Ghetto people love self-medicating just like anyone who frequents bars on Friday nights or grips a bag of smoke for a night of laughs over Madden. Thing is, ghetto people get it in so often, and knowingly in the most inappropriate times, that they have to find sneaky ways to accomplish the buzz they need.
Weed smokers have the pipe that’s shaped and colored like a metal cigarette (which this author can’t imagine feels good to rock between the lips when it gets extra hot, but it is nifty). Drinkers have the flask as one option, but warm liquor is quite vile, screwface-inducing stuff. Besides a flask looking some kind of way to own, your average round-the-clock alki doesn’t want to get caught making said screwface after a sip, so he needs a way around it.
Enter a bottle of your average soft drink.
Rum & Coke. Jack & Coke (Jack Daniels really needs Coke, because it tastes like gasoline). Gin & Socko was an old hood favorite (probably why Socko/Super Socco is absent from the market). And one this author arrived upon, rum in a coconut (Liz Blizz) Sobe!
It started with this African liquor that was on sale called Konyagi (supposedly Tanzanian, don’t care to fact check at the time of writing this). Gripped a bottle of it, sipped the Sobe just past the ridge below the neck, then poured the Konyagi in to just about the top. Give it a shake and, as long as it’s cold enough, you don’t taste anything but the Sobe…alcohol blends right on in so you can enjoy as normal, and the bend simply sneaks up on you later. So all you ghetto types who drink before you get in the club got something for the drive on the way there. Or the bus for any day of the week.
On one condition. Make dead sure that *ss mixes in some Orbit gum for your vomit breath…and use clear rum. Don’t be ghetto enough to commit the dummy move of this author and use a gold rum, lest you have this loud-with-alcohol swill that looks like you poured milk from your cereal into the toilet you just whizzed in. Also make sure you have somewhere worth going to and chilling at for a while, so you won’t be forced to have the mixer chilling in the freezer on a bunk night where you end up limping home early.
One benefit of the mixed rum & Sobe being in the freezer is that it usually won’t really freeze, and if it does, it melts rather quickly, so it’s immediately crispy cold and ready to go for the lush in you. Until next time, don’t say I never did anything for you.
Posted in food and drink, leisure
Tagged alcohol, bus, cheap, cigarette pipe, club, Coke, drank, flask, liks, liquor, lush, rum, screwface, Sobe, Socko, Super Socco
Author’s note: OK, it’s high time this was posted, even though you the reader won’t be able to see what all is described here until November thanks to this author’s CP-timey procrastination on pulling the trigger
(and your boy Lebron tanking to Orlando).
Regular NBA watchers should be well aware of this already, especially those who grew up in the hood…because TNT’s NBA broadcasts have a streak of ghetto to them you couldn’t possibly overlook. Only the NBA on BET could bring it more ghetto if they existed, but they probably wouldn’t execute it as well.
Think of your uncles or the homies talking hoops over some O.E.
or Hennessy, with all the knee-slappin’ shuckin’ and jivin’ you’d see in a barbershop. Charles Barkley (whose magic could be the subject of a SGPL post all by himself) basically serves to deliver the greasy *sshole lines like any good ghetto dozens player with capability to make any one in the crew look or feel stupid at any given moment…and EJ, Kenny, and whoever might be the optional fourth guy at the desk has well-timed responses to keep the wheel turning.
Though these TV channels all force their male talent to wear blazers/suits on camera, these guys have no problem wearing Air Force Ones, a ghetto favorite, on the set (not often visible behind the desk of course).
And while the actual calling of the games keeps it corporate by comparison, sideline reporter Craig Sager rocks getups that Steve Harvey, Cedric the Entertainer, and Bishop Magic Don Juan would envy.
But the feature segments and other bits of their coverage are comedy gold:
-Barkley’s face super-imposed on all kinds of photos and videos (usually on fat bodies or the ridiculous halftime performers)
-Players’ faces super-imposed on random fishing photos (along with people known to be from the city of the eliminated franchise)
-And I know someone out there remembers “Who He Play For?”
