Why I Abandoned the "Black Culture"...
UNCIVILIZED BLACK PEOPLE make life HARD for the rest of us, and we're TIRED
Slack Slacker Hangin' with “Thugs & Thots” in the Wild
Story Time for Labor Day Weekend.
If you were invited to the backyard picnic, the brothers and sisters know straight up that the potential for some crazy shit going down is possible. And very probable if you haven't disassociated yourself from those carrying low-life, ghetto assed ratchet DNA in their bloodstreams. For those who are clueless, read on so you won’t be surprised.
Expect Clap Trapping Thot Bots with BBLs that could be assigned their own zip codes, twerking for potential baby daddies as the house party host grills Costco ribs, cheap burger meat, and hot dogs, sipping a Rot-Gut version of Courvoisier cognac from a Hip (Hop) Flask. You’ll see loud “Shit-Chatters” slammin’ dominos down on card tables while others slap backs of the winning partners playing Spades for bragging rights. Yeah, the Dusty Dawgs & Devious Divas are in their element, and everybody's partying like it’s 1999.
But wait, there’s more: The dusties are dressed for this auspicious occasion in their cleanest low-hanging “SAGGING” chinos proudly displaying a pair of dingy shit-stained skid-marked boxers. However, not to be outshone by the lusty, busty, and just as dusty loves of an ex-con’s wet dream is the bonnet brigade 304’s sporting laced front weaves with batwing eyelashes and yoga pants so tight even an innocent observer could count the pubic hairs on their camel toe crotches. No Bullshit!
I kid you not, there were “Scandalous Scanks” of every age, size, and levels of lewd and lascivious willingness. Backroom B.J.s and quick lap dances out of view of the unruly delinquent “niglets” and future jailbirds were available to anyone with a joint and fifty bucks to grind it up with a chick nicknamed “Chlamydia”.
But the future and current felons (Pookie & Ray Ray) waving Glocks and swiggin’ from a 40 oz of Colt 45 are the real threats to an evening of wholesome neighborhood fun and games. These are the hair-triggered niggas and two-time losers (looking for that 3rd strike) who’d graduated with honors from Hood Rat High that would open fire in a Neonatal unit as quickly as they’d squeeze off a few bursts from a TEC-9 in a crowded club to settle a beef over a twenty-buck bag of fentanyl lace crack cocaine. Yeah, these are some scary ass” MOFO’s”.
And lastly, but not least, the pronouns must be addressed. Most self-respecting Thugs prefer the My Bro, Bruh, Cuz, or shall I be so bold as to utter obvious? The term of endearment: My Nigga. Go ahead, look it up in the Urban Dictionary. I won’t cancel you. But. I wouldn't recommend you use it lightly unless you’re strapped to the teeth, got a good health plan, and ready to run for your Fucking Life.
Bottom line: When I was young and dumb, my plus one and I at the time attended events like this, so I’ll give any non-Hoodlum-types a heads up to (A) Be aware of the stares. (B) Dress flashy but cheaply. (C) No jewelry, authentic or fugazi. (D) Never share your real phone number with anyone. I always use a Google phone number. It’s called Google Voice. (E) And for God’s sake, drive your own car. Uber and Lyft drivers got more sense to respond. It’s a strong possibility you may want to leave early or make a hasty getaway if niggas start niggin': Yo, you might need to bust a serious move.
Yours Truly, Lee Bines (aka) Slack Slacker 😎
Post Script: If you want to be gracious and make an effort to speak in the vernacular of the other “Guest”, you might consider checking to see if Babbel has a crash course in Ebonics. Just sayin’ Cuz!