Monday, November 3, 2008


Oh, odd, I had to run for the bus, again. I'm sure everyone on the metro gets a good laugh at the short girl running with a back pack. It reminds me of middle school where all the kids would sprint to the cafeteria like they were going to run out of french fries as soon as the bell rang. Those with wheelie backpacks were prayed on, in the span of 3 years I more than likely kicked over 300 and twisted some arms. I guess karma's a bitch? Because now I look like the 22 year old idiot. 

What very well could have been an uneventful metro ride texting Rashod about how I apparently look like a bike punk today, turned beautiful. Just because I ride a bike and wear double hooded jackets with painted on skinny jeans doesn't mean i ride a fix gear, its a 7 speed, the EZ rider BIG PURP is RIP-in. Back to the beautifulness of this bus ride. Now, in class I had to write a paper about a "black" vs "white" nation and being a certain way shouldn't be associated with a color, so right now I guess I'm being an extreme hypocrite, but I'll leave that discussion for my Journalism class. This lovely character was a hefty male that I'll roughly judge being in his 30's. 30 and flirty, nothing wrong with that age, its just a number people. But however, what did put a sparkle in my eye was his overall appearance and demeanor. 

He had on a wife beater where his bitch tits were hanging out the sides along with his connecting chest to pit hair, which really made me warm inside. Top shelf though, was the do rag he had over his long blonde hair in a pony tail that looked longer than mine. As my eyes were having a buffet of pure goodness to devour, I noticed some crafty forearm tattoos. How hood. Determining if it was Times New Roman or Ariel font was the hard part, but there was no denying that they said "THUG LIFE." I'm not positive what he was listening to if it was Trick Daddy or Clipse, but he was rocking out so so hard and pouting his lips, I'm positive he was rocking the bus not the shit-for-a-road LA pavement. I mean, because when I listen to Trick Daddy or Clipse I make shit bounce, just sayin. Enough of me, more Don Gudio. As I watched this majestic creature in his element like a rare unicorn, I couldn't help but have extreme appreciation for his lack of care, not only for his appearance, but because he made over exaggerated movements to zip his fly up. I made it apparent I was staring too, I went as far as to take a picture with my phone (will post later when LAVC wifi stops sucking monster cock). He was quite the classy individual though, for when he straight up buck nocked the girl next to him, he apologized in the most sheepish feminine voice I would have never expected out of this beast. I left him today on the bus, but his memory will live on burned in my skull for at least a few days. "You won't fuck him," you know what Rashod, you're right. Next time, though....

On the way home a lady in her 60s was listening to "Sexual Healing" by Marvin Gaye on a disc man. Just thought you should know that people still use disc mans and bitches in their 60s still like to get down.


I know that these tables are open to all over LAVC, but when someone is sitting alone and being quite doing work, don't fucking slam down your obnoxious Victoria's Secret Pink tote bag on my picnic table and bring your fucking study group to reek havoc in my area, I don't give one fuck what you got wrong on your Bio test. I'm enjoying the outsideness via wifi, FUCK OFF. Sooo I'll just turn up At The Gates on my iTunes. Didn't like that too much, huh? Fancy that.

Dirt Nasty - 1980

"I ain't no amateur, this isn't hands across america, I lived though the 80s, an shit was crazy"

No comments:

Post a Comment