Sometimes I congratulate myself on some stupid little trick I just did like successfully flip objects from hand to hand, or behind my back, or shooting an item into the trash from a long distance, you know...all that random fun shit. Sometimes I'll cuss myself out or call me a name after doin something dumb..."AJ, how the fuck did you lose it and you just had it!" or "Of course you left your *whatever* at home like a asshole" or "How bout you don't drop your phone again, dick?"...don't act like you haven't done it.
I've asked myself "Where the fuck is this train..." many times (as if I could answer the question), I've asked myself "What the fuck is wrong with *whoever*" and yeah I've asked me "What am I gonna eat for dinner?"...you know you've said those things out loud too...who did you think you were talking to when you did? Oh, thats what i thought. My point is, its fine to talk to yourself all you want...as long as other people in your head don't start joining the conversation...ain't that right, AJ?
7 things I must know about a person:
Name (obvious reasons...that includes the last one too, you know how many ppl there are with that name?)
Relative age (again, obvious...I just wanna know whether you 20 or 40 or 13, shit...)
Birthday (not that I'm gonna remember it because my memory span is almost as bad as my attention sp...ooh, look a distraction...)
Favorite drink (if any...course, I said before and still believe you don't know folk until you sit back and have a drink with em...)
Religion (again, if any...it ain't mandatory, I just want to know which kind of jokes I really can't make around you...I'm not tryna get shot, folk get mad about that kind of thing...)
Smoker status (smoking or nonsmoking? Cigs? Blacks? Ganja? Meth? Crack? Actually, scratch the last 2...we can't be cool if you on that shit, cuz if I catch you stealin my items to buy rocks, you might as well Twitter yourself a suicide note...)
Favorite football team (if any...tho I can't for the life of me determine why anybody wouldn't like football lol)
That's pretty much enough info for me to know about most ppl, everything else can be on a need-to-know basis...hell, I'm not writin nobody memoirs or nothin... I just feel like if I don't know at least those things about you, you're a complete stranger to me...
Sike. I went all the way there, got there about half a hour early, sat down, got a couple beers (because who watches football sober?) and settled in...just for them to tell me their direcTV full coverage football package ain't kick in yet (ain't that some janky shit? Who only has full coverage half the year? Is that really full?) and that they couldn't show the game if they wanted to. And believe me they wanted to...I was raisin all varieties of hell trying to get that game on tv...I think they woulda did it just to shut me up. Shit, the bartender felt so bad for me she gave me a free beer and her phone number...I only planned to use one of those 2 tho. (Hint: it was the one with the better head...)
After I left, partially drunk and thoroughly dejected, I almost accepted my Cowboy-less fate...I would be reduced to watching 1.5 minutes of highlights on SportsCenter instead of my deserved 3 hours of football vacation. That's when a beacon of bright hope hit me...I found out they would replay the game on a channel I had at home at 4pm the next day (today). Football at 4 on a Sunday...that just sounds right...and with enough self-deception and avoidance of all sports media until then (its way harder than it sounds...that's the news, espn, the internet...not to mention random shit-talkin folk) I could just wake up tomorrow and pretend the game did not actually happen until then...what was the difference right? My mantra became "avoid the score".
But of course that's when everybody wants to give it to you. If I wanted to find the fuckin score, I bet like shit I would have to seek it out...but hell, let me NOT want the score, and all of a sudden, everybody wanna talk Cowboys. On the way home, a dude spotted my attire (of course, it bein gameday, I was wearin more blue, silver, and stars than the law allow) and immediately started in with "Yo, I'm a Boys fan too, that's what's up...did you see that..." I cut him off at the knees like Anakin Skywalker in episode III. "Na, na, na fam...no offense, but I got the game recorded and I don't wanna hear about it..." He smiled knowingly and was like "Oh aight...good luck with that..." We discussed some non-current Cowboy events for a little bit and parted ways.
"That was a close one..." I thought to myself. I had walked no farther than 2 blocks before some chick with a blue-star logo hat spied me, and walked over with a big smile, assumedly prepared to discuss the game. She asked whether there was anywhere she could watch it, and I said I woulda asked her the same fuckin question. She laughed and said it was no problem, she could look up the score...and before I could react, she whipped out her blackberry and sifted through the internet, presumably to find out and tell me the score. I almost ripped it from her hands and skipped it like a stone into a sewer grate...but settled on politely informing her of the sitch the same way.
I asked myself just how hard this shit was gonna be as I walked into the corner store to get chips, dip and beer for my home tailgate tomorrow (Sunday, today) afternoon. I got my sixer and snacks, and went to the counter to pay. The asian cashier looked me up and down and said "Hey, Cowboy!" in a friendly tone. His english wasn't very good, but he recognized the star...hell, those mighta been the only 2 words he knew, but I smiled and acknowledged him anyway. Without me asking, he pointed to the news on the store's tv...where they were about to show highlights of the mafuckin game! "No!" I shouted as I recoiled in horror, my night and next day seconds from being spoiled. I just threw 10 dollars on the counter and fled the store with my goods.
I finally got home and thought I could survive the night by just callin/textin folk and watchin iCarly. (Yeah...I watch nickelodeon...ill still beat your ass lol) I guess that why they don't pay me to think...during a convo with my frienemy Ci that apparently wasn't goin her way, she threatened to reveal the score to me over the phone (how rude). It took everything in me not to throw my phone like a live grenade...so I simply banged on her instead...and turned my phone off. (If you know me at all, you know how big a step that is...my phone hasn't been off since I first put the battery in, I'm addicted.) Even that wasn't enough tho...my pop's idea of a joke was to turn my TV to NFL Network while I was sleep (yeah, he's gonna end up in a home...) and I just know some dickface is gonna text me with the score before 7, when the game ends.
The point is, this whole situation taught me a lil something about life (besides that being a sports fan sometimes strains one's life)...it's hard work stayin ignorant. You have to consciously avoid information to prevent knowin it...even tho it seems a lot easier for some ppl. I haven't made it yet, but I'm close enough where I feel comfortable postin about it (plus if I don't do SOMETHING with my life I'm gonna hit the suicide swan dive out my 2nd story window). Wish me luck...oh, and if you decide to be the smartass to tell me the score, you will suffer dire consequences. :) (go Cowboys!)
umf: What's good with you, bruh? Good to see you again... *reaches hand out for dap*
Shane: *withholds dap* hohohohohollupholluphollup...before we start a damn thing, what's good with you callin me by my
gov't all crazy? Nigga my name Blaze. Blaze Lyonhart. Get that shit straight...only my momma and my bitch call me Shane.
umf: Aight cuz, fall back, I don't want no trouble, you got it...you're gonna chillaxify yourself in this mafucka tho...I call you Shane, Blaze, Suzie, whateva the fuck you want...you just gon have to watch ya tone.
