treat these guys like shit in order to test their loyalty. We gotta force them to do shit they don’t like, we gotta give them a whole load of shit and make them work the bar constantly. Apparently it’s what all prospects for motorcycle clubs go through. Anyway, there’s one thing I’ve noticed lately and that’s the strong friendship that Bobby and the Rusk have been forming. They’ve been getting suspiciously close with each other and I don’t like it. One minute they can’t stand each other and probably would have taken a chunk outta one another if it wasn’t for us guys. The next minute, it feels like they’re conspiring and I don’t like it one fucking bit. I’m gonna keep my eyes on those two.
1977 MAY
My suspicions have been confirmed about Bobby and the Rusk. I used a cage to follow them to some meeting they had going on. What roused my suspicion was that they left their cuts in Bobby’s dorm and just walked outta the club house without them. I followed them in Nina’s sedan, some girl I’d been sleeping with on-and-off. They had only briefly met her and they didn’t know what kind of car she had so it was all safe. They drove to a small saloon on the outskirts of Glendale and I saw them exiting with a bunch of mafia guys. I could only assume by their stereotypical black bomber jackets and all black clothing they were the Russian mob. If they are, what the fuck do we want with the Russian mob and why wasn’t I involved? I’ll have to keep this to myself for now and try dig up as much information as possible without arousing any suspicions of my own.
DECEMBER 1977
Slick approached me earlier this week asking if I knew about Bobby and the Rusk’s plans. In all honesty, I didn’t have a clue but I led on that I did. He asked me what I thought but I turned it around to ask him what he thought. His answer was simple: “guns can bring money in.” Guns? What the fuck is going on with this club. It was set up on the principle of people having something to hold on to when they have nothing else. We aren’t a 1% motorcycle club so why are Bobby and Rusk trying to turn us into one? It figures they’d approach Slick for his vote too. He’s the only patched member we have right now and he’d be easily influenced. Not to mention he has family working for the mob over in California. It gets two birds with one stone. The Rusk must be using his influence to sway the Russian mob into supplying us with weapons and Bobby must wanna use Slick’s family to distribute them. My vote’s gonna be no, no matter how they approach me with the idea. They’ve already gone behind the club’s back by starting this shit off and it ain’t right.

MARCH 1978
Dart got voted in today. I’m pleased for the guy he seems stable enough to become a solid member. We took him out to the desert and did a mock execution. Poor guy nearly pissed himself. It’s strange how easy some people can be so hard with people they don’t know yet so scared of people they do know. I think Bart was a little pissed but that’s life ain’t it? He’s fucked up as of late and he can’t expect to become a member when he’s fucking up. Anyway, what’s worrying is I think Bobby and the Rusk have managed to convince most of the guys. I know <insert black nickname> won’t vote that shit in. He ain’t one for violence. But if it goes to a club vote we aren’t gonna have a choice. I’ve gotta speak to him first before Bobby does.

SEPTEMBER 1978
At 3PM today Bobby and Rusk asked to see me. I don’t know whether it was due to me approaching <insert black nickname> or whether they wanted to actually try and get my vote. Either way, I was taking my .44 with me to make sure they weren’t gonna try nothing. We went to Fatso’s for some food and spoke in Fatso’s backroom. They weren’t gonna try anything in here for definite. Fatso was a good friend of the club’s and we wouldn’t ruin his business, especially since we practically ate in the place every day. They laid their cards on the table; they wanted to start trafficking TT-30 pistols and AK-47s which would be bought from the Russian mob. In turn the Russian mob would be able to protect us and we’d be able to protect ourselves with the weapons we’d be buying. How could they be so fucking stupid? Jumping in bed with the Russian mob isn’t something that they can just go up and get out of. If we were gonna deal with these guys it would be until either we were dead or the club was dead. They probably have the capability to do both to us. By the way they were talking; they had already taken the decision in their own hands without even consulting the club. I told them they weren't gonna get my vote and they simply nodded and left. This is one of the many steps that's gonna kill us as a club.