#44: T.G.I. Friday’s–and other “bar and grills”

Yo, f*ck T.G.I. Friday’s.

No, really…f*ck T.G.I. Friday’s.

I mean, as a restaurant, Friday’s is cool, you can slide off in there and get a proper meal that’ll stick to your ribs, feel good about life with the game or some random ESPN show on in the background.

The goddamn bars they have in them, however, are complete ghetto douchebag conventions.

And since ghetto people have a bad habit of f*cking off all the dedicated bars in town, leaving the security guards of said defunct establishments needing a post to work, you end up finding both varieties of meatheads converging on the local Friday’s. Somehow Friday’s shines as this supposed place to be.

This is especially the case in ghetto suburbs. Because these are places where the dedicated bars never existed to begin with, there’s a true obnoxiousness level one finds himself steeped in the minute they walk in. It’s hard for this author to wrap his head around. How in holy hell did Friday’s just become like the sh*t to ghetto people?

Really, it’s the douchiest place in the world. It’s lit like the developers of each location went nuts buying up the local f*ckin’ Lamps Plus. Other features of the decor make you think a barber pole just threw up on its walls and tables after having too many Friday’s drinks. Crowd consists of wannabe fat cat cigar smokers, the motorcycle club delegation (often Ruff Ryders), mutant looking females in the building to test drive the hair they just got done…for Friday’s of all places. How the hell does one try to get chose up in Friday’s? Whether it’s macking or bringing a date, you can’t hear a goddamn thing in there! And it gets stupid packed too. Ghetto people pack lots of patience for Friday’s because most people with half a brain and any dignity dig in their heels, spin 180 degrees and jump it off elsewhere.

It can easily be like this at the hood Chili’s, hood Applebee’s, hood Bennigan’s, what have you…but ALL T.G.I. Friday’s spots get this way after 4pm. This author is surprised they don’t just splurge for a DJ that likes to play Baha Men and Wang Chung, charge a dub admission, and introduce bottle service so ghetto people can really feel they’re doing it big.

Anyone reading this, please explain why the hell T.G.I. Friday’s is so f*ckin’ popular?

You can’t make this stuff up #4

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…

You can’t make this stuff up #3

Heard about something just too trife not to be posted here. It damn near qualified as a number post.

Alright, LAPD runs up on this Studio City club called Platinum (ghetto enough as it is by name alone), tells the security to kick gravel and travel, runs up in there and begins arresting all kinds of gangster cats, pickin’ em off like a hot hand on the video game Centipede. Bunch of parole violators, bunch of bail jumpers, bunch of dudes under the gang injunction order (not supposed to be together AT ALL, period). They figured they can’t rock out in the hood, so they rented out the club some ten miles away. Reports conflict on whether onetime already knew days in advance or if some heroic 2520 dropped the dime like his pocket was overflowing, but up to 100 jack-booted officers were all over it around 2am (so at least they got to have a full party…sweet!)

Heads stood out as it was with their swap meet personalized shirts and tacky bedazzled fake Ed Hardy in such a wine-and-cheese (by comparison) part of town. But really, what the hell were they thinking? All these legal swords ower their head: probation, parole, gang injunction…and on top of that, they were blazin’ inside!!

Oh, that leads to the beauty of what inspired this author to post it: The TV news report of it all. The intrepid journalist in his Indiana Jones leather jacket interviewing the good cop talking about how the place smelled like, and I quote “a Bob Marley concert.” Not to mention they said they could have probably popped more on a violation of something starting with P if their computers weren’t down. (Stop buying your PCs from telemarketers!) And the guy who apparently reported them gives his name on TV!! How very brave of him, as if anyone affiliated with that set won’t read the lower third and call 1-800-USSearch.

To wrap it up, Indiana Kovacik said there’s more of these to come because it’s “hood holiday season” this summer. Plenty of shopping days left, to be sure. And that’s one down *ss club owner to allow all that to go down (yeah, we really believe he didn’t know he was renting it out to a GANG…but he made bank off of having 400 people in the spot, that’s for damn sure).

