Ghetto people get up for most all holidays. Usually because they’re excuses to get into certain activities. As mentioned a month ago, it’s the time to either eat like a pig, drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney maybe, party like a rockstar…or in the case of Halloween, do the following:
-dress like a complete whore. Used to be that females did like everyone else and dressed in rather silly costumes. While some still do, many chicks have latched on to this obsessive need to be a “sexy ____.” Sexy werewolf, sexy firefighter, sexy sportswriter, sexy person who cleans toilets, sexy bowling shoe disinfector (probably isn’t a word, who cares?), sexy serial rapist. Hell, there will probably be some fat ghetto girl who comes out in a bra and panties and says that’s her costume so she can get laid. Any excuse to wear tight revealing sh*t and get their cleavage drooled into like the attention whores they are, these tramps are now making the most un-sexy thing you can possibly think of “sexy”…perfect night for a ghetto girl to get knocked up at 2am. And she won’t know who the father is because he was masked up that night* and she was drunk off Incredible Hulks.
-be criminal and destructive. Throw eggs, play Bushwick Bill and rob little kids for their trick or treat bags, deface cars, or take it to the annual Detroit extreme: burn houses down on Devil’s Night. Putting innocent families who don’t have insurance on the street. Yep, there’s ghetto bastards ready to make a fun night miserable this weekend.
-get the little crumb-crunchers free candy. Hey, ghetto people love free crap and they wanna shut their kids up…what better way to kill two birds with one stone than to send their little bad *sses out in those cheap supermarket vinyl costumes (hey, screw getting creative) to go get candy that will have their heads jumping off their bodies for a week?
*Speaking of creativity, ghetto dudes 16 and up will likely just throw on a mask with their everyday gear, and call it a costume since they’re too “hard” to turn their swag off and really get silly with it. They just wanna hit up a party and look to come up…maybe on some skins, maybe on some money from knocking off a liquor store (save the hate mail), who knows.
Anyways, Halloween is simply there to usher in the ghetto holiday f*ckery that’s just getting started.
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.
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.
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
Condoms for your head.
It used to be that the fellas would only use do-rags to hold down their pomaded and brushed head of hair while they were indoors, and took it off when going out to show off their waves. Do-rags were for a man what rollers are for women.
When the cornrow craze kicked in in the late 90’s, however, suddenly the ghetto faithful were rockin’ do-rags as accessories. Sweaty *ss, grease-smellin’ do-rag would be worn all. Day. Long while heads were just out ghetto adventurin’. Walkin’ the block, blazin’ on the corner, having sex (or jacking off in the alley if one were so unlucky)…all with a do-rag on his head that he never felt the need to take off. Do-rags were suddenly for a man (or thuggish-ruggish lesbian) what a bra was for a woman.
Even guys who were stone bald to the point you knew their hair was never coming back wore them, regardless of having a scalp with the shiny finish of a bowling ball.
To make matters worse, fools would layer two or even three different colored do-rags on their dome, with one of those douchey baseball caps (stickers and all, of course) tilted on as a cherry on top, and you better believe that whole clusterf*ck on his head is matching the fake Jordans on his feet. Add in all the aforementioned activity and those synthetic fabrics had to have someone’s head, rags, and cap smelling like sauerkraut with everything all discolored a dark gray like the insole of some hood girl’s ripper slippers (bought from the same shop to line the Koreans’ pockets even more).
And of course the logical end of this fashion statement is the ridiculousness pictured above, sold in 99 cent stores everywhere. You know once something hits the shelves of a 99 cent store, it’s officially done to death.
With the hipster/skater look all the current rage, the do-rags aren’t as prolific as they were when cats were bumpin’ too much Dipset. But you already know there’s nuff ghetto males keeping it alive everyday. Just like those hood urchins who still had jheri curls in the late 90s or leisure suits in the 80s.
Posted in fashion, ghetto, street, style
Tagged bra, condom, Dipset, fashion, hair, hipster, hood, Korean, pomade, sauerkraut, sweaty, tacky
The views expressed do not necessarily reflect that of Stuff Ghetto People Like…so don’t shoot the messenger!
Posted in cars, community, entertainment, fashion, life, people, society and community, video
Tagged bacon, curl, hair, hood
Meet your average ghetto female, and there’s a 70% chance she has one of two occupations. Doing hair, and singing. Since these girls never really sing unless their song happens to come on 106 and Park while they’re in the shower, we’ll focus on the doing hair part.
How can a ghetto female from 17-70 not get her thalers up on any given Saturday? Chicks always want their coiff did up, to get ready for the club, chu’uch, court, that hot date with the next sugar daddy, er, baby daddy, er potential deadbeat dad, whatever. (Can’t forget the dudes that want the braids, rows, or “dreads” hooked up, but let’s not lose focus here.) Rent or the car note is due, or the kids gotta eat, or old girl wants to stack to get a new pair of heels? Do a couple of heads and be good to go. Hey, why let the semester in cosmetology up under nosy loudmouth chickenheads and gay guys go to waste?
In some cases, all that skilled living room stylist has to do is show up with her hands ready to make magic, as it’s often the client’s responsibility to hit the Koreans up for all the supplies. Otherwise, she might already have that blackened pressing comb that doesn’t even require a dedicated stove, as she only needs to throw it on the range. And she can take her time, as girls are always prepared to be around all damn day to get it done (and some styles still require that lucky girl to come back the next day). The stylist can watch her shows, talk about the latest neighborhood highlights, smoke a tree or two, cuss her boyfriend out on the phone, smack the kids up for spilling the quarter waters on the originally white carpet and all that. Might even dance a little. The client is fully entertained for the trouble, and the stylist will still get paid, lest the client wants water thrown on her dome (you know the ghetto girls hate to get their hair wet) or the fake hair yanked clean out.
Some of these ladies who do hair for the hustle are able to parlay it into renting a booth at virtually any beauty shop in the hood, secure that the buzzer-activated iron door will keep the clients in and the ex-boyfriends out. (Some even ban children! Great quick vacation.) And there’s plenty of these shops to choose from, as some streets have them lined up two to four in a row on the same block. Veterans of visiting Crenshaw Blvd. in Los Angeles know what this author speaks.
It’s a seller’s market.
Posted in beauty, life, money and economics, style
Tagged beauty, boyfriend, fake, fashion, girlfriend, glamour, hair, hood, hustling