S...uh...B: You right...I just ain't smoke yet today, my fault for spazzin, its all love *renders withheld dap*...now what's this you wanted to talk about?
umf: Girls who can't make up they minds...any stories you wanna share? Personal experience?
B: Ohhhhhh shit...I'm so glad you asked...hell yeah I got a story.
umf: Well what you here for? Get to narratin, nigra...
B: Pssh...you funny, AJ. Aight, so I was at this party at college--
umf: When the fuck you go to school?!
B: Nigga shut the fuck up *laughs* I wasn't goin to college, I had just crashed a college party. Any more questions, with ya ole interviewin Diane Sawyer ass? You want me to tell this story or not?
umf: *smirks* You lucky I like you, dude...go head tho...
B: Aight, so like I was sayin before I was so rudely interrupted, I was at this college party and we was all drinkin and shit, smokin...you know, chillin...havin a good time.
umf: Right, right...
B: I'm just groovin or whateva, then I see this BAD [fittedwearer's note: Sh...Blaze popped his 'B' in 'bad' so hard right here, he came close to watering a nigga...which woulda def earned him a asswhuppin] jawn across the room...she had a ass and a half on her, and titties I wanted to suck out her shirt...and her face was pretty than a mafucka, even in the dark I could see that sexy honey complexion...shit, you know me, I was on that...I went and cracked on her. Said her name was Alicia. Asked her what was good with her and if she was havin a good time...you know, all that meaningless shit dudes ask to get bitches to keep talkin.
umf: *laughs* I know exactly what you tom'bout...continue.
B: I know you do, nigga...anyway, so after I talked to her for a lil bit, I asked whether she had a ride home and shit...she said na...then I asked if she wanted to go to my crib for a little...she paused for a second...I guess she ain't wanna look like a ho... but shit, if a nigga ask you if your drunk ass wanna go home with him, you know what its good for, right?
umf: Um...niggas don't ask me if I wanna go home with them too much...maybe that's your twist...
B: Mafucka don't play with me like that, you know zactly what I mean...
umf: Yeah, course I do...anyway...
B: Yeah, so we parlay at the party for a lil bit more then we bounce...we drive back to my crib or whateva and we do what we came to do...she take off my shirt and shit, I take off her bra...we all grown folk, we know what was goin down, I ain't gotta go into too much detail and shit...tho she did have some pretty ass nipples...shit I took a pic, wanna see?
umf: Yeah you right...specially since I'm in a lil drought at the moment...I don't need to hear all that...
B: Nigga what's new, you don't get no bitches... *laughs*
umf: Yeah aight...continue with ya lil funky ass story...I will need to see that pic later tho...
B: I was gon show you whether you wanted to or not... Anyway, she all kissin on my neck and shit...makin sure to rub them titties all on me and shit...then she start movin down...collarbone, chest, stomach...
umf: Aww shit...damn, sound like you bout to get what you want...what this got to do with females not makin up they minds?
B: Hell yeah...that's what I said! But wait tho! She gets to my belt and start to unbuckle it...then the bitch just stop...
B: Yeah she stop. Then she look off like she thinkin or some shit for a little bit then she start in with all this bullshit about how she couldn't fuck me cuz she ain't know me and she ain't feel comfortable and she thought she should leave before she did something she regret and all that gay shit...I ain't really hear nothin after 'We cant'...
B: Na, na...you know I ain't take that on the chin...
umf: Aww hell no...Blaze, you ain't...take it...did you?
B: Man, fuck na! I ain't do that shit, its illegal and rude. Plus its other bitches, I can find another one. Check this out tho...I let her get dressed and get redressed myself...all the while I'm thinkin 'Oh, I got something for her mark ass...'
umf: *laughs* I can't wait to hear this shit...
B: I takes her outside to my car or whateva, let her get in without sayin a word, and drive her about 6 blocks toward the direction she had to go...then I pulled over and said 'Aight, good night!' She was like 'But this is only halfway down!' I was like 'Damn scraight...how's it feel bitch? Bounce.'
umf: Cooooold blooooded *cracks up* What she do?
B: Nigga what could she do? She looked at me like I was crazy for a little bit then she got the fuck out my wheel...walked away all sad and shit...I just popped a U-turn and went on with my night. Ended up gettin another bitch too...
umf: *laughs* My man.
B: Yeah dawg, you know I'm too gangsta to sweat this bitch or that one...point is, if she can't make up her mind...fuck it, on to the next.
umf: Can't argue with results...
B: Fuckin real, you can't...she be aight, and I know I will...everybody wins.
umf: There it is, then. Well we're just about out of type for today, any final thoughts?
B: Fuck you, Alicia!
umf: That's the spirit. Well, good shit once again, fam...thx for blessing the blog once again...
B: Oh, anytime cuz...anytime. *daps*
* We at umf don't believe you should call bitches hoes...that's just not right. Oh, and the words, experiences and methods detailed on this site are solely those of the people who spoke, had and used them...so miss me with that bullshit.
I decided I hate those six flags commercials...who THEE fuck decided that a creepy ass dancin rubberface boy-lover lookin mafucka was a good mascot for a amusement park!? Seriously, its like "Oh, a jiggin old pervert wants to take all our kids away? That's so nice of him, now he doesn't have to snatch them, at least we know who has em... Sure yeah, let's just load all the lil monkeys into a bus with this old crip-walkin weirdo and let him cross state lines with em...' On some real shit, would you let your kids hop in the car with dude if he pulled up and started doin the hustle in the middle of the street, throwin out lollipops and shit to attract the younglings? Ain't think so....
Don't you know that whenever you do that, you sound like you never actually had to deal with black folk before and spent all day on urbandictionary.com (whose headline should be 'now you can sound black too!') or got black people training from BET to prepare to interact with real african-americans in they natural habitat. Cut that out, sport...I mean yeah, I do talk like that to my friends and ppls but...you're neither...its really not necessary to try give me a pound every time you see me. You don't have to call me 'brotha', 'homeboy', 'dawg', or any other clearly ethnic-specific bullshit at the end of every sentence either. Chill out...not even we do that...do me a favor and never watch 'Malibu's Most Wanted' again. How would you like if every time I walked up to you I went "How's it hangin, cracker?" or "Put'er there, honky!" I'm sure it would get old fast. I'm just waitin for some clueless caucasian coworker of mine to go "Hey, what's good my nigg-ah?" so I can kick him in the back of his face...