From pre-game to post-game, the gang on TNT show excellent chemistry throughout, break down basketball beautifully, and have fun. The ESPN/ABC studio teams only wish they were this fun to watch. Maybe if Stuart Scott was his 1996 self…
Posted in entertainment, sports
Tagged Air Force One, barbershop, basketball, Charles Barkley, CP time, gone fishing, Inside The NBA, NBA, shuck and jive, studio, television, TNT, Who He Play For
Only a ghetto person would name a business anything like the following:
Really now. What were they hoping to inspire with that name? Were they expecting the wine-and-cheese crowd to patronize their establishment?
On top of that, the other one I love is there isn’t even a consensus on how to spell that term. “Bourgie?” “Boojee?” “Bougie?” Everybody just kind of wings it. Reminds me of when you hear smart dumb people use terms like “same difference” and “conversate” or pronounce “specific” “pacific”…
Another favorite of mine is businesses named after songs. All Eyez On Me hair salon? Target demographic has to be the same crowd that is actually scared by horror movies.
What have you seen?
Some alterations were necessary, and more will come in the near future.
Most notably among such changes, that stupid chicken and watermelon homeless man header had to go. Frankly, it was a bad reflection of this site’s entire steez. Don’t get it twisted, we’re not putting on kidgloves here and watering down the product…it’s simply that this site need not be taken the wrong way.
UPDATE: I’ve also officially had enough of the completely anonymous, corny hit-and-run comments that don’t add on to the value of the blog, so the free-for-all is officially over. Sorry, commentators, as you’ll see, you’re no longer allowed to hide. Ain’t no fun if this author can’t have none. I don’t care if SGPL can’t buy a comment on most days…quality over quantity. I’d rather have no comments than stupid/racist pot shots from people I can’t get a fair one with.
Now, back to waxing ghetto…
Ghetto people spend a lot of their days hating, fearing and/or complaining about police.
Now to keep it funky, there’s much grist for the mill of police hatred. A true blue ’bout it, ready-to-set-it police hater would have been a good friend to have in the 50s, when a lot of the police in many cities were racist white Southerners who gave police the reputation they have to this day. A reputation constantly worsened by modern incidents like that one that happened on New Year’s in Oakland, as well as Amadou Diallo and Sean Bell in New York, mishaps with the special needs kid and numerous shootings in Inglewood, the recent endings of chases in El Monte, CA and Birmingham, AL, and so many others, rightfully giving your friendly neighborhood police hater some ammo.
And these incidents need to be bravely challenged, exposed early and often. The police may police us, but we police them too. We give them power.
Generally, however, let’s face it. Your average police hater is the type of cat that loves to do things he frankly shouldn’t be doing. And on top of that, ain’t even doin’ big illegal thangs. Just a loser doing a bunch of petty loser activities wasting time. Many of the police constantly poppin’ them are simply doing their jobs and probably wouldn’t even be interested in said loser’s funky *ss but for whatever law is on the books. Real talk, not that I advocate or condone crime, but if you gon’ hate police, hate them because you have penitentiary chances to take and they’re what’s standing in your way. Hate ‘em for some real sh*t, not because you were dumb enough to blaze and drink in public when you know damn well that’s asking for trouble.
Not all po-pos are the kind bashing in the heads of Black and Latino males who happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. While it does go down, to think that is what will happen guaranteed in any encounter with police, and that that is all police are good for, amounts to sensationalism. Of course, you can’t tell many ghetto people NUH-thin’ because they’re convinced it’s crazy sexy cool and politically correct to hate police for livin’. It’s so bad you have some silly bastards who are quick to yell “F.T.P.” at the top of their lungs, but hide the fact that the boys were who they called when the Caprice or their place got broken into. Wild as hell.
Even wilder is that it isn’t like a ghetto person is guaranteed to be shut out from being one. I mean hey, they’re always hiring, it’s a ticket to having one’s sh*t together, and there’s some power to be had in that profession. Street cred, not so much….