This author is having a party THERE!

Click here to read the actual report and watch the video

#36: Haters

Haters make the ghetto world go round. Ghetto people are obsessed with haters. Katt Williams told the ghetto faithful, if one doesn’t have enough haters, he needs to do what it takes to get his hater army up.

Why? Because hate is big business. The hater effect is realer than the Oprah effect. More extremely large rims are sold in the ghetto for the Chevy crowd to build ghetto monster trucks with, not because they think it actually looks good, but because it gives the haters fits!

Haters give a ghetto person another thing they hold in high (or low) regard: a target. A ghetto person can breathe again, has a new life, something to look forward to every waking morning, knowing that Jesus provided them a new hater to make or break the day of, as they turn their swag on, buy bigger shines, and give the haters another reason to make a bitter beer face. One who has a hater to focus on has new pep in their step.

There was once a player in a now-defunct football league called the XFL who went by the name He Hate Me on the back of his jersey! He had that good football-playing job due to the haters who inspired him to have them hating him more and more.

Teenage Beckys usually kill themselves if hate is coming their way because they aren’t wired to take the pressure like ghetto people are. Ghetto people hear these stories and wonder “what the hell was wrong with them?” They took themselves off the planet over haters instead of milking it for all it’s worth! Haters give one an opening to vent some frustrations, as a hater punching bag is preferred to seeing a therapist.

This means Kobe and the Lakers should feel good about their status in the hate community. Means they’re doing something right.

Haters aren’t a top-3 subject of raps for nothing. The street cred grows bigger with the haters to back it up. And ghetto women don’t feel right if a hater woman doesn’t have interest in taking her man. Haters are the spice of ghetto life.

On a side note, the following shirt is just wrong…well, at least in context:

You can’t make this stuff up #2

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?

#33: Hair shows

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:

#29: Special occasion corner vending

We all know the hood loves hustling…and we all know the hood loves hustlers.  This might be what allows a certain breed of hustlers to turn on a dime.  A brother once told this author that hustling is about finding what the people want or need and providing it for them.

Easily this is what’s going on when those damn tents get set up on every block during weekends, holidays, big concerts, event sports, and such.  Team car flags, the bootleg T-shirt of the month with the name of the ghetto hit song on the front, weird throw rugs, umbrellas when it rains, what have you.  Back after the September 11th attacks happened, these folks were literally on it the very next day with American flags.  One would swear there’s an all-purpose corner hustle warehouse all the street vendors converge on where the aforementioned is available along with the usual oils, incense, and fake Jordans.

I even once saw this Mexican cat selling boxing and martial arts equipment (because ya never know when someone passing by was thinking of training with a heavy bag for their living room).  As said in a past post, it’s a bazaar every single day in the hood.

But by far this author’s favorite is when the people pop up with them funky *ss gift baskets (AKA ghetto grab bags).  Without fail, every Valentine’s, Easter, Father’s Day, and especially Mother’s Day weekend, there they are…sometimes one on all four corners of an intersection.

And what’s in these baskets?  Myriad bullsh*t, basically.  One could probably slap together baskets with Smarties left over from Halloween, used panties, a jar of styling gel, dried-out incense, old condoms they got from the free clinic, bootleg DVDs they’re done watching, a pair of earrings that gave their previous owner keloids in her nose (!), and a stuck-together copy of King magazine, with a bed of dead grass clipped from their front yard, wrapped up in a see-thru trash bag and make a killing.

Since no two are alike, surely there’s some ghetto woman tacky enough to have a basket collection in her house akin to some nerdy fanboy who collects Transformers. Probably wants the hypothetical gift basket I just described.  And some shrew(d) of a hustler was just given the idea to sell it to her.