Aight, my soul is fat as shit, so baby back rib flavored chips sounded good, I can't lie. So I plunked down a yank just to see how it was...fuck it, I couldn't resist. It was all good until I opened the bag...
What the fuck man?! Why its only like 7 chips in this mafucka? The chips look hella far down...because they are. You can't fool me, this is a 25 cent bag of chips in a big ass bag...and don't you dare try to give me that 'chips settle during shipping' bullshit, neitha...you look me in the eye and tell me you really believe that those 4 chips actually filled up that huge bag at any point in time, and I'll tell you I got a bell I can sell you...It's cracked, but it has a lot of historical value...$50 or best offer. You mean you wanna charge me a dollar for this? That's how you feel? Fuck you Herr's...fuck you.
McDonalds worker:"Your total is 13.42, pull through to window 2..."
Customer: *pulls around, hands money to cashier*
MW: "All right, enjoy your meal"
C: "You too..."
See, the worker doesn't have a meal...he can't enjoy his meal too. It makes no sense, and we all do it. I avoid it by just sayin 'aight' whenever I didn't hear you...
What legitimate barber did this? Did he sit down in the chair and ask for it ('Ay dawg, lemme get that St. Louis...) or was the barber cuttin his hair with safety scissors and a protractor? Nobody knows...either way, somebody need they ass kicked for lettin dude appear outside without a hat...
Ill tell you what that shit has become...a crutch. Its a response 4 those who don't have responses. If you don't got an actual rebuttal...fuck it, call em a hater...that'll show em! On some real shit, that's only a small step above 'Oh, yeah?!' as a comeback. If you ask me what I think about that 'jerk' song, and I say its one of the stupidest things I've ever heard actual functioning human beings attempt to call music, I'm not hatin...you asked my opinion, I gave it. Sucka. Oh, and 'hater' is not valid in political discussions. I was in a discussion about healthcare and I said Barry O was wrong for backin off his initial plan just because some folk didn't like it...I mean, I thought it was a good plan. The person I was talkin to had the nerve to say I was just hatin on Obama. Word, dickhead? Needless to say, that was the end of that convo. Let's not even get into the fact that everybody and they fuckin parole officer think they got 'haters'...what do you even do special to hate on? Is there some kind of hater assignment bureau where folk go to get haters? Who's even thinkin about you, honestly?
Do you understand that by your defintion, everybody that don't like something or doesn't think its as good as other folk do is hatin? Does that mean the whole country just spent 8 years 'hatin' on George Bush? It def means that means vegetarians be hatin on meat, celibate folk are hatin on sex, if I think sumbody breath stink, I'm hatin on they hygiene and anybody that has food allergies...man, there ain't nothin wrong with them...that's just a hater reaction! Get that hate out your heart for that food and you'll stop gettin hives, right? Get that shit outta here...legitimate, actual criticism is NOT hate...its just that person's opinon (or hell...maybe a fact). Cut that shit out right now...I demand 'hater' be clearly defined for all and used the right way. Hate on that, mafucka.
One pretty basic fact about me (that everybody who has talked to me for more than 10 straight minutes knows) is I'm a pretty big fan of the Dallas Cowboys. Have been since...ever. Last year for my birthday, I got this ring from my momma, immediately put it on, and never took it off except to sleep. Its kinda heavy so its uncomfortable then, so every night I put it on the hand of the little Cowboy figure/statue/toy on top of my tv (you know, the McFarlane jawns...its Tony Romo if you care). As you can imagine, I love this fuckin ring. Love it. It has a lot of fan-timental value to me. That's why it was so devastating when...
After a night of drinkin practice with my boy D (standart shout-out practice applies here...what up bruh!) I woke up in a hungover fog...now that's no problem for me, hell I got the remedy (and posted it...'Hangover Magic', if you ever need it...) so that was gonna be a nonfactor in a hour...the real issue came up when I stumbled out of bed, looked up at the #9 figure on my tv...only to NOT see my ring. I instantly felt the way a mom must feel when she look by her side in a airport/supermarket and don't see her small child. Unfortunately, I only had about 20 minutes before I had to leave...and I had to shower, dress, all that good shit. I decided that a shower might help me think more clearly, then I could come back and figure out where THEE fuck my ring was.
I ran back upstairs afterwards, ready to turn my room upsidefuckindown in my last 15 minutes before I had to roll. (Of course I had already harrassed my mom about it, askin if she had seen it...not at all...) The bedside table? No. Did it fall near my tv? Nope. Under the bed, under the dresser, under the couch? Na. (thx anyway g1 flashlight app.) Fuck! Panic mode...7 minutes left. Did I leave it at D's crib? I shot him a text to find out, even tho it was 7:30 in the morning and he was prolly sleep...fuck it tho, I wanted my ring, and I wanted it 20 minutes ago. (Sry cuz lol) Anyway, I continued to toss my room like I was servin a search warrant until 10 minutes after I had to leave... (yes, the ring was more important than bein on time for work) at that point, I said fuck it, put on my backup (Green Lantern ring...I like that one too, but I love my 'Boys ring...) and reluctantly left for work, pissed the fuck off and convinced Iraqi insurgents stole my ring or some shit.
All day my ring was on my mind, tho I knew it wasn't there and knew I wasn't gonna have it until after work...so I just tried to put it out of mind. What made it hard is every time I looked at my hand, it was a reminder of how neglectful I had been to my treasured item and how I had failed myself as a Cowboys fan by losin my ring. Yes, it's that serious. Around lunchtime, I got a response from D...no dice. It was a long day...when it was over, I ran all the way home from Center City. (Aight I took the train...but I woulda...) I got back to my house and immediately got to searchin my room again. After searching the same places again (ever notice you do that after you lose something? You know you looked there, but maybe if you look again, by some miracle it will appear there the second time?) Havin retraced every step from last night, I stood in the middle of my ransacked room, thinkin about what I would do without my ring, how much another one would cost, how long I was gonna be without it...that's when I happened to glance at my bed and saw...
