Apache – Gangsta Bitch
Hit the Twitter
this morning (follow us if you aren’t already
) and found out the news. Again, as this author said on the Teddy Pendergrass
entry, younger deaths hurt the heart like no other, but if hearing such news brought back good memories, then a man’s time walking among us wasn’t a waste.
Bump the cut and you’ll understand why that sound will live forever, regardless of pop rap whims. That was a downright electric time in Hip-Hop, sparking trends that some of the current faves keep alive to this day for a reason.
Posted in entertainment, gangsta, in the news, music, people, video
Tagged 1992, Apache, bitch, Flavor Unit, hip-hop, rap
This author has an understanding that death is generally sad, but that many deaths can actually make you smile. In these cases, after you say “aw, damn, s/he died?!?” you smile because you think back to someone’s heyday and the legacy they left. You can smile if someone has lived a life that was fairly full and healthy. Like that guy that came up with Gumby. You hear that he passed and you begin to think “man, I used to love Gumby!” Ghetto people might think of Eddie Murphy doing Gumby on SNL or a Gumby fade back in the new jack swing era…but I digress.
The deaths that don’t bring smiles, that are sad as hell, are those where one was robbed of promise and potential upon death or somewhere down the line prior to death. Like young actors and athletes. Say, Len Bias or MC Trouble or River Phoenix. Someone where the next big thing they were up to was just around the corner (see John Ritter, for example).
Or in Teddy Pendergrass’s case, he didn’t get to continue or finish his career on his terms. The man gets paralyzed in a car accident in 1982 and that was that. Similar to how you think about what might have been had Jay Williams of Duke and the Chicago Bulls not hopped his tail on a motorcycle and crashed it or had Christopher Reeve not had that horse-riding accident or had the D.O.C. not crushed his voice box or Lauryn Hill not decided to start poppin’ out babies by a Marley kid…or if John Belushi and Chris Farley didn’t have drug issues…or if Eazy-E had wrapped it up…no telling what they might have had left in the tank, what ideas they had swimming in their heads. Death or no death, it’s always sad when the end comes way too soon, and the whole deal is cheapened into being a moment in time.
Ain’t like this author can’t live with that, one doesn’t need it to be 1979 or ’86 or 2001 or whatever, f*ck all that, one should embrace the future, the show gotta go on. Still though, all rambling aside, back to the point–what was the point? Ah, doesn’t really matter. The ghetto knows one thing though. Teddy cuts sure came in handy for getting some draws off. Those of you about 28-35, just ask ya mama. Her ready *ss probably threw hers on stage when he rocked the Total Experience back in the day. Couldn’t have him, so she settled for your daddy!
Don’t shoot the messenger.
Posted in celebrity, entertainment, in the news, music, people
Tagged death, draws, Gumby, heyday, legacy, Len bias, panties, Pendergrass, slut, Teddy
It has likely occurred to you from observation (as it has this author…read along) that of all the bandwagons ghetto people hop on, they ain’t makin’ no resolutions. If they smoke, they smoke. If they fat, they fat (hoo boy, are they ever!). Look around the ghetto first few days of the year, you know ghetto people ain’t givin’ a f*ck about changing! At least not immediately. Ghetto people make changes when they get good and ready, bottom line. Otherwise, they’re perfectly content with how they do whenever you met them, and you’ll have to just deal.
In a way, that’s not a bad thing. Because it’s admittedly kinda silly for a bunch of cornballs to be pigging out and shopping till they drop and drinking like a fish, pounding all these things they usually partake of like it’s going out of style, only to suddenly dead it all cold turkey on January 1st…”new year, new me!!” Uh, what’s that Chad Eight Five says again…oh yeah, that’s right….child, please! Try to all perfect and without sin and sh*t as if the sinful ways are years behind you and you got it all nailed down. Most people who try to get religion and make resolutions distill back to who they were sometime around Valentine’s Day.
Maybe ghetto people are on to something. Change is a process. A process one embarks upon when the time is right, the heart’s really in it, and the mind can invest in it properly…not all willy nilly simply because it’s January. So while the lot of folks start slappin’ on nicotine patches and plunking down CNBC mad money for LA Fitness memberships, the ghetto people are getting in IHOP to get in those all you can eat pancakes (with bacon or sausage) and washing it down with a Newport when they’re done.
Posted in culture and custom, health, life, people, vices
Tagged bacon, bandwagon, Chad Ochocinco, change, CNBC, IHOP, LA Fitness, Mad Money, new me, new year, new you, Newport, pancakes, process, resolution, resolutions, sausage
Let this author frame the following for you in a way that ghetto folks understand.