Trust, I’m no right wing douchebag who thinks police are all good all the time. Plenty of them are scumbags, and I hate that douchey, bristled mustache a lot of them have. But hating police just because they’re police officers? Even if a relative or good friend happened to be one? Something ain’t right with a person that has that feeling. Those folks are more often than not armed to play themselves right into getting f*cked with by the boys when they really don’t have to (like these idiots here):
Plain and simple, the hood needs to take a holistic approach towards the idea of police and the police need to take a holistic approach towards how they treat the hood. Both need to exercise some empathy and dead the assumption that the other is up to no good at all times, because that assumption has them making asses out of one another.
Posted in community, gangsta, in the news, life, society and community, stereotypes, street cred
Tagged Birmingham, black, brutality, cop, five-O, FTP, hood, illegal life, Inglewood, loser, onetime, pig, police, swine
HAIR shows! F*cking hair shows.
The convention of feminine and campy flamboyance. Where the home-based stylists and their clients get their ideas. One of many reasons the stores run by Koreans sell the fake hair. And there’s a chance styles seen at one will turn up at a prom or two.
Alright, here’s the analogy to paint the picture for you:
Hair shows are to ghetto people what fashion shows are to the wine-and-cheese, Fancy Dan gay guys and child beauty pageants are to those loser Middle America redneck moms.
Some of the most ridiculous, impossible, Pantone-damning primary colored, Flavor of Love, job interview reject hair styles are what you’re gonna see at a hair show. Even hair magazines will steer clear of hair shows. But ghetto people get up for it like Texas gets up for high school football…and this author crams to understand either one.
So instead of a massive write up on it, it’s pictorial time….observe:
Posted in beauty, business, fashion, leisure, style
Tagged cake boy, camp, campy, convention, expo, extension, fabulous, fierce, flamboyant, fun boy, hair, hair show, multicolor, tacky, weave
Trust, this author’s sartorial tastes dictate and appreciate that shorts made for dudes stop at or below the knee. It’s one of those trends that was gotten right. Just feels right, it’s how a man should look. Leave the short *ss “hot pants” to broads.
Now with that out the way, let’s get to what SGPL exists to do: tell it like it is about the hood mentality. A mentality that takes things to extremes and often overdoes it badly. (And summer’s coming up, so in the immortal words of Special Ed, it’s only gettin’ worse.)
Thus in the hood, so many ghetto people (yes, even straight, girly women) will come out of the house in shorts long enough to reach their ankles, with an area of fabric that could easily have been a regular pair of pants. And then they *sses have the nerve to sag in them. Meaning they can actually scuff their shorts with the heels of their shoes. As Geraldo said when covering Katrina, “what the hell.” Purpose-defeating ghetto priorities are quite powerful.
It was bad enough when Mexican cholos were going hard with this look by cutting off the cuffs of them big *ss Ben Davises, looking raggedy as hell in the process.
Really, why does a 5’6, 40-pounds-wet, scrawny ghetto dude need to wear 4XL basketball shorts when he already looks like a midget as it is? One can barely see the inseam half the time when he wears them, so it looks like he’s wearing a skirt. Furthermore, it’s been the case for going on 20 years that bigger size clothes are unavailable in your average store due to the bigger dudes being beaten to the punch by some twiggy little 32-waist douche housin’ up 40-s when he could pull the same look off with a mere 36, if not his own size.
The wackness of it all is that these looks go totally unchallenged by their peers. Everyone simply goes along with it. Ah well, somebody gotta keep the swap meets (and Jimmy Jazz) open.
I’m surprised ghetto folks don’t wear baggy *ss draws at this point.
You know what, say what you will about rappers of today and their subject matter and lifestyles and all that, but Dolla didn’t have to die in L.A.’s Beverly Center yesterday (way too young at frickin’ 20 at that). Surely just flew in to see the town and promote himself, only to end up unable to return home. Condolences to his loved ones. Even if this author never heard of him before yesterday.
Cell phones, business cards, little scraps of paper and pens are always kept ready–maybe even the old school little black book–for that phone number that will make a day. It’s also why the clubs let ladies in for free.
The hood is thirsty for freaks. Thirsty to turn out someone’s sister, daughter, girlfriend, wife…grandmother? Yes, ghetto people have a weak spot for women. And why not? This author agrees that the hood is crawling with cuties, in every Sentra, on every bus bench, at every swap meet, stopping at the liq store for drinks on Friday night, wherever; plenty of sexy young slimmies (and sometimes fatties!) worth taking a flier on.