My ring. My fucking ring was on the windowsill behind my bed. (Its always in the stupidest, most obvious place, ain't it?) In the first halfmoment I saw it, a quick wave of euphoria washed over me like I had just took a E pill. It felt just like the day I got it...almost like a 7-second sample of a whole nother birthday. Then, I remembered the last thing I did last night in my drunken stupor was take off my ring and place it on the nearest safe surface...my windowsill. Course, that's a fact that conveniently escaped me all day... I considered killin myself slowly for my utter stupidity, but then remembered if I was dead I couldn't watch football this season and decided against it. Still, to find it in such a under-ya-nose type place did make me feel like I should be ridin the short bus to work. In the end tho, the way I felt after I found it was damn near worth losin it in the 1st place...and in a way it was kinda like life in general...sometimes the stupidest, most why-and-how-the-fuck-is-this-shit-happeningish things are worth it to go through...just for the end result. That's good enough for me. I drank to that and went on with my day.
Muslim garb? Sundress? Toga? Whatever it is, there's a lot of it, and it's pink. Now, far be it from my technicolor dreamcoat wearing ass to tell folk what colors are cool or whatever...but a pink evening gown ain't very gangsta...even with a Polo tee lol...
On some real shit, how the hell did people do it? I mean really? Havin to actually pick up the phone to know who's callin? What kind of caveman shit is that?! You have no idea whether its your girl, your best friend, your boss, a stalker/pervert hybrid, the cops or a bill collector...that's a serious handicap. It almost sounds like a game show or some shit... Answerin the phone without knowin who's on the other end is kind of like a 5-minute blind date...you never know what the fuck you finna get. Only after the advent of caller ID could you look at your phone, say 'I don't want to talk to that mafucka' and move on with your day. That's underrated as hell...and so I salute the wonderful person who brought this technology to mankind.
I understand its the new thing in the streets and all the kiddies love it...but that don't make it right. Remember the hightop fade? Hammer pants? Velour suits? How about those ice dancing outfits folk used to wear in the 80s? Those things were all hot in the streets at one point or another, and now we look at pics of people in that shit and ridicule them. Just save yourself the trouble and peel those things off right now before you look at you in 5 years and end up slapping the shit outta yourself.
Maybe its just me cuz I'm kind of a big guy and never would think about putting some on (Frankenstein is the image that comes to mind...) but I can't even fathom how you can bend your knees in them sunsabitches. I've actually seen peoplw hustle in skinnys. How do you run from cops or anyfuckinbody else with your legs perfectly straight? The hilarious mental image of somebody tellin me they got that [insert item here] out and then stiffleggedly walking over to me like a desperado at high noon aside, how the fuck can you sell anything if you can't even get in the pockets of your denim stockings to make change?
All I'm sayin is that your girl shouldn't be staring at you tryna figure how you got in them jeans. That's just all gender-confused. That's not to say your jeans should be 5 sizes bigger than you need either. Walking around lookin like your clothes are melting is not the right move, and havin your whole outfit just flap in the breeze like a cape ain't a poppin' look. There's such a thing as shit that fits...(imagine that!)...my whole point is if I can read the number on the credit card in your pocket through your jeans, not only are you at risk for identity theft, but your shit is way too snug. It just seems like way more trouble than its worth...let's leave the tight pants to the ladies, guys...
Yeah, this clearly isn't targeted towards any particular group...number 1, its fo' (yeah it says 'four' but...let's be real) 0 malt liquor...so there you go right there. Next, we got the graffiti style wordmark, urban skyline, and scribbled brick wall backround...because urban decay is gangster! Stereotypes are a mafucka...oh, and I'm not sure you can see it in the pic, but marked on the can is 'street legal'. I guess all those illegal beers folk drink in the streets got the game fucked up...I'm surprised it doesn't say 'strictly for my niggas'.
If you weren't offended enough by the cultural misappropriaton and socioeconomically biased marketing scheme, it also taste like sweetened piss-flavored liquid bread (although it is 10% abv...for comparison, Steel Reserve is only 8, your average beer is 5) and is made by a company in the mean streets of...Wisconsin. I can honestly say that is the first and last 2.50 this brotha will ever give to that particular company...hell the only reason I bought it is to take the pic (it was in one of those 'hurry up and buy' stores...you know they wasn't lettin me get no free pic...) and the only reason I'm drinking it as I type is...its just not right to waste alcohol under any circumstances. That's against my religion.
Anyway, I seriously doubt you'll find any subpar, pandering bullshit like this outside the hood (that, check cashing places and laundromats...but we'll get to that later...) and its a damn good thing. News flash, Copper Mountain Brewing Company...you're not down, and I'm not amused. Oh yeah, and your beer sucks too...
Despite all that, you might still ask: why? What's the point of drinkin by one's self? Well, I'll tell you. First, if you never drink by yourself, how you supposed to get your tolerance up so you ain't that dude who gets pissy drunkdialin stumblefall drunk in public off one smirnoff ice? Nobody wants to be/likes/wants to hang with that douche. Besides, I'm a firm believer that you don't really know somebody until you had a few drinks with em...shit, that's when the real you comes out...so why not get to know yourself? Hey...henny is cheaper than therapy...
I mean hell...I enjoy drinkin with me. Its not necessarily a sad thing... I don't have to share my liq (cept with my alternate personality...he's a drunk...), my drinks come out exactly how I want (cuz I made em...duh...), I don't have to worry about a designated driver (you're at home I assume...if you wander around random places to get fucked up, again, you may need some help), there's virtually no way you'll get arrested for public drunkenness (see last side note) and I don't have to worry about somebody gettin me drunk and takin advantage of me (unless...y'know...lefty gets a mind of her own *rimshot*).
Shit...sometimes (like today) you got nothin in your day but time and a bottle...you mean to tell me if I just kill time, that's cool...but if I kill both I'm an alcoholic? Just cuz I got a little Captain in me? (unavoidable joke: can't say that if you're a dude at sea...yikes lol) Whatever you say dude...fuck you and your rules. I'm gonna have fun no matter who's around...and sometimes that's just me...
umf: Yo Blaze what's up with you? *shakes hand*
S: Yeah yeah what's poppin my dude? I'm good, I'm chillin...you want some of this gum I just discounted?
umf: I'm good man...but that does bring us to our 1st question: what exactly is a 'self-discounter'?
S: Well, what I do is real simple. When I go in stores or places to shop, I like to get a little something extra at a discount...they don't have to know.
umf: Isn't that called 'stealing'?
S: *sucks teeth* Na, na...see, you got the game fucked up. Check this out...stealing is from people. You take somebody's ipod, that's stealing. You rob somebody with a gun, that's stealing. You take money from a person, that's stealing. What I do is different. See, I buy shit from stores, but I just feel like ppl shouldn't have to pay for everyfuckinthing. I spend money, I just don't pay full retail and shit...that's for suckas.
umf: Word? Elaborate...I'm kinda interested.