In the hood, the boys are known to go back and forth with really incendiary jokes about their opponent’s relatives. Ghetto people all know (or at least are convinced) they pops ain’t sh*t, so baggin’ on dads doesn’t rate because it ain’t that effective. But baggin’ on moms is where you can get some laughs and do some real damage. Those sessions get charged like hemi Dodges.
Not to mention note the difference in attendance at buffet restaurants close to the hood for the Champagne brunch on the second Sunday in May versus the third Sunday in June. If pops is there on Father’s Day, it’s likely he’s paying his and everyone else’s way. Whereas moms on Mother’s Day probably has a brand new Lexus with that douchey red bow on top in the parking lot when she comes back out…with an LCD TV, Coach bag, shoes from Aldo, and that damn basket gift wrapped in the trunk! All of this chipped in for by her doting offspring, as if she made them by all by herself.
It’s just something about mothers with ghetto people. They can do ZERO wrong in one’s eyes. Have kids with mad multiple different dudes (that their man-sweatin’ *sses give priority over said children), end up in prison on credit card scams (even ruining their own kids credit so they can’t finance a car or house in the future), beg for help from the kids the rest of their triflin’ lives using the “dirty diapers” trump card for pacification, and be an otherwise complete bastard to them…and they still hold momdukes on a pedestal.
Pops could give a kid a little less money than he was able to earn that week, and he’s the worst! Person! In the worrrrrrrrld! Ghetto people have daddy issues arguably worse than they do police issues. Yeah, we all know of the deadbeat dudes who only care about chasing new draws and bolt at the first sign that old girl is with child. But ghetto society got so jaded from even hearing about those guys that dudes that are out to do right can’t catch a break. Can’t win custody in court or nothin’…even when the punk *ss mama is literally a meth and crack addict on the stroll 16 hours a day.
And you wonder why muthaf*ckas wanna get married less and less each passing year…
Posted in culture and custom, family, gender, holidays, people, relationships, society and community, stereotypes
Tagged Aldo, baggin', brunch, Champagne, crack, custody, daddy, dozens, jokes, Lexus, mama, meth, mommy, moms, papa, pops, rolling stone, Sunday
In case you haven’t noticed, ghetto people don’t do therapy.
Nope, having a shrink is not what’s hot in the streets. Ghetto folks are too “real” for that…no matter what kinda funk they could be in.
They ain’t tryna get labeled crazy or weak (though they and many of their ghetto contemporaries are as crazy and/or weak as they come…hey, they don’t hide behind guns and their crew for nothing). They think all the therapy they need is Jesus, or sex, or money (I guess they never heard money can’t buy happiness)…or exorcising their demons on others.
Is it not having the cash or insurance for it? Is it pride (read: fear of tainting their street cred)? Are these folks who say things like “only God can judge me” and other witticisms taught to them by Tupac records as they do this, that, and the third with no shame in their game really that afraid of being ostracized and gossiped about by their community? A lot of people in the hood are struggling with serious personal problems that they can’t sort out on their own. But again, many hood folks are victims (and some in turn are perpetrators) of the toxic ghetto mentality that rules out many of life’s options.
It’s funny how that ghetto mentality works. The ghetto has a thing for keeping one down and kicking them while they’re there and (while they ironically enough can’t stand haters) hating on any ideas for rising up that aren’t pre-approved as appropriate for one of the ghetto world. One can trace conditions of education and infrastructure and crime in the hood to this worldview. The ghetto would easily rather one like Maia Campbell not get the help she needs, but get caught on camera cussin’ out some hoodbooger in a tank top, as in that recent YouTube clip that made the rounds. You the reader probably have tons of new lines to impress your friends as you insult their anti-horny *sses.
It’s funny in all its seriousness.
Posted in culture and custom, health, life, people, society and community, street cred
Tagged 730, help, Maia Campbell, professional, psychiatrist, psychologist, shrink, tradition
Studio gangstas exist because rap’s biggest problem since the rise of the thugs and “roughnecks” has been the idiot fans (and some rappers’ colleagues) who feel that keeping it real actually means that rappers must live exactly what they say in rhymes (that subject matter usually being some hardcore dirt or illegal way they got extreme stacks before they first hit the mic). To these people (usually ghetto), there’s no such thing as a persona or a character, no such thing as creative license.
Somehow this “keep it real” contingent never got the memo that a rap song isn’t an interview with a given rapper.
Some, to be sure, actually do rap about their real current lives or true experiences. Or even base fictional raps on something that really happened, ripped from national headlines or their personal ones.
But one should be able to paint whatever type of picture they like without some weirdo attaching these works to how the performer actually lives. Many rappers are their own worst enemy, as these lyrical Brunos never step out of character, and perpetuate the idea that this should be the normative of Hip-Hop. Even wrestlers change it up when they get out of the polyester daduntaduns.