This fact has caused the hood dudes (and the lesbians) to lose their minds when it comes to getting after it. A lot of these ghetto superhoes will flirt with anything that walks at any time. Hey, closed mouths don’t get fed, but it is a good idea to curb that hunger depending on situations. (Really…tryna bag the court reporter when you’re a defendant? Might be time to cut back on the Too Short just a scosche.)
Funny thing is this has another effect. Due to so many macks gassing up everything female, A) the women generally clean up nicely and stay ready for when Mr./Ms. Right walks up (though some hood girls are golddiggers, so said mack has to be careful) and B) those women will give the one she chooses props for capturing her imagination. This is more likely to happen if that dude or dudette doesn’t do the following:
[woman walks by]
“Sup, shawty! Hey, ma, you got what I need!”
[woman somehow indicates she's not interested and keeps going]
“Well, f*ck you then, B*TCH! You ugly anyway!”
Women in the hood go through experiences like these alllll the time, with all kinds of folks who lack self-control and home training and apparently can’t handle rejection very well. But why would said hunter in the example pursue her in the first place if she was ugly?
A lot of this has to do with the art of picking up women being a numbers game. (Gotta be able to back it up when you ask “But do you got mo’ hoes den me?”) Just to keep the sword sharp, a lot of heads just holler, holler, holler whenever they’re in position, even if they’re not reeeeeeally feeling the particular girl. That mud duck could be a super-ten on some lonely night…might even be worth some money! One never knows when a diamond is uncovered in the rough. Because that’s basically what picking up women is, mining. And the hood is one hungry prospector.
Hungry to f*ck that one ready girl….and likely her friends too, if they’re up for it.
Posted in beauty, community, dating, leisure, life, people, society and community, street
Tagged bag her up, bitch, broads, dips, freak, girlfriend, golddigger, hoes, john, mack, pick-up artist, pimp, slut, superhoe, thirsty, Too Short, tramp
It is told that in American prisons, the sagging of one’s pants was an indication that the male inmate was gay, and ready to get busy sexually. Up until the 80s, it was done on the streets chiefly by the most likely candidate to go there, gang bangers (surely one had to wonder about some of these dudes, considering the above urban legend). Then when baggy jeans became the trend in the early 90s, suddenly everyone was sagging, going lower inch by inch every 6 months, until finally some cornball decided that the sagging had to go underneath the *ss cheeks!
What possessed the first ghetto goof to go underneath the cheeks with it is beyond me. Is it to show off the skidmarked boxers they wear that no one else really cared to see? And when is the logical end of going penguin gonna hit the scene as some doofus just leaves the waist of his pants around his ankles and calls it a day?
The other mind bogglers about sagging are that:
a) so many of these cats wear these expensive jeans that were already too long for them to begin with (as so many ghetto types are shrimpy short dudes with Napoleon complexes) then sag in them and scuff the cuffs (which they don’t have the decency to splurge and have hemmed, since they’d rather have the weed money) so they’re just dirty and chewed up, and…
b) now that skinny jeans have hit the hood, people are sagging in those and defeating the purpose.
Worst of all, no one gets the idea that not only is it extra suspect lookin’ for all these wannabe tough guys to run around sagging, it just looks sloppy. Not to mention that the little thugs within the sagging community may have some police to run from or someone that owes them money to run after, but how can that successfully be done when they have to constantly pull their pants up to avoid tripping over themselves?
Ghetto minded people do so many paradoxical, corny, backwards things…and most all of it has a tendency to take off.
Does this author believe that folks should be fined and thrown in jail over it? No. That’s just wrong, and the legal system has bigger fish to fry than policing bad fashion. Leave that to the public at large. And bloggers like yours truly.
Posted in fashion, gangsta, politics, society and community, style
Tagged baggy, boxers, douchebag, fashion, gang banger, gangsta, hood, jail, prison, sag, sagging, skinny jeans, tacky, thug, trend