S: Aight...being a self-discounter is all about fast hands and things that SHOULD be free. Peep, if I'm at a lunch cart, and I buy lunch...it ain't shit for me to take a pack of gum, especially since they don't watch that shit worth a damn...way I see it, they owe it to me. I'm not payin $3 for no gum, specially when its your food that made my breath hum in the 1st place...you can suck my sweaty balls, that's a scam where I come from. When you pay a crackhead to cut your grass, do you gotta pay him again to sweep the grass off your sidewalk? No, it comes free, smell me? I look at it that way.
umf: *strokes beard* I see...are there any other ways your controversial philospohy applies? I mean, ima be real...this shit funny, keep goin...
S: Glad you asked, my nigga. For example, say I buy something that works on batteries. I'm not paying for the batteries too. You sold me some shit that work on batteries, batteries should come with it. The shit don't make sense...I'm tuckin a pack of triple A's in my pocket before I roll... I take packs of kool aid all the time, they won't miss it. I rarely buy lighters or any of those things they put on the counter when you about to pay...you know, the easy to grab trinkets? Those 7-11 attendants pay less attention than they look like, dig? *laughs*
umf: *smiles* Yeah, true...now, I gotta ask you 2 questions. 1, are there any rules to self-discounting or is it kind of a free for all type thing?
S: Yeah, there's a couple: 1) I don't take shit that's worth over 10 dollars. Way I look at it, that's the point where it become serious. 2) Don't get caught, dickhead! *laughs loudly*
umf: Yeah I don't think the cops would see it your way...
S: *sits up in chair* You workin with the po-lice?! You snitchin?!
umf: Man, shut the fuck up...no, I'm just agreeing with you...no such thing as a crime long as you don't get caught, I guess...but you know better than to ask me some shit like that...aight, so second question: You take items, you admitted you take items...why should I ever trust you around my items?
S: Like I said, cuz...I don't steal from people. That shit wrong, people paid for that shit and it belongs to individual mafuckas. Them big corporations and stores and shit? ...Man, they just write that shit off when it get took. Fuck them, they makin their money either way. Are you gonna get a free replacement if I take your cell phone? Na, not at all...but if I grab a pair of wristbands from Foot Locker, they can order that shit right back up. They don't even care. That's the difference. Plus, I'm spendin money too, ain't like I'm just comin in there to discount...so they'll be aight.
umf: Hmm...aight, I could see that. Can't knock your hustle, I guess. Aight, that's all the type we have for today, any final thoughts?
S: Yeah...those black domes on the ceiling of stores are cameras. You wanna stay out from under those. They hardly ever watch or check females, so if you wanna bring a shapely helper, that's all good too. Also, tuckin' shit into a long sleeve is a quick way to extract most small items...and you can really get away with shit if you...
umf: ho-ho-hold on there, my man...you'll get me in trouble discussing those type of things in specific like that...good shit though, 'preciate you stoppin by... *shakes hand*
S: Aight fam, stay up...
umf: Yup, you do the same...don't get caught, dickhead....
S: *laughs* I never do...
* Note: At umf, we do not condone crime of any kind. Oh and the words, methods and experiences on this site are solely those of the people who spoke, used and experienced them...so miss me with that bullshit.
Okay, say you do win the lottery. The big money, the supermegapowerball, whatever they call it where you reside. Wouldn't it be smart to wait until the jackpot builds back up, then buy like 80 million lottery tickets? I mean, I'm no rocket surgeon, so my math ain't super advanced, but there's only a certain number of combinations a set of 7 numbers from 1-55 can come in, right? If you have enough money, you're guaranteed a win...if the jackpot big enough, you could end up doubling your money or some shit. I know that's just greedy, but see, the thing is...fuck it, if you can, why not? Just something to keep in the back of your mind...
*its from Pineapple Express...any religious symbolism is purely coincidental...don't even fuckin start...
So I wondered if this could actually be done ever since I saw the movie and finally had the materials and occasion to do so...so yesterday I finally said fuck it and went for it. After about 10-15 mins of lickin, caressin, and a little nibblin (and I ain't even have to buy it dinner 1st...bomchickawahwah...) I came out with this finished product. Its more fun than functional to be honest, but hey...I can now say I did it...I almost feel like I accomplished something...kinda lol
*Note from the fittedwearer to all law enforcement officials: All smokeables pictured on this site are tobacco-based. We at umf believe that folk should obey all the laws of wherever the fuck they live, and as a result do not endorse the use of illegal substances of any kind, blah blah blah, all that bullshit.
'This email is good luck, a woman in omaha, nebraska forwarded this to all her friends, met her true love, got married and won the lottery all in the next day...a man did not forward this and the same day he was falsely arrested and went to jail, where he was raped to death and fired from his job at his funeral...please make sure to send this to 10 of your friends in the next 5 minutes or you will suffer for the rest of your life.'
1) Like, how much of a life do you have not to have to sit there all day and make up stupid curses and shit, then plague thousands of random folk you don't know with it? What did those ppl do to make you want to cast pretend evil on them?
2) Nothin bad is gonna happen to me if I don't forward a fuckin chain text. All my kids are gonna die because I clicked 'delete'? Riiiight...how about you kiss the back of my ass?
3) Nothin good is gonna happen to me because I did forward a fuckin chain text. So a mysterious stranger will walk up to me tomorrow and hand me a big cartoon-like burlap sack with a dollar sign on the side if I forward this to 25 people? Yay!!! ...fuck outta here...
I just really wanna know what type of people do this. You got to be some kind of bored mafucka... I picture it all startin with 2 people, some pencil neck 30 yr old geek dude livin in his mom's leavenworth, kansas home and a 15 yr old home schooled white girl in southern california...its the only explanation that makes any sense, normal folk (read: folk with jobs/school/kids/lives) just don't have time...that's just my theory tho.
Maybe...if I don't move...it won't see me...
(Snapped this by accident! I had no idea my life was in danger lol)
I'm not talkin about folk who just wanna play around with the apps...I mean, it does a lot of cool shit (like write, publish and post every word on this site) so I can understand the 'hey, cool toy' factor...I get that. If that was the only thing ppl wanted, id have no probs (and nothing to write!) but I swear, before I started putting my lock on, I couldn't hand my phone to a chick ('ooh, lemme see your phone!') without her immediately goin through all my pics/texts/whateva else...which is an automatic forfeit. I'll share the answers (and my rebuttals, natch...)
