Wednesday, November 28, 2012

I don't give a fuck if it's racist. It's funny.

The Bloggess has a post worrying if something is racist, and she spends so much time detailing her worry, I almost stopped reading. I'm glad I finished, though; it was worth getting to the punchline.

She introduced Gizoogle, a website that kindly translates Google into ghettotrash lingo. After a bit of fun surfing about, I had it translate one of my recent posts. Fo' sho'.

I hook up a guy.

I have some leadz work wise, so I celebrated.

My fuckin expenses fo' tha day:
3.05 - Lunch
2.50 - Dinner
3.50 - Spliff
5.95 - Some homeless playa I met

Lunch was a pasta salad wit tomatoes n' mozzarella n' a piece of ciabata dat I picked up from a supamarket. Da salad was dirty yo, but small. Bread, yummy.

Dinna was French fries. I bought some yesterdizzle from some fry stand, n' they was pimped out, n' a fair bargain. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I wanted em again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Fat fries dat is fried twice. That way, tha playa can cook em quickly n' serve em hot.
 I couldn't find tha place though. I tramped all up in tha RLD n' gotz thoroughly lost. My fuckin professionizzle pride is beginnin ta git hurt. I spent ten muthafuckin years as a cabbie, n' I pride mah dirty ass on mah sense of direction. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Walkin all up in Barcelona n' Messina, I could always knew where home was. In dis town, I be always lost. Every street looks tha same. Da canals follow some weird horseshoe pattern, wit tha streetz goin sort of parallel ta tha canals. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Sort of. Every dizzle I have managed ta git straight-up n' straight-up lost a few times. Probably don't help dat I've been stoned whenever I git lost.

A homeless playa came up ta me. "You're lookin fo' some shit." I stopped, n' he went tha fuck into his spiel yo. Dude started givin mah crazy ass tha rough layout of tha area, spittin some lyrics ta mah crazy ass where tha phat hoes are, where tha trannies are, which dealaz ta avoid. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I interrupted his muthafuckin ass. "I be lookin fo' tha French fries."

Da playa laughed n' took mah crazy ass muthafuckin right there. "I've been bustin dis fo' twenty-eight months, n' yo ass is tha straight-up original gangsta playa ta ask bout tha fries." 
Our thugged-out asses gotz a rappin' yo. Dude straight from Boston, moved there when he was six yo. Dude gotz deported, n' was given a twelve year probation before he could return. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Three mo' months he holla'd, n' he could go back.

At tha fry place, he axed fo' a donation. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I gave his ass tha chizzle up in mah pocket. I offered his ass some fries yo. Dude holla'd he would prefer tha chedda. I gave his ass tha chizzle from mah fries yo. Dude gave mah crazy ass a brief tour. Thatz what tha fuck he do yo. Dude findz gangstas whoz ass look lost, n' helps em find what tha fuck they need. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Hoes, sticky-icky-ickys, whatever they need. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Dude knows tha dopest coffeeshops yo. Dude knows which hoes will cheat they hustas yo. Dude knows cabdrivers that'll let they passengers smoke yo. Dude gives tourz of tha underbelly.

I axed his ass if he knew of a coffeeshop on a houseboat dat I saw a picture of yo. Dude was stumped, n' embarrassed ta admit dat shit. I gave props ta his ass anyway yo. Dude gave mah crazy ass a phat conversation.

I went lookin fo' tha coffeeshop. I had done some research n' found tha name of tha canal it was chillin in. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. It wasn't there. I went from one end ta tha other n' looked at every last muthafuckin houseboat yo, but no dice. Maybe it closed, maybe it moved, maybe it sunk. No wonder tha playa never heard of dat shit. 
 Guess what, muthafucka! So, I wandered around n' checked tha straight-up original gangsta three coffeeshops I came ta if they had wifi. Da third playa holla'd he had a computa wit internizzle, so I bought fo' realz. Afta tokin I checked up tha computa ta find dat it cost extra ta use. I was annoyed.

It is straight-up hard as fuck ta find a coffeeshop dat has free wifi. I haven't done it yet. I be beginnin ta suspec' dat they don't want stoned gangstas cloggin up tha coffeeshop all dizzle like a Starbucks up in NYC. But they could give our asses a time limit like tha Starbucks up in Barcelona. That works.

On leaving, I paused ta roll a blunt. Then I kicked it wit tha homeless playa again. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude spotted mah crazy ass first yo. Dude started on a freshly smoked up spiel yo. Dude needed just a buck fifty more, n' he could git a supply of some shiznit ta have up in case a tourist needed some shiznit yo ass know, nahmeean, biatch? I gave his ass tha chizzle from mah spliff yo. Dude gave mah crazy ass his thugged-out lil' phone number. Now I gotz a playa ta call if I need anythang. I can't imagine what tha fuck I might ever need from his ass yo, but itz always phat ta know a guy. 
 I axed his ass why he gotz deported. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! "I capped a playa up in prison. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. Dude raped a child. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! If yo ass rape a child, yo ass git capped."


No comments:

Post a Comment