Monthly Archives: June 2013

Top Pop Sodas? Naaaa B…..

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Ha..shit taste like instant kidney stones.
Nothing says project housing and fly traps with a faint smell of backed up incinerators, more than Top Pop sodas.
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Bruh.. they’re the Hawaiian Punch of the soda world.

Dont you get so disappointed when you be at ya nigga crib after ya done smoked a woolie blunt and you ask for something to drink cuz that cotton mouth giving you that white around yooo lip and he be like yea i got juice in the fridge!
You get up hype (just knowing at the very least its gon be some minute maid) only to see that bum ass jug of red shit? You pour it in your cup all disgruntled, tasting like water and food coloring. Then you gotta think how long ago you brushed your teeth cuz if it been past 4 hours that shit bout to stain your mouth all the way up!
(BTW why do broke niggas make it seem like minute maid juice is exclusive to in-house residents only? They will make up any excuse in the world not to give you a cup of that shit:
“Na im sayin, thats wifey drink na mean so i cant even share that, she be getting tight when its all drunk up”
Like that shit aint 2 for 5 dollars smh.)

Yo Top Pop and hoodrat belts go hand and hand forreal tho. Think im lying? Look at the knuckles of somebody holding a top pop. I guaranDAYUMtee theres some warrior wounds from getting burned by an iron and fighting homelessness.

Dun..if you gon rock out with a poverty soda ATLEAST let it be a Tropical Fantasy!
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They appreciate you as a consumer. Knowing you only paid 50cent (And got mad when they raised it up a quarter), they sell you hope of a life of palm trees and great weather as you stare out ya child protected windows. Giving you something to strive for! (While also hoping that sperm count decrease is just myth).

While Top Pop aint thinking bout you niggas B.
Look at the damn bottle tho, bland as fuck. They know niggas that drink that shit aint got no goals.
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As soon as you open the bottle, it goes flat! You gotta drink it fast as fuck like Roy Hibbert wit a gatorade after losing a game 7.
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And smh at niggas thinkin its a suitable chaser for ya liqour..
Fuck i look like being cool wit mixing my bottle of svedka wit off brand cola? Keep that shit wit the Georgi and Captain Morgans retarted cousin Admiral Nelson.

Theres a reason racks of top pop can be found at your local corner bodega next to the du rags, and old box of bananas.

Respect ya palates bruh…

Queens, NY… Home Of The Fine Dime Breezies

Ok ok ok ok alright,

so I came to the conclusion Queens, home of the New York Mets, Jerry Seinfeld, Spiderman, JFK Airport & now after my 5 years of analyzing & test research is now home of The finest woman to ever grace the grounds & waters of New York City smh

https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRhdUYdIKtVMxUQ7RXZel2_qO6Itr1GFKZbFR2zT5jacZbfNnejBEEX-iEL

If My calculations are correct, yes Queens is where all the fine bitches rest their heads

I’m honestly starting to think it wasn’t a coincidence Queens was named Queens, All them damn fine ass tendories are probably being manufactured in a factory somewhere in Astoria on some Lil Kim “How Many Licks’ Video.

shit, I even remember from the myspace days search Queens NY for some shorties to add & when i tell you They Had The Biddies, THEY HAD THE BIDDIES. Each shorty had a glow to em, a aura oozed out of them. I mean if you was ever in Queens & saw some iight or wack joint she must’ve crawl out the sewer illegally migrated her self from Brooklyn or something.

Queens here I come

Joints lookin like they were hand crafted by the finest of fine Godiva Chocolates, all shades all flavors (skin probably taste like the shit as well).

all them bitches out there lookin all beautiful and shit. I remember my 1st trip in the land of tendronies smh, I went to my homegirls crib agettin ready to go take some test at LaGuardia (mind you she some lil fine mixed mexican girl, did i mention Queens behave the flavors out there?). We walked out to jump on the train I swear there was not one male soul, no fathers no brothers no grandpas, no perverted old men, NOT ONE Y chromosome. I felt like i have enter a secret colonist of woman.

so i want ya to really think about it. All the fine bitches in NYC are from where??

