Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Word to Project Pat. Here is the long-awaited sequel to my exposé on these niggas that just don't seem to think outside the box until it's taped shut. These niggas that don't seem to see the light until it's too bright and then scatter like cockroaches. These niggas that put 100 dollars on the blackjack table, come away with two dollars back in chips and think they won something. No, of course they haven't won...until now...time to cash in nigga and listen up!
Simply put, if you talking to a chick and you gassin' her up...YOU, my friend, are a Chevron nigga. You are contributing to a worldwide health hazard that has been frustrating real niggas like me and mines for far too long. This gas crisis has also initiated an ensuing chain reaction, the tail end of which finds us real niggas negatively affected by inflation. First, a Chevron nigga begins to pump up a chick with some of that 91 premium bullshit about how he's never seen a girl like her before and how he can't stop staring at her or he starts to spew that nonsense about her uncanny resemblance to *insert attractive celebrity here*. This in turn causes a permeation of a woman's diva cells in the lateral cortex of her brain which then causes a serotonin build up in the ahthinkumdashit region (DISCLAIMER: these scientific claims have not been evaluated by the American Neurology Council and therefore hold no viable merit). Self-perception is then immensely altered and real niggas are left to deal with the elevated levels of delusion that occur after her ego has been inflated.
With the coming of the computer age, we have suffered a sharp increase in gassing. The arrival of social networking sites such as MySpace and Facebook have ushered in a new era of Chevron niggas that take advantage of the now remote social interaction opportunities these sites provide for users. In this new era, face-to-face interaction is no longer required, leaving room for these two dollar niggas to up the ante in foolishness.
I've asked a few homegirls to hook me up with some Chevron nigga garbage from their inbox so that I may recycle it and put it to good use (Thanks ladies!!). For your entertainment (and to call out this one nigga who thought he was slick. You know who YOU are nigga!), here are some exhaust fumes...spelling and grammatical errors included...
Unleaded 87 -
"Hey whas up.thanks for addin me. How r u im good. I saw ur picture and i said damn she can get it. and ur status said single so u no I gotta holla. them lips are so sexy i wish i could be ur lip gloss haha.well get back at cha boy wen u can"
Unleaded Plus 89 -
"How you doin? I see that you havent added me yet on yo friend requests. I kno alot dudes be tryna get at u n what not so u prolly didnt get to mine yet. them dudes wont treat you like me so u should delete them lol im jk i dont kno if u got a lot of dude friends on facebook i mean. we should get to kno each other more. A little bout myself my name is *censored* i go to dominguez hills and im on the bball team #*censored*. u can come and see me pkay when we start. ok then im about to practice. HOLLA BACK"
Premium 91 (Chevron with THIRSTron) -
"Wassup witchu? Did you get my request to add? How you know mah boi Obi? He ain't never introduced me to you. You and him was choppin it up at *censored*'s party last friday and I was like damn she fine as hell. Then yesterday I was goin thru Obis friends cuz I was lookin for the homie and I seen you and I had to add you. Wassup wit u and Obi? Its coo if yall talkin and what not but make sure he treat you rite and if he not then you can holla at cha boi. In the mean time dont be a stranger get at me"
What else can I say? How do I get it through to you niggas? How do I make myself clear? Ladies, I know its not your fault when you have your big headed ego trip moments. I mean how could you not with all these two dollar niggas leakin out the side of they mouth. I've said enough. Get your worth up niggas!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Do you remember the D.A.R.E. program from elementary school? I remember that bullshit vividly. I don't know if they still have that program in effect and I'm not trying to knock it because honestly, keeping kids off drugs is a good thing and I totally understand that it is the intent of the program to make sure that this is a reality; however, having a fucking cop come into a South Central L.A. classroom full of children who are raised not to trust cops and having him try to tell them right from wrong is just not the way to go about it. I can recall those Thursdays when that jackass LAPD Officer Horton would come into our fifth grade classroom and glare at us as if we were already the drug-addicted criminals that he was trying to prevent us from becoming. Add to that the fact that most, if not all of us had immediate family members who had suffered at the hands of him and his buddies. How could we listen to a word this guy was saying after all that?
Here we are, years later, and I can say that all of us that were sitting in that classroom listening to his bullshit have all had our relationships with various drugs. Some have experimented and moved on and some have made drugs a part of their everyday life. Perhaps if someone with more credibility had came and spoke to us on those Thursdays, even the need to experiment would not have developed. The way I see it, drug addiction is a disorder that spawns from within the individual and the tendency is not universal. Its a problem that needs to be cut off at the head. We can prevent kids from experimenting but once addiction takes over, the magnitude of the issue becomes much greater. Officer Horton failed to prevent experimentation. Mission Failure. Period.