A:'What you got to hide?'
R: 'Maybe something, maybe nothin...either way, can I get my phone back?'
A:'Oh there must be something you don't want me to see...'
R: 'I would tell you, but unfortunately, that's none of ya biz...now can I get my phone back?'
A: 'Oh you must not want me to know about all those other girls...'
R: 'Nope not really (whether its true or not)...but yeah can I get my phone back?'
A: 'Damn you don't trust me?'
R: 'Should I? While you think about that, can I get my phone back?'
A: 'Cuz I can, I'm ________'
R: 'Gii'my shit...' *snatch*
As you can see, its one of the things that really get on my nerves...nah, it ain't that I don't want you goin through my stuff...actually, that's exactly what it is. To me, its like diggin in somebody's pocket...who does that? And hell...it ain't even like I got anything to hide (that ima tell you about) its just....why do you even care? You writin my biography and need to see my call log? Will seeing that I texted my herbal specialist today give you insight into my personality or some shit? Who sent you, are you some kind of facebook spy? Seriously tho...there's no reason to do that. Course its all worth it if you just keep your lock on like I do...nothing like the crushed, disappointed look on the face of a would be snooper when they see 'Please enter unlock code'...its almost sexy...lol
News flash babycakes, if you weigh 200 pounds and are under 6ft tall, you don't need to be wearin a micro mini nothin. Point blank period. Under my plan, females who want to wear booty shorts, a shirt that exposes more than 6 consecutive inches of flesh, or any garb of that ilk should have to apply to the Federal Decency Committee (I just made that up, but you damn right it should exist) with their measurements, weight, and a pic to determine whether they should be issued a display license, which enables them to rock shit like that. Of course, if you are caught exposing your lumpy, quivering flesh without one, there's a penalty...1st offense, $500 fine, 2nd a year in jail, 3rd death. I'm not fuckin around here, this shit gotta stop.
You might tell me I'm wrong for thinkin what folk wear should be restricted, and I'll tell you she's wrong for showin her back titties. That shit is foul. Obviously, some chicks can't hear the threads on their clothes screamin in agony when they get stretched farther than they was ever designed to...so we have to hear the pain for them. How many more tube tops will be warped beyond recognition, how many more pregnant lookin chicks will we see in shorts that barely cover her longest pubic hair, how many more eyes will have to suffer before we take action? I say the time is now...I'm writin my local congressman...
*yeah, I'm gonna go ahead and no homo this whole post. Call me immature if you want, but google 'meat lovers' with your safesearch off and you'll see why I did. Betta not bring yo kids. Anywayz...
So I didn't know what to eat for lunch today...and I felt like takin a little stroll anyway. Unfortunately, it was like 95 degrees outside, and passin out of heat prostration aint on my to-do list today...so I went to Liberty Place. While wandering around in the food court (damn that sounds fat...) I came across the titular pizza stand. After rollin my eyes at the blatantly horrible pun/play on words (peace a pizza...its a hippie pizza place. I get it. Ha ha ha.) I decided pizza sounded pretty good. I stepped up to the counter to evaluate the slices (they're big as shit...u could run one up a flagpole...) and immediately a friendly but heavyset (um...what do you call a pizza counter worker? 'waitress?' 'slice mistress?' 'pietender?' Fuck it, I like 'pietender...') pietender in a tye-dye maternity shirt materialized in front of me and asked what kind of pizza I wanted. She clearly had been enjoying her employee discount and I took that as a good sign.
Knowing this was an important decision, I took a minute to think. They had all kinds, your standard cheese, pepperoni, sausage, all the way up to exotic shit like ricotta cheese and tomato or chicken parmesan (seriously)...and there wasn't that much of a difference in price ($2-3) I looked to and fro, seeking a slice that would suit me...that's when the blessing in the pic beckoned me. Its pepperoni, sausage, ham, bacon, and ground beef (that's a lot of meat...look at that shit!) sizzled tantalizingly under the benevolent glow of the heat lamp...I knew at that moment I had found it. Pointing, I gave the green light 'Gimme that one...' Feeling funny, as I paid she smirked and said 'Oh you like a lot of meat, huh?' After resisting the temptation to make a really mean comment (the girl still controlled my food for the next 30 seconds...I'm reckless, not stupid...) I settled on 'Not nearly as much as you, 'parently...' Not knowing whether she had been insulted or holla'd at, she laughed and gave me my change. I figured that was good enough and walked away.
I sat down with the slice and halfway admired it. Like I mentioned before, its big...and meaty. (hey, I threw in the preface, might as well take advantage of it lol) The toppings, as you can see, cover the whole damn slice and are layered 2-3 meats thick (heehee). I took a bite and almost went back and thanked the chick. This pizza is good. Besides all the meat, which is clearly seasoned, the sauce is tangy and slightly sweetish (and there's plenty of it...one of my pet peeves is pizza with no fuckin sauce. That's a open face grilled cheese sandwich, not a pizza...) and the dough is buttery and chewy with a little crunch to it and has a nice garlic taste (please have your winterfresh ready...bad breath is another nonfavorite of mine...)
Overall, the slice was tasty and satisfying. I can honestly say that was one of the best slices of pizza I've eaten so far, and best of all, one slice is enough, even for my greedy ass. (Maybe certain pietenders should figure that out sooner rather than later, but I digress.) I definitely plan on goin back, and think its worth every penny...try it out, you prolly will too.
Its like they took all the worst parts of Facebook and Myspace and put them together... If I wanted to sit there and read random facebook statuses all damn day, I'd...y'know...get on Facebook...at least FB does other things. By the way...Twitter is not a fuckin news source. It doesn't belong on the newspaper or on the TV news that anybody said anything on Twitter, cuz 1) it might not be them...anybody could get a pic and say they whoever they want. I bet right now if I got a pic of some random female celebrity, started a Twitter account and said I was pregnant it would be in the fuckin' paper and all over the internet by this afternoon...I think that's tragic... and 2) Its fuckin' Twitter. What's next, they gonna start publishing celebrity text messages and shit? Its that deep?