Overemphasizing that other idea of “realness” is what has poisoned the rap climate for so long. It’s partly how Tupac and Biggie got killed, it’s partly why so much corny E-thuggery is posted to rap sites like allhiphop.com or DubCNN, it’s partly why so many MCs (like Max B and Shyne) go catch cases and end their own careers.
It’s really disrespectful to the beauty of what Hip-Hop has been and still could be. You don’t see this f*ckery go on in rock or jazz, not even with these all-too-closely-associated R&B artists.
And it’s paradoxically hilarious that these homophobic alpha males are analyzing every square inch of the life of another man as if they’re getting paid for it. Message to that man in question who rolls like this: If another dude was on your tip like that, living vicariously through you, you’d call him all kinds of queers, right? Of course you would, the world already knows how people like you are. You don’t think you look some kinda way all in a rapper’s personal business (or that of some sports figure, for that matter)? *cue the plea copping that it’s supposedly different*
And leave it to this idiocy that you got rappers not admitting to or proud to have perfectly legit jobs or degrees in the name of higher street cred. For the sake of feeling right listening to a record, one would rather that someone getting smoked or turned out on crack actually happened, and at that rapper’s hand! As if that makes the beat sound better in the speakers or some sh*t…
Posted in entertainment, gangsta, music, people, street cred
Tagged CD, fake, hip-hop, palin, Peedi crakk, Plies, prison, queer, rap, Rick Ross, swagger
There’s just something about her like there’s something about New Balance 574s on your feet. You can’t place a finger on it, but it feels right.
Adele Givens tells it best. She’s just such a f*ckin’ lady!
She ain’t no video vixen and she ain’t tryna be no hot mama or anything else out of pocket. She’s just straight up woman. Fits Barack to a T. Those factors alone make her bad as hell. And she got badder as she got older! How many women can you say that about?
A woman like her could say “let’s get it on right here right now!” and a ghetto dude wouldn’t even accept because he’s just floored by her general steez…just wanna lay on her bosom and listen to her tell stories or something. And as he lays there, two milk 20-something freaks could come by ready for a three-screw, and he’d turn them down out of hand like “nah, I’m good” with a Kool-Aid smile on his face for a month.
Michelle Obama is the wife every man ghetto or otherwise wants next to him on every date and vacation, let alone bearing his children. And a lot of dudes don’t even know or won’t admit it! Queenly without tryna be some overbearing diva. Comfortable in her own skin just like the President. She knows where she fits in this world, doesn’t have a pretentious bone in her body. Whether wearing shorts in public or getting physically close to Queen Elizabeth, she pulls off being her.
Yo, kcuf the dumb….this author fox with Michelle Obama. Period.
Posted in beauty, celebrity, fashion, in the news, life, people, politics, relationships, society and community, style
Tagged girlfriend, lady, Michelle, Obama, swagger, wifey
Out on the town a few weeks back, I spotted the following:
Yeah, it’s the ghetto Lady Deathstrike. A female Freddy Krueger. And she looked about 40 something running with her boyfriend that was probably 28 or 30. So she’s been studying at the Cougar Den. And her thickness indicates she was taught to kill her own food using those.
You guys can’t tell in the pic, but those things were quite thick and sturdy lookin’. Can’t imagine bangin’ her walls out and her carving one’s back up with those talons (not saying I wouldn’t poke–she had a nice meaty rack and, as you can see, a serviceable rump). What practical use could she have for those things? Maybe to sniff 2 lines worth of coke at once? And why do chicks with these swords on their fingers always have jobs that involve typing?
Author’s note: Yeah, it’s the first post in 30 days. Had been out enjoying summer for one (freaks, sneakers, drinks, you know the deal). Beyond that, what’s the point of casting pearls to swine, AKA these recent commentators who take this blog on face value and swear they know what this author is talking about better than I do. Reminds me of people who buy magazines for the pictures and not the written content. Those who see me drop it over on Kicks On Fire and Very Smart Brothas know the real deal. Anyway, all that is to say I’m alive and well.
In the immortal words of Black Sheep’s Mista Lawnge, “Vaaaaaan Damme!”
Of course we knew Jacko’s name would be used to make mad people money (and ratings–say hi, BET!)…and of course people go mad in the process:
Because yeah, Michael Jackson not only makes people hungry on the evening dinner hunt, but in the obvious way he was out to shape his image, he really wanted his name associated with fried chicken.
Hoodie Award winning fried chicken at that. And as insult to injury, they had the nerve to not even offer white meat.
The hood shows in very laughable and shameless ways that it sometimes just doesn’t get it. Vaaaaaan Damme…
Posted in business, celebrity, community, entertainment, food and drink, music, on the town, people, race, society and community, stereotypes
Tagged Black Sheep, cheap, chicken, Hoodie Award, Michael Jackson, tacky