So where am I going with this? Well, I've always wanted to take a shit on D.A.R.E. and there was my golden opportunity. And of course, I want to bring up the issue of drugs. I have traversed into the world of drugs and luckily it was a relatively short trip. At no point did I find myself even the least bit addicted to anything I've come across (no thanks to D.A.R.E.). Unlike many of my classmates from grade school, I will never spend my last 20 dollars on drugs, I will never kill for drugs and I will never go into rehabilitation for drugs. Fortunately, I am impervious to that type of addiction, however, I am not impervious to other types of addiction and here is where I finally come to my point. My friends (word to John McCain)... I have suffered the effects of that pesky little drug we call love.
We all know the symptoms. Constant craving, inability to see life beyond it, change of appearance, alienation from others around you, and insurmountable money loss. Sound familiar? Love is a drug and a helluva drug it is (word to Rick James, bitch). It is a drug that no program can prepare you for. No washed up police officer can intervene on your behalf. Once you have succumbed to the effects of love you are in for a wild ride. For almost three years I was a love junkie, getting my fix everyday. Then...it came to an end.
I'm doing better now. Three weeks of rehab have set me straight and put a lot of things into perspective. I've got the right sponsors (y'all know who y'all are) and I've been taking the proper steps of recovery. Before I got off the drug I didn't see how I would go on without it but now I realize what a burden it was in my young life and how much better off I am without it.
This is for all those readers who have ever found themselves addicted to anything, drugs or otherwise. There is a way out...and it's closer than you think...
"No matter how far out on the sea of suffering we've sailed, all that is required is to turn toward awakening and no one can do that for us."-- Bonnie Myota Treace
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Here it is, volume one of my super special travel guide that you will find NOWHERE ELSE....without further ado...my favorite places in South Central Los Angeles...
Louisiana Fried Chicken - NW Corner of Crenshaw Blvd./Slauson Av.
My oh my...anybody who knew me well during my tenure at Crenshaw High knew where to find me afterschool when it wasn't track season. As sure as there are always crackheads on this particular corner at all hours of the day, I was at my favorite fried chicken spot. Not only was my extra greasy two piece chicken and fries combo readily available for me to chow down on, I was also able to add a new gem to my growing CD collection nearly every day of the week as the bootleg man was never too far away. And if that wasn't enough already, just a few yards away down the Crenshaw strip, within one of the sidewalk islands is what I like to call the "Out The Trunk" shopping center. Here you can find pretty much what you would at a strip mall (clothes, shoes, watches, chains, etc.) inside various different Cadillac trunks. Think Jody in Baby Boy. Of course there is absolutely nothing "Louisiana" about this fried chicken (I'm actually starting to suspect that the entire chain is owned and operated by people of Chinese decent), but DAMN is it finger-lickin' good...
Personal Touch Car Wash - SE Corner of Florence Av./La Salle Av.
Don't dare drive your car here unless you're ready to run with the big boys. This in-the-cut car wash looks like your typical soap and suds, illegal immigrant operated, taco truck on the curb car wash but 98% of the cars that roll in here are driven by South Central L.A.'s elite baller-types. Please...you don't want to be one of those 2% idiots that pull up with their mom's Honda Civic or Ford Focus and get mean-mugged. These Mexicans are used to being tipped VERY well and they are likely to frown upon a Gringo pushing an Oldsmobile with their Grandma's social security documents and recyclable cans strewn all over the backseat. Don't do it to yourself ese. Drive in, leave your keys in the ignition and have a seat on one of the raggedy desk, dining table, or lawn chairs waiting for you (I didn't say this place LOOKED like a baller's car wash). Sitting next to you is almost sure to be a good role model, MAKE CONNECTIONS but don't embarrass yourself. You can also walk inside the small house looking thing in the corner and find a treasure trove of pirated CDs and DVDs for purchase or walk to the curb and have yourself a burrito or two. These amigos are going to take their time and I guarantee you that when they are finally done shining up your whip, you will be able to EAT OFF THE DAMN TIRES!! Oh yea...don't use the bathrooms...
Slauson Swapmeet a.k.a. Super Mall - SE corner of Slauson Av./Western Av.