And don't even get me started on how I feel about 'following' folk. (No, you don't make friends on Twitter, you follow folk) Mafucka, I'm not followin you, I don't even know you! (Imagine if a dude came up to you in the street talkin bout some "follow me"...nigga please...) My mommy raised me not to be a follower. Only people over the age of 5 that follow other people are tour groups, cult members and stalkers...come the fuck on. Not only that...you don't post, you 'tweet'. Now you tell me if a grown ass man should be tweeting under any circumstances...tweeting in real life can get you in a straitjacket or your ass kicked depending on where you are. I don't think it should be any different online. Point is, Twitter sucks, you prolly suck if you use it, and whoever came up with that bullshit should be hung upside down, filled with candy and beaten with a stick. But that's just one man's opinion...
*After reading WorkWill, some folk (quite understandably) wondered why in the purple fuck somebody would steal a pic and what was the story behind the 'creepy bitch'...the first question I'm still tryin to answer, but I'll at least tell the story.
"the Horny Heist"
So a few months ago I took a pic with the World Series trophy and put it on my desk. I didn't have any pics or decorations in my workspace, which I thought made me look like some kind of serial killer or sumthin so I thought it would be nice to have a pic there. I displayed it and it was actually a pretty cool convo piece until one morning I came in, looked at my pic and instead saw...
this. Now, I'm not sure what would possess a mafucka to think I would fail to notice such a janky counterfeit bullshit imitation, but I didn't. I thought it was just a regular office prank, so I just walk around cussin/interrogatin folk...until I opened my desk and found a special delivery...
a ransom note. A fuckin ransom note for a pic. Now obviously, I think the shit is utterly ridiculous (and a little funny...hell, I'll take a compliment out of a ransom note, its fine with me...) so I show I can play a joke too...I copy a $50 bill, cut it to size, and left it...and from there I just kinda waited the joke out...or so I thought. Nobody ever came to take my funny money...day 2 comes and goes, day 3 comes and goes...and the 'joke' gets less funny and more creepy. It's after a couple weeks I realize that that was no joke and that I have a stalker somewhere in my building. Its been about 4 months and I still haven't seen my fuckin pic since...what wakes me up at night is the fact that somewhere, sumbody is prolly makin my pic sticky. What keeps me up at night is the fact that I'm not 100% sure its a female (plz, plz, God, Jesus, Buddha, Allah, whoever's listening...let it be a female...) Anyway, that's the story...yeah, I'm just as confused as you are...
So, I'm gonna say something to the ladies in the room on behalf of the dudes, this needed to be said for a while...and please take this to heart.
See now, I love y'all but...nobody wants to hear about your cycle. (Yeah, I don't like saying or typing the actual word, because...yeah, eww...but 'cycle' sounds nice...like a washing machine or a relaxing bike ride...I digress though...) Seriously, why do y'all always feel the need to drop knowledge about that? Detailed descriptions of uterus walls and cramps and all that...I don't wanna know, I have no reason to know...please keep that to yourself or talk to a female.
And another thing, I'm not going out to get you no damn pads either. I'm proud to say the only pads I ever touched were under my football uni...and whenever I caught a cramp (in my leg or something, smartass...) my coach would tell me to walk it off. With thanks to Coach Leary, I think that's good advice, and that's why I offer it to you too. Walk it off to Rite Aid and fix yourself, plznthanku. We're responsible for condoms because only we need them...and that's why y'all are responsible for y'all own drip catchers and flow corks and shit. Yeah, it's that serious.
The most common rebuttal I get when I say these things to a chick after the 1st time she tells me all that shit I don't wanna know is "Oh, well you're gonna have a daughter one day, blahblahblah..." Cool...but where's her mom? Aunt? Girl cousins? Any of them know way more than I ever will about riding the tide...why would she ask me? If she wants to know how to throw a spiral pass or how to make a grilled cheese sandwich with a iron (go 'head, ask...) I'll be happy to help her...but there ain't a whole lot I can tell her about that. If I bleed for 5 days, I'm gonna die, that's all I know.
To sum up, all I'm trying to say is I think females are great and their bodies are great too...I just don't need to know every single thing that goes on with them...seriously. How am I supposed to form an attractive picture of you if all I can picture is you with a wounded crotch? That's not sexy in the least, sorry. So...please, next time you think about tellin your boyfriend/male friend/anybody with balls how heavy your day is or how bad your cramps are...put a maxi pad in your mouth too...because sometimes that's the worst flow of all.
AJ (and most other dudes)
The thing is, I've worn a fitted every single day since 8th grade and everybody who has known me for more than 2 days knows that, hence the site name...get it now? Yes, to school, to prom, to job interviews (I can get a job in my fitted, but I cant get drunk and two step in it?!), to work and yes...to the club. Believe me, I've encountered my share of resistance and gotten past it all...cuz, shit...fuck it...I bought it, its mine, its on, I'm wearin it...if you don't like it you can nibble a dick. I feel like its just as much part of my outfit as my pants (never saw a no pants allowed sign at a club or anywhere else, tho on second thought it don't seem like a bad idea)...its just my twist, fuckin sue me. I personally never understood society's whole thing against hats...it ain't a weapon, it ain't hurting anybody...leave me alone...plus ill be good and gahdamned if I gotta pay to get in a place and they gon tell me what I can and can't wear...I'm payin you to tell me what to do? I could get married and get that for free every day...kiss my natural black ass.
Anyway, that particular moment put me at a crossroads...was I really gonna go home (as in not go in, waste a ride and all the prep time that goes into goin out, and miss the good time to be had) just cuz they told me I have to take off my hat? I asked myself if I was really that petty...then I thought about the fact that they were just as petty as I was for tellin me I couldn't come in with my hat. I mean, how trivial is that? I came all the way here with it and now you're gonna tell me I can't wear it because...you said so? After I spent about 5 minutes thinkin about it that way, the decision was easy. Screw you guys, I'm goin home.
On the ride home, I went back and forth between thinkin 'that was so stupid...' and being proud of myself for not compromising what I believe in for any reason. Yeah, I lost out on the club that night but got something a whole lot more important...a look at who I really am, and really its about somewhere in the middle. Yeah it was kinda dumb to go through all that and not actually go for that small reason...I see that...but it also spoke volumes on the things about myself I'm just not willing to bend for nobody...some folk call that stubborn, but its also commonly referred to as personal integrity (its who you are when nobody else is lookin, for the illiterate mofos)...and it seems like that is way more rare nowadays than any club event. It seems like most people are way too eager to follow the rules just because they there. You might say why ask why, I say always ask. A little bit of 'i just ain't finna...' can really help you be true to yourself and that's when I realized it wasn't about the fitted at all (well, kinda) but the principle...and that's when I finally felt justified for the decision I made. Besides, the drinks were way cheaper at home...
