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doin hood thangs


the_state

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is peeing in your pants when you get jumped by a group of dudes in a pickup truck when you are in junior high gangsta?

depends. rule of thumb is: as long as there is an equal amount of blood, in the blood and piss mixture.

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i saw some guy taking a shit in a parking deck where i park people's cars so i taunted him about and told him that was fucked up and he could at least hit up the stairwell. he won because im pretty sure he was pretending to take a shit to distract me and a bunch of cars got broken into right after that.

HE was doing hood shit. you tried to distract from hood shit, which is suburb shit.

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I drink quarter waters and blue soda, and eat Bon Ton chips and heros from the bodega. Real hood shit.

add some loosies* to that and you good.

*only newports hood flavor may apply

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it was one of those "chillin" days where i hole myself up and watch television (seinfeld, chapelle show, south park), masturbate, and then fall asleep.

went to the korean liquor store around 3pm and got me some tilt, a 40 oz cobra, and a 40 oz high life (i was feeling good). i also grabbed some flaming hot cheetos, and some old ass cinnamon rolls from albertsons.

i was fucked up by 7pm, and the homie convinces me to go to this super mex party in pasadena (this is where well to do community college graduate mexis go). i was not on the list, nor did i have 20 for cover.

i wake up next to a litter box with my shoulder and back bruised and aching.

my friend later revealed that i threw myself against the door as the bouncer was closing it, what made it infintely funny was i ran at the door at the speed of a sloth. i apparently had plenty of time to stop, but i was so drunk that i threw my body against the closed door thinking i was able to sneak in.

i also tried to climb a fence to get in but was ratted out by some fag, and the coup de grace was when i scaled an adjacent office building and jumped into the club's smoking area.

this may not seem hood at all, but i did this in cheap ass chinese supermarket sandals, some dickie shorts, and a stripe ralph lauren golf shirt.

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rode shottie in friend's car. he's cruising and next thing you know, he hits the brakes and three ppl jump in the back, one guy actually shoved hard into car. guy is squished in the middle. doors lock.

middle guy darts his eyes back and forth to guys next to him. i see some scratches and a swollen cheek. his nose is dripping.

two ppl to the side of him look straight ahead, dead silent.

friend pulls off and i hear metal bats and other various hoodrat objects rattling on car floor and trunk. we cruise for a few miles without any music, completely silent except for the rattling of dangerous objects on floor.

CLICK-CLACK.

the doors burst open and out flys middle guy, jazzy jeff style. car pulls off.

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I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die

:D.

Perhaps i'm just a bit too white & british, but can any of you translate what the hell you're talking about? Loosies? Bodega's?

It's all fucking greek to me!

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loosies are cigarettes, sold individually, despite being packaged for sale by the pack or carton. this practice is almost exclusive to bodegas, small, privately-owned purveyors of alcohol in 40 oz. servings, cigarillos (often flavored), extra-wide cigarette rolling papers, condoms, sometimes jerky, and rap snacks. often, there is a slot through which one may order "off the menu" and obtain medicinal herbs without a prescription. these establishments have your safety in mind. bars on windows, bulletproof glass at the counter, and surveillance cameras. also known colloquially as "the stab and grab" or "the corner store".

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one time when i was in college i got a call from my father at 230 AM

he asked me to bring him a gun i was holding for him (i was living in a progressive area and he thought it might give some piece of mind)

without asking why i immediately saddled up and drove the handgun to his apartment

turns out the po-po's confiscated all his weapons (he had many) when he got into some kind of altercation with some gentlemen (from the dominican republic?) that were trying to force their way into my father's apartment (for i think the second time that year)

basically, they (the interlopers) knocked on the door like they were the DEA (that means loud and with urgency) and when my dad opened the door a crack (chain still attached i imagine) they showed him their weapon; he, in turn, showed the glock that he always answered the door with, and then some kind of fracas ensued. so yeah, long after the fact, i dropped off the gun, went back home, probably released some healing herbs into the air, and slept it off.

i have only had a gun pointed at me by my father. usually when i arrived at his place unannounced and he'd stagger out of bed with his eyeglasses still on the nightsand, naked, and pointing a handgun in my general direction.

someone once tried to stick me up, but i think it was not a real gun, so when they said "run" i merely walked away briskly (caught in that crepuscular space between terror and pride).

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