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 people, life, vices, health, culture and custom
Tagged bacon, change, Newport, resolution, resolutions, new year, new you, new me, bandwagon, IHOP, LA Fitness, process, Chad Ochocinco, sausage, pancakes, CNBC, Mad Money
Don’t get it twisted, ghetto people HATE going to court just as much as anyone does. But after a while, it’s like a complete 360 (no, I don’t mean 180!) is done on the whole saga and one hates it so much you may as well like it, if that makes any sense. You learn how to deal with it. Getting enough tickets or catching enough cases, you just form a routine.
You stop going alone. You start bringing the iPod or Zune to kill time (like this author did, the bwoy was bumpin’). You clear the schedule that morning. And you just kinda free your dome, loosen up, and go there ready for anything. Once upon a time, this author purposely left the whip at home and caught the bus downtown in a throwaway striped hoodie, jeans, and some clapped out Air Force Ones (no they weren’t all-white lows!) because what’s the point of being dipped (and I was still dressed better than the average person who goes) if a) one is doing some grimy *ss hoofin’ it and b) you just might not come home when you’re done in front of the judge?
This author has known dudes who were HAPPY to go to the pen! When asked why, it was because things were settled and the stressful court process was over. When cats are happy to go do their bid in West Bubblef*ck with a bunch of killers sorted out by race and towers of guards with rifles trained on them who will shoot the inmates with bullets they themselves have to pay for (paying to get shot, ain’t that about a b*tch?), that is really telling about court.
And even traffic court has its problems, because the lines are the kind people going to claim GR don’t even want a part of. All kinds of transient degenerates who wear Skechers are in the mix with people mad they get to take a break and trade gridlock on the commute for the gridlock between sheriff’s deputies. All for the pleasure of watching the clerks close windows just to f*ck with everyone waiting in that 1000-deep line to get that extension for that quota ticket they just got over the holidays (and can’t get it out the way, because it’s not in the system yet, which the clerk who’s lucky to have a job is more than happy to let you know with her stank attitude).
May as well blaze or sip on something before going. Need something to make you feel good while waiting with everyone else to get on those funky *ss elevators on the way to the next “here goes nothing” moment.
Posted in life
Tagged extension, Air Force One, catch a case, ticket, iPod, 360, Zune, schedule, gridlock, deputy, elevator, pen, Skechers
There’s one of the following in every hood. The cat who was called Baby Huey when he was a kid. Or the chick with the carrot legs known as Tiny. Or baby doll known as Muffin with the muffin top. Lemme stop, this ain’t the nicknames post.
Anyway, to get back in focus, real talk, the hood is teeming with fat bastards. Oodles of lard*sses who probably eat Oodles of Noodles…uncooked…dipped in Cheez Wiz…on a kaiser roll…with bacon…baked in! Same people that have the nerve to drink a diet soda with it like they’re doing something.
It’s a really weird rule of unalike attract, alike repel or whatever, kinda like how in planes you move the flaps up to go down and down to go up. Ghetto people who can barely afford to keep their fridge stocked somehow, someway tend not to miss too many meals because somehow food with more ingredients that’s bad for you is cheaper than food with less ingredients that’s good for you. And unlike their non-ghetto counterparts, ghetto people eat like it’s going out of style, and then park themselves in front of the tube to catch up on their stories or videos or bootleg movies or whatever.
Imbalanced lifestyles leaving the hood chock full of large and in charge ghetto people built like tanks. Water tanks. Septic tanks. Whatever tank it is, it’s a tank that doesn’t move much, because many ghetto people never met an exercise they liked. Which is how the diabetes clinics keep a good attendance…even on Christmas.
While we’re at it, ever notice also that a lot of ghetto girls that have nicknames and e-mail/Internet handles with words like “Sexy” or “Cute” in them are unequivocally fat? Can’t say they’re tryna convince themselves they’re attractive and desirable, because thirsty *ss ghetto dudes already have them convinced, gassin’ em up in Myspace comments and sh*t, having them think they can walk out the rest and to the club in their brand new kits from Torrid and Abundance with swagger enough to expect three free drinks plus appetizers. Their crew of four will dance in a circle (like they’re really beating dudes away with a stick that night) and take up the entire floor. Sloppy, morbidly obese chicks that in turn have the nerve to consider themselves “thick.”
Ghetto people get uber-fat as if being so damn big builds character. As if it’s the best protection. Yeah, it’s great protection…from getting laid. Oh, who am I kidding, Big Bertha still finds a way to crank out a bunch of babies…all of which she can feed from one teat as they treat her spread out areola like the round table King Arthur’s knights sat around.
They often try to explain it away with excuses like having thyroid problems or being “big-bone-ded.” When usually it never occurred to them that BBQ cheese puffs since 3 years old ain’t exactly the breakfast of champions.
Sorry, NBC, ghetto people are the biggest losers of a different kind.