This place is so damn big, it has like 20 entrances I kid you not. The Slauson Swapmeet is by far the biggest swapmeet I've ever seen and until I was about 11 years old, the only swapmeet I'd ever seen. So to all my out-of-town friends, once again, forgive me for rolling around and laughing on the floor when I walked into your so-called Inglewood, Gardena, Compton, Del Amo swapmeets. Of course, not only sheer size differentiates this swapmeet from the others, there's also the swarm of stank, Stank, STANK, STANK-A-DANK hoes walking around with their tight ass "I Love My Boyfriend" tanktops failing to cover up their many, many stomach rolls. You are almost guaranteed to see lost children running around looking for their irresponsible mothers and bow-tie Muslims selling those delicious bean pies. Sorry Malcolm X but I only want the pie. If I take that Final Call newspaper, I'm just going to end up wiping my mouth with it and throwing it away. Please don't assassinate me ("get your hands outta my pocket!!!"). Now, I don't have to tell you that 95% of the shit in here is as fake as the smiles on the faces of the Korean people selling it to you. It's up to you to have a keen eye for what's real. Three dot Gucci - FAKE. Four stripe Adidas ("Adiaas") - FAKE. You get the idea. When you're finally done rummaging through all the crap and find something you want and won't get clowned for putting on or won't turn your skin green, DO NOT pay the full price for that shit. You can always talk down the price...ALWAYS!!
Art's Chili Dogs - SW Corner of Florence Av./Normandie Av.
This is allegedly where the L.A. riots started and coincidentally, the only structure in this area that stood unscathed not only before the riots started but after they were over is a little stand called Art's Chili Dogs. Now I still don't know who the fuck "Art" is and I never really cared, his chili dogs are the SHIT dammit! His chili cheese fries are an afterschool favorite for all those local kids who refuse to eat the county food served in their cafeterias. True story: one day my school bus driver parked in front of this place, EXITED THE BUS (which i'm sure is a MAJOR violation of school bus driver policy) and had us waiting 10 minutes for his Polish Sandwich combo or whatever. I mean, this guy couldn't even wait another hour until his fucking shift was over. Sometimes I like to give him the benefit of the doubt and speculate that perhaps the school bus was his only form of transportation but then again I've seen people get off the Metro bus and spend their entire welfare checks on these hot dogs.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Dear (Southern) California,
Ahh...where do I start babe? Many a year have you held me in the embraces of your streets, freeways and valleys. I met you when I was fairly young, just a young big-headed infant with absolutely no idea how you would affect my life over these past 21 years. Imo State, Nigeria was calling for me but you said "no way" and to this day I have been your bitch. Never have I strayed too far. Never have I been disloyal to you. Of course, you do come off a little iffy and jealous whenever I profess my love for Imo State but you know that my spirit belongs to you.
It was years before I finally discovered all that you had to offer to me. Silly me, my young, undeveloped mind knew not that the world was much bigger than South Central Los Angeles. It would be years before I explored beyond the confines of your 110 freeway and Crenshaw Boulevard. And it would be years before I left you for a few days and truly appreciated all that you are to me. Anytime I am leaving your arms on an airplane I always look back at you through the window in pure anticipation of when I will return. And anytime I depart up the 5 freeway to kick it with your brother Northern Cali or up the 15 to see that ho ass cousin of yours Las Vegas, that inevitable feeling of homesickness always creeps up more sooner than later.
I realize now that you're so much different from other states. Everyone wants you but not everyone knows how to handle you babe. You're demeanor is uncanny and your disposition is unmatched. People from far off who know that I associate with you look upon me with such jealousy and resentment because they know that I am a much better person because I am yours. Your Uncle Sam is always treating you like shit but you persevere beyond the madness and hostility babe, you are truly golden. Fuck Uncle Sam, you alone are one of the top 10 economies in the world. Can you believe that? You are a true Miss Independent.
I know that we've had our good times and our bad times but we've made it through the rough patches and have come out relatively unscathed. Hey, remember that time when you had that big ass earthquake? See, no one else would admit it but I knew that you were just trying to teach us a lesson because we had disrespected you and rioted in your Los Angeles. I'll never forget seeing those National Guard tanks rolling down your freshly paved asphalt on Van Ness Boulevard and leaving behind wear and tear that you didn't deserve. I'm sure that it made you angry and I understand babe, I really do.
How can I ever leave you babe? How can I ever call someone else home? My name is etched forever on your corner of 64th and Gramercy for the world to see (readers: go check that shit out!) and your name is etched forever in my heart. So even when we are apart, we are still...together...
