Give Me Your W-2's: A Lesson In Thuganomics

As I might have shared in an earlier post, my wife and I went to a special costume edition of Game Night. By the way, that was a hint to read my other story, "Things I Cannot Unsee". Go ahead, read it. I'll wait........

There you go, now you read it. So with my wife dressing up as Craig, the question was what I should dress up as. Being that I was raised in the mean streets of Colorado, I dressed up as the only thing I knew how to be. A Gangsta Jew. That's right, I sagged my shorts below my ass-cheeks, wore an under-sized tank top, and had a dew-rag perched atop my head. Of course, no gangsta is complete without their bling, so I had a big-ass fucking Star of David on a chain. And just like the gangstas from my hometown, my bling was fake as fuck. But it looked good, 'naw mean'? By the way, that was urban talk for saying, "Do you know what I mean?" On a related note, I realized that the only difference between what I wore for the costume, and what I wear when I am relaxing at home, is that I had a chain, dew rag, and my pants sagged. And let's be honest, if I am wearing gym shorts and I carry my phone/wallet/keys, they start to sag a bit low...I should probably improve my "casual" appearance. But I digress.

The key to my costume is that I was the Jewish thugsta. There were two people who came in, assuming I was trying to appropriate a more..."ethnic" persona. I immediately yelled at them, "You ain't about dat Tax Life! Give me your W-2's!!" Of course they immediately turned their attitude around and embraced me for the life I lead. I also talked mad shit to them for using that Turbo-Tax bullshit, when I could have easily gotten them some additional cash back. It also just so happens that I had a foot cramp when we were driving over, so I also had that ghetto strut.

Now I know what you're thinking. "How did you know how to act that way?" Well, I'll tell you. I did grow up in a rougher neighborhood. Some parts were nice, others were ghetto as shit. We liked to joke that one part of town had the rich people, the other part had the tranny hookers that may or may not rape you. And then their pimp would mug you for your money. Because that shit ain't free. When I graduated high school, some friends and I were hanging out in the park. This guy walked up to us, with a deep ghetto strut. He asked, "What the fuck y'all makin' this noise for!" I calmly replied, "We just fuckin' graduated!"

The guy then says that he recognized me from the graduation. On a side note, he recognized me because I was a valedictorian. We had 5 that year, because it was before they started using weighted GPA's. And yeah, I had a 4.0 GPA. Fuck you, I know shit. But I digress. The guy then started talking about how he never graduated from shit, but he knew how to turn a key (kilogram) into and eighth into $40. He then asked if we wanted any drugs or some alcohol from the convenience store. We said no, and he said "I know, I know, I'm just fuckin' wit y'all. But seriously...you want some?" We again declined and he pimp walked away.

It should also be noted that this was not an uncommon occurrence. I remember going to the local mall, and seeing an elderly man in a nice suit, an older man in jeans with a nice leather jacket, and a young kid in saggy jeans and a sports jersey. Three generations of ganstas/pimps, out for a Guy's Night out.

On a side note, I do not understand why thugstas wear their pants so low. I once saw a guy wearing baggy-ass pants, with a belt, hanging around his knees. Seeing that guy try to run and catch the bus was fucking hilarious! He kept grabbing at his pants, but the belt actually prevented him for keeping his pants up. I had half a mind to yell, "If you wore your pants like a normal person, you'd have caught that bus!" Of course, I told my wife this and she asked what would happen if he got pissed at me. I said, "Not a goddamn thing. The gangstas in my old neighborhood could afford bullets, or guns, but never both. And they didn't have enough intelligence to combine forces. Plus I tutored half those motherfuckers in algebra."

And let's be honest. It's not like the guy would be able to catch me. All I would have to do is walk at a normal pace, and I would out run him. Hell, if I crossed the street, it would have taken that dill-weed 10 minutes just to get back up the fucking curb. And heaven forbid he did catch me? One swift kick and he'd have fallen on his ass. For as strong as the gansta's are up top, I have yet to see a thug that doesn't skip leg day. Even Noelle commented that I had a lot more ass than the majority of the gangsta's she saw around town.

Moral of the Story: I know how to thug out when I need to, and I'm all about that W-2 life. Oh, and I need to update my "casual" wardrobe.