Pretty Fly for a White Guy

I've got to send out props to the straight-up G white guy at food bag in Berlin today.

C'mon, you know who you were, you mac-daddyin' chick magnet mother fucker.
Hell, you didn't even wait to arrive in the parking lot to announce your pimpin ways; your bumpin' stereo was audible 2 blocks away
Nothing says 'bad-ass-a-comin' more than a sound system that has nothing to do with music, but everythi...

ng to do with noise.

Once you pulled into the parking lot, there was simply no doubt as to who you are as a man.
Your white 1999 4-door Chevy S-10 Blazer was done right!
(No full-size SUV needed when you already got a grip on the street cred. Right, Todd?)
Cadillac side vents...two sets! The window tinted so dark that they looked painted. And that's what a gangsta gotsta have, right? I mean, ya don't want no one peeking in your donked ride while you getting your hourly swerve on with da next lucky female in the back. Right, Jonathan?

And there is no doubt, whatsoever, that you are a player, because you had, affixed to your back window, a 10-inch chromed cut-out of the shape of a Playboy bunny and a pair of chrome reclining naked ladies.

Can there be any doubt as to your gift with the ladies when the already-impressed citizenry get a look at these universal symbols of studliness?

I dont think so.

Your 22-in rims were icing on the cake. It's true that the size of the wheels left so little room for the rubber bands that were masquerading as tires, that you may as well have had no tires at all.
And that you had to take 2 tries to make it up the tiny grade covered in 1/10th" of snow?
Such things are trivial.
What counts is that your crunchin' mini S-Calade was hooked up. Right, Aaron?

And here was no doubt you were gangsta once you stepped from your ride and walking inside. (of course leaving your stereo cranked to the max)
Even though you were pushing 40 and as white a mother fucker as I have ever seen, your threads and bling were off the hook, aight?

White basketball jersey that barely contained a roll of fat and man-boobs and your name spelled out on your back.
Wait?!! Was that really Lebron James? I had to check twice, but then I realized at 5'11" and 280 lbs. of twisted steel and sex appeal, you just weren't tan enough.

And those basketball shorts in winter? That so hood.
Size XXXL, weren't they, LeBron?
But you were saggin' correctly, although this was mostly because your back fat forced your white basketball shorts to hang halfway down your neon-white ass

Of course you had the latest in $250 dollar basketball shoes.
Were the shoelaces untied simply because, like any real Gangsta up in the hizzy, it's how you roll, or was it because your fat gut prevented you from tying them?
Regardless, I'm convinced that those kicks see a lot of hoop time when you and the posse chill at the courts before rolling out for the nights of cappin', pimpin', hoin', and slingin'

I was so glad for the following things:

1) I'm glad I got to check out the inside of your S10-Calade as I reached in to turn off your fucking stereo.

2) I'm also glad you just gave me a dirty look and muttered some shit at me while skulking back to your ride so I didn't have to grab one of the 5 fake 1" gold chains hanging around your neck and use it to choke the shit out of you.

3) As you left the gas station with your V6 screaming and tires spinning, I was humbled by your bad-assery and your sleek gangsta ride.
But I was glad because I realized that I had just seen the blueprint of what it means to be a real man.