Posted in life, beauty, vices, health
Tagged pig, babies, swagger, Oodles of Noodles, unalike, thick, Baby Huey, diabetes, Torrid, Abundance, obese, exercise, Myspace comments, King Arthur, round table, NBC, Biggest Loser, thyroid, big boneded
Ghetto people really don’t get around very much.* You can tell right off when a ghetto person opens his or her mouth…and things are confidently confessed that to someone more cultured should be completely beyond comprehension. Sounding just ignernt…yep, spelled just like that, not ignorant, but ignernt.
That ghetto of the mind principle is real. Some people really have a NASCAR oval track their brain makes left turns in. They genuinely don’t see sh*t else. Whatever bullsh*t their mama or their little friends introduced to them is all they know, and they’re content with it, and actually have the nerve to dis things they’re unfamiliar with!
Take for instance some 18 year old ghetto girl. Meets a dude that uses fairly polite terminology, keeps a pretty clean diet, knows some other things he’s willing to teach her. Ghetto people tend to be threatened by worlds that are foreign to them. So she’s likely to slur him in a culturally insensitive manner and send him packing…as if how he’s living is beneath her.
This is how one hears things like Asians being all called Chinese, Latinos being all labeled Mexicans who eat beans and tacos, all Black people with “dreads” being called Jamaicans and asked if they have any weed to smoke, all Muslims being labeled terrorist A-rabs that threaten their good Christian sensibilities, and more…
And thinking that sh*t is OK to boot! Snitching is a huge ghetto crisis, but bigotry and prejudice (not brought forth by police, that is), that’s cool!
These are people whose horizons and minds you can’t expand to save your life…even if you’re buying! They’re life’s picky eaters. They have a life-tose intolerance, they just ain’t digesting much (unless it’s pork). This, but they’re also the biggest lemmings…meaning if the whole hood is on it, they’re on it. Won’t catch on to a new sound until it’s on the radio twenty times a day. Won’t watch that movie if the bootleg man ain’t got it in stock. Ways of customizing a car or wearing clothes that have existed for years ain’t cool…at least they weren’t until that baller rapper they aspire to be (with) mentions it in his song. As far as interest in international travel, the ghetto person is probably the one who speaks of Africa like it’s a country, or maybe that dude who wants to go to Brazil only because he thinks a porno shoot will break out when he leaves the airport. Foreign foods get Americanized partially due to ghetto people who need to be spoon fed stuff. This author sounds harsh, but go have a conversation with this very person and you’ll feel my pain like Clinton did while he was feeling on the booty of Monica Lewinsky.
*Having been around the block in bed, if diseases and popping out babies like rabbits is any indication, is the obvious exception.
Posted in life, dating, culture and custom
Tagged baller, swine, ignant, ignernt, ignorant, bigotry, prejudice, NASCAR, porno
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 people, life, society and community, street cred, health, culture and custom
Tagged tradition, shrink, psychiatrist, 730, psychologist, Maia Campbell, professional, help
shootout at a bar on a snowy Thursday night in Toledo, Ohio, with fairly robust surveillance footage. Ghetto people know full well that’s not a strange occurrence. Sh*t goes down at bars, clubs, and party functions where ghetto people are in attendance. Ask that idiot C-Murder, he’ll break it down for you.
Was watching NBC Nightly News while listening to beats over the weekend of this writing. Lester Holt suddenly mentions that there was a
Hey, the life is hectic. There’s bound to be a bunch of dudes (or thuggish-ruggish lesbians) interested in acting out dormant Mobb Deep fantasies, wishing a fool would so they can dust off the line they’ve waited their whole life to say: “I’ll be right back.” These same folks probably do drive an Ac and keep a Mac in the engine. Probably mack to girls in the function with razor blades in their mouth ready to buck fifty somebody. Well, we at least know that’s how New York party animal thugs rolled back in the 90s…and a lot of fools’ tactics don’t necessarily change with the times…but I digress.
At spots where the ghetto people are in the building, that *ss gotta be prepared. Know the exits (not just for the fight or shootout, but even if the dancefloor gets a little tight). Keep the coat and the purse and your crew close by. Might need to tuck in your chain in case of the party getting robbed (that does happen). Know what you can grab to swing at somebody and knock off a block or two. Don’t stand anywhere near the bouncer (they tend to either get touched or do the touchin’). And have a good first step. Hell, you might even wanna get like homeboy at the 2:41 mark of the video and practice that little stolen base strut he was working to perfection. He’s obviously one ghetto person who likes baseball. This may not be #6, but you really can’t make this stuff up.
Posted in life, society and community, gangsta, community, leisure, entertainment, in the news, on the town
Tagged beef, hustling, party, club, bar, shootout, Mobb Deep, C-Murder, Toledo, Ohio, bouncer, baseball, stolen base
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?
Posted in business, community, dating, food and drink, ghetto, leisure, life, on the town
Tagged Baha Men, bar, beef, douchebag, ESPN, Fridays, grill, meathead, mutant, night out, obnoxious, security, suburb, swine, Wang Chung