Hell, there’s probably some cornball parent who bought one to stash away for the daughter’s prom gift…

Speaking of chicken…part deux (the Oprah edition)

SGPL is not gonna slam a big write up on it here…we’ll just let this and myriad related articles break it down:
http://gothamist.com/2009/05/06/kfcs_denial_of_grilled_chicken_give.php

But honestly, after debacles like this one, what was corporate thinking, let alone Oprah and her people? Surely the franchise managers were calling in their horror stories. This author thinks the individual stores learned their lesson on that fateful Monday, that lesson being that these fiendish chickenheads can’t control themselves when “free” and “chicken” form Voltron. And then to put Oprah’s stamp of approval on another run on the chain a week and change later?

Not to mention chaos was bound to ensue when folks could print up as many as they liked, with a new number for each.

Sometimes I wonder…maybe Dave Chappelle’s jokes involving chicken weren’t far off the mark.

On a related note, a cat told me that his girl got a text saying “Oprah gave the white people money and cars, she gives us chicken and it ain’t even fried!”

Speaking of chicken…

Sometimes the hood brings the pain in embarrassing fashion.

Kentucky had a promotion today where they were giving away a piece of their Grilled Chicken in order to jump start people paying for some. So your esteemed author figured to swing over to one after the morning business was wrapped up.

I walk in, there’s a line six deep, and I figured I was gonna need to grab a Snickers as I would be in for a long campaign. But that was the pick-up line. The order line was clear. Cool! So I order a couple of Snackers and ask for a free thigh, pay and wait, figuring things would be straightforward.

Not 60 seconds later, a line snakes in back of me ordering with the rush of someone who’s been smokin’ that water. Should be neither here nor there, one would think. You think?

Five minutes pass, day laborer types were taking back pieces of chicken that were exposed to the dining area, and the workers were putting them right back under the lamps! (Suspect much? They gave those same pieces out to unsuspecting folks in the drive-thru.) Suddenly this furious pack of old ladies and county broads gets worked to a rich lather…and me with my hurt back listening out for the new material.

“Why don’t they just give us the chicken?!?”
“What are y’all doing back there?”
“At another Kentucky, they would just make a box and pass it out!”

All the loudmouth foolishness you can handle in one afternoon.

One woman sees a Latino cat given three sodas and immediately assumes “Look at them, see? They givin’ they people the hook up.”

OK, cut the crap, lady. Are you seriously assuming they would pull something like so blatant? You think Latinos are incapable of ordering and paying for something? Nah, they’re just randomly dropping free Pepsis on their own kind to stick it to you. Gotta love how the racism comes out when folks get angry.

(As I write this, what’s up with Leonardo DiCaprio with a Grambling cap on his head at the Laker game? Plus, Denver whacks New Orleans 121-63. Goddamn Bizarro World in the NBA…but I digress….)

Five more minutes pass and at that point, they were about ready to break out pitch forks and torches. One twentysomething brother (see guy pointing, top pic) finally goes off, rushes the order counter, yelling “F*ck that! I want my money back! F*ck this sh*t!” I had to call him on that, just as I did the aforementioned civil rights activist.

“There’s babies in here, money. Watch your mouth.”

Of course he didn’t care. And neither did the rest of the mob, so wrapped up in needing their chicken fix that all sense of decency went by the boards.

How about going off like this at the city council meeting to get things done? Where’s this anger about the local gang making trouble or about Black-on-Black crime?

But nah, save that anger…for when goddamn chicken isn’t in your hands fast enough. Preying on people that are doing their jobs as fast as they possibly can. At a place you’ll continue to patronize at that. Not to mention being ungrateful for something that’s free and really isn’t that important in the bigger picture.

All seriousness, the hood is at once a beautiful, vibrant place and its own worst enemy.

Bet tomorrow it’ll be like that at El Pollo Loco too.

And the new product? It’s decent, nothing to write home about.

Anyways, any of you experience similar incidents?