So this delightful group of cult-lookin mafuckas are the Black Isrealites. If you never lived in Philly, these are ppl who dress up like sorcerers and preach random religious shit way outta context at the top of they lungs, whether you buyin what they sellin or not. These are Jehovahs Witnesses on steroids, cuz they don't knock on your door and ask whether you wanna talk about eternal salvation and shit...they wait til you out and about and preach heat-seeking gospel to anybody in earshot. Its this type of folk who make ppl laugh at devout religious folk, cuz they subscribe to the theory that the louder your message is, the more truth it contains...the guerrilevangelists preaching sessions are half church, half boot camp call and response, half Ray Lewis pregame speech...but hell, Philly wouldn't be the same place without em. I mean, who wants to walk down Center City without being screamed at out of a bible?
So there was a blood drive at my job today and I for some reason decided to participate. (it was a hour and a half off of work...) Don't I look excited?
any time you see these things, its prolly never good...
strapped up...meanwhile my heart poundin like shit...then I remembered I can't bitch up wearin a Captain America shirt. That cotton bravado lasted me til...
they put that fuckin cutlass they called a needle in my fuckin ARM!!! I wish I coulda snapped a flick of this fuckin needle, that shit looked like a african blowdart...
my blood...(it doesn't turn blue until football season officially starts) I'm just glad this is over...I'm typin this lightheaded as shit...they told me I couldn't drink tonight...oh yeah, I'm gonna listen lol
the aftermath...oh, and that look in my eyes is just effects from the procedure... *shifty eyes*...anyway, it was pretty fun and I just might win some philles tix 4 my trouble...(because helpin others is even sweeter when youre helpin you too.)
Wonder Woman? Hawkgirl? Xena? If you guessed Sasha Fierce, you're right (and you need to not listen to as much B.) Anyway, I wonder what superpowers she has? Sonic booms? A gyration that shakes the earth? X-ray nipples? The power to grow her own hair and not look like a snatchback-ponytail-and-poppin-gum hoodrat without makeup? I always thought B was a tadski overrated, but this...*sigh* I just wanna know when the hell Beyonce went from tolerable pop singer to intergalactic costumed defender. Who buys this shirt? I swear if I see a Sasha Fierce Saturday morning cartoon, people will die...
*the Swilla section is where I'll discuss one of my favorite subjects besides the Dallas Cowboys, titties, and everyones favorite plant (we'll get to that in the upcoming That Herb Column section...): liquid fun. It's just some of my favorite shit to sip on when my get right needs some get right...hell, who knows, maybe you'll like it too. Anyways, with no further ado we get to our first feature: Captain Morgan Tattoo.
Put quite succinctly, this some good shit, patna. This dark rum is smoother than a dead man's pulse, tasty by itself over ice or dangerous with Coke/Pepsi (its the same damn thing until sumbody pays me to say different) because its cherryish undertones play so nicely with cola you barely notice it's there until you suddenly can't stand up right. At 70 proof (35% alcohol) its not the punchiest liq, but its so easy to drink you'll have no problem gettin just as embarrassingly trasheded (yes, trasheded) as you damn well please. Its strong enough for the fellas but charming enough for the ladies, which makes it a bangin party selection. It's about mid-range priced (18 for the 750ml, 35 for the handle) so if you're sick of drinkin E&J, give this a shot...I don't think you'll regret it...
Dr. AJ's Foolproof Alcohol Withdrawal System.
1)If (when) you get up feelin like blowin chunks (its a medical term)...do it! In the toilet/trashcan asshole. Don't yack on nothin you're gonna have to clean for more than 60 seconds. This is the first step in your healing, and the longer you hold it in, the worse you're gonna feel.
2)Smoke. Trust me on this one.
3)Eat. And not no janky ass cereal either. You know you don't feel like cooking. Drag your zombie ass outta bed and go to ihop if you can, McDonald's if you can't.
4) drink water (gatorade works even better) all morning and you'll be cool by 9.
It has helped me look alive in the morning so many times...and now I give it to you.
the good folks at undermyfitted.
Some people say what he did was vile and reprehensible, some say 'its just dogs'... I'm more in line with the latter, but I understand what he did broke the law and as a result he had to spend some time in a correctional facility (y'know, that place they house folk who have made bad choices to, in theory, CORRECT them.) But he paid his debt to society. He lost a fortune in the process, and as a bonus got to watch himself on TV for 2 years with everybody screaming how the guy is evil incarnate. Believe me...he's not even gonna wanna look at a dog. My question here is: (to paraphrase the great philosopher Shawn Carter c.1996) Can he live? I'm not gonna get too cliche here, but cuz just wants to play football. Whether you really don't care about what he did or you think he's a Hitler-Beelzebub hybrid whose sole purpose is to kill animals for fun like some extremely hype mafuckas do...you gotta agree the man has suffered quite enough. Let the man play football in peace and move on with his life, everyone got their pound of flesh outta this guy...least he deserves is a fair shot to start over...
Louis Vuitton eitha. This is not what's hot in the streets. This is like havin a yves st.-laurent gucci gap t-shirt...wrong on so many levels...
CPN 5 bonus: (seen in a chinese store) Mike would slap you on sight if he saw you wearing these...
aight, streets check this out...you cannot get Jordans from the corner store. They made these sunsabitches by hand behind the counter 3 minutes before you walked in, don't fool yaself. They're gonna fall apart in a week and if you look closely, you can see the Jordan logo is frowning... Now you know, there's no excuse...don't do it to yourself...
As you can see, this stylish oldhead (that's Philly talk for 'elder') has clearly come from getting money of some kind. Whether he just came from collecting from his hoes (who I hope paid the man...) or just got finished preaching in somebody's hustler church, his purple seersucker suit clearly indicates his og status...check the gold nugget bracelet! Don Magic Juan would be proud...
peep the patent leather kicks!
peep the patent leather kicks!
and of course the hat...sadly, no feather...
Ok, so this ain't technically in line with the theme of CPN, but I just thought I'd show everybody what I do at work lol
Here we have a delightful ink fail...(no its not the greatest pic, but I did it on the sly, so fuck you...) This 'lady' has the unmitigated gall to get "I'm the shit" inside a toilet paper roll tatted on her arm (squint hard and trust me, you can see it...) ...k, now not only is that clearly not the case, its an overall stupid tat. But whatever sweetie...you like it, I love it, shit...gave me entry material...
*offer only valid under rainbow street signs, results may vary elsewhere...