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Okay, so I didn't come up with the term "2 dollar niggas". I don't know if he was the first to coin the term but when I heard Project Pat shout "put two dollars in the air for these two dollar niggas" over and over again on his 2006 album Crook by da Book: The Fed Story, I knew that I had bore witness to something truly special. Finally, a clever term that perfectly sums up the concept of the individual that is in a sense, worthless. For me, this term invokes my imagination with a multitude of mental illustrations.
Picture if you will, the first worthless person that comes to mind. Now, picture this person standing in front of you and Bob Barker (former host of The Price Is Right) asking you to cast your bid. What will it be? Does breath even need to be wasted? You take out those two one-dollar bills from your pocket, probably leftover change from those mini sirloin burgers you purchased from Jack in the Box, crinkled or crispy (does it matter???), and you throw it at that person's feet. Nuff' said.
You take a look at Bob Barker..."and the survey says!"....
Okay...I think that's Family Feud but you get the idea. Worthlessness...it is so easily conveyed yet we have not stressed the availability of terms and concepts to describe this marvel of human existence.
Now that we have the introductions out of the way I want to get to my main point and that is to expand on this term, using it as an umbrella to cover other terms that I think describe other components of a feasibly worthless human being. First up, "Ho Sandwich Niggas"...
You've all seen this before, two niggas (usually friends) trying to holler at the same chick at the same time, in effect, creating a sandwich of pure comedy and foolishness. Keep in mind that I use the term "ho" very lightly and by that I mean that of course not all girls that make up the meat of this sandwich are necessarily hoes but for the sake of clarity and conveyance I will just run with it. Okay, so if there was ever any chance of any of these two particular niggas successfully courting this young woman, that option is now a matter of futility. Why? you ask...well it's all science my friends. Take into account a subject within governing dynamics called the Nash equilibrium which is loosely defined as follows:
Informally, a set of strategies is a Nash equilibrium if no player can do better by unilaterally changing his or her strategy. To see what this means, imagine that each player is told the strategies of the others. Suppose then that each player asks himself or herself: "Knowing the strategies of the other players, and treating the strategies of the other players as set in stone, can I benefit by changing my strategy?" If any player would answer "Yes", then that set of strategies is not a Nash equilibrium. But if every player prefers not to switch (or is indifferent between switching and not) then the set of strategies is a Nash equilibrium. Thus, each strategy in a Nash equilibrium is a best response to all other strategies in that equilibrium.
I know, I know...it kind of goes over my head too but what I can definitely take and apply from all of this is that if niggas are to present any game to a female they must do so one at a time or not at all because they are likely to effectively cancel one another out becoming nothing more than a comedy show entertaining their once prospective conquest rather then conquering it.
You probably think I've described the worst but no...there is definitely more to come so stay tuned...
Thursday, July 9, 2009
In commemoration of the 1 year and 7 month anniversary of the release of "The Bucket List" starring those two old guys that won a bunch of oscars, I've decided to compile my own "bucket list" of sorts because although these two guys are in their 90s or whatever, you never know when you're going to kick the bucket. Here we go:
- I've decided that before I die I MUST break a bottle over someone's head. Of course, I don't want to kill anyone so this individual must possess a skull of considerable thickness but in L.A. a person like that is not hard to come by (heh heh...) Also, I want to be sober when this takes place because I want to feel like I did it for a good reason. Many a time there has been where I've wanted to fight someone just because I was drunk...NO MORE!
Suge Knight, I'm coming for you, you fat fuck...
- Before I die, I MUST blow smoke in the face of a police officer. Now, I must say, this will be a whole lot funnier if it happens to be kush smoke (lol...). I just have to brainstorm a way not to get my ass hauled off to jail as a result. Then again...it might be worth it depending on how many days I actually spend in jail. What would the limit be?...hmm...maybe a week. For a week I would definitely be the most popular guy sitting in the felony tank and then once I show up in front of the judge I may even get a laugh or two. Who knows.
- I MUST bitch slap Nick Cannon before I die. People always ask me why I'm so damn obsessed with Mariah Carey and the truth is that there is no precise, infallible answer to be given. Here's what I do know: yet again, another young (relatively speaking...), beautiful, talented entertainer is wed to a washed up, deadbeat piece of shit who is wasting the precious oxygen that me and the rest of the world need and deserve to breathe. I've spent many of my waking hours hoping and praying that this unholy union is some kind of fiasco of a publicity stunt gone horribly wrong. Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!.....
That's all for now...