So a real nigga took Yoga for the first time!

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Iigh so I tried yoga for the first time this week after being advised to do it for quite some time.

I was always a bit hesistate to try it cuz I figured you had to be a flaming pole smoker, so I would often respond like:

Fuck no! Ima real ass nigga, this wont be good for my aura to bring such bitchassness into my life, fuck i look like? Prince? Im not bout that ass-less chaps life AT ALL! So..

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Im NOT tryin to be one wit the stars bruh! Im trying to be one with this child support! and last i checked, this fuck nigga Buddah, Confucious, That Dhalsim looking nigga wit wild arms or whoever the head honcho of the yoga realm is, aint sending me no C-Notes!
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Word…

But one day I took a epic fall while doing pull ups on, what I thought was a durable, iron gym bar (It hooks on all doors they said, its 100% safe they said). So I was outchere gettin my Dwayne Johnson on, feeling real monolithic and shit and as I powered thru my last pull up…
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Striaght cooked my tailbone ju heard!?
So I was fucked up, out of commission and needed to take it easy for a few months. But watching Montel ole M.S having ass straight ruin his legacy with infomercials early in the morn and Meet the Brown re-runs everyday for a few weeks had a nigga antsy, needing my workout fix with minimal stress to my injury. I felt a bit better so I finally decided to give yoga a try.

And I must say…
Im a muthafuckin believer!!
Yo that shit was so real cuh!

The Instructor was alil sickly built, vegan mufucka and at first I was afraid he was gon come and try to tickle my ass when i was in a compromising position but fortunately he didnt.
So once I got comfortable, I was out there downward doggin and warrior one-ing like a pioneer!
(All that humming and namaste shit was for the birds tho)

But listen, I was so amazed at how it kicked my ass! Shit was no joke,Very intense. I closed my eyes when we laid on the floor to relax and seen Jesse Jackson plot for Martins shine! The worlds mysteries were being told through hieroglyphics left by the ancient aliens. Word to Tyrone Biggums I was high baeebay!

Word..
So im here to say as a real nigga…I WAS WRONG.
Yoga is the beez knees!
Its not a bunch of Richard Simmons ass niggas there like you would think. (Girls out number dudes, so Stevie J face was in full effect!) Its not some sissy stretches either. I pride myself on my physical capabilites and I def had to pray to the Yoga Gawds to get me through the class!

So I def recommend all my bruh bruhs to check it out, get some health in yo life or you can refuse these gifts im droppin on ya and …
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Is it still acceptable to have a song as my ringtone?

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Im getting old bruh…And with age comes life-altering decisions.

So along with finally paying for sex, I’ve been contemplating these past couple of days, if it were time I say goodbye to my musical ringtones.

Im a grown ass man and getting arkwardly stared at when im in close proximity to white folk and “DAMN I LUH DEM STRIPPAS!” blast loud out my speaker is not whoa…
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When my first instinct became to arkwardly let the song play till it hits voicemail while looking around as if its not my phone (nevermind that the song is radiating from my hip), I knew changes needed to be made…
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No longer are we in the generation of boost mobile bleep phones with the absurdly loud ringtones that you recorded off the radio inbetween funk flex bringing the song back 15 fuckin times!
(Nothing would get me more vexed then trying to capture a song with bombs going off and flex breathing all hard on the mic smh)

When you got the right air/fuel mixture of the song and slight background noise( mama didnt interrupt you this time), Ya ass hit that stop button and couldnt wait to hit up class blasting your shit!( ..or subway station)
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But today…I’d be feeling like a fuck nigga if I continued that behavior. Im trying to better my living situation dunny. Move on up in the world, George Jeff strut on these hoes na mean!?
These ringtones holding a brother back, Spending hours deciding the right song for my friends (Who rarely call me). Thinking about past events and why this song would fit em and boy! Will they get a kick out of the song i choose for them!…..
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So I’ve been there, done that…

and I think I’ve come to the decision to jus let my phone stay on vibrate.