I’m no fashionista. (I even felt uncomfortable writing that word.) I don’t dress in the latest fashions (if Target or Kohl’s ever become haute couture, I’ll be set). I don’t even wear a suit to formal affairs (I have my standard white dress shirt, random tie, black pants, and until someone called me out on wearing a certain vest to their wedding – a certain vest).
So please do not judge me as I judge another. My sisters always said it’s 10% what you wear and 90% your attitude (I think they borrowed liberally from another saying), but there was this guy at the bar that made some choices, and then some additional choices on top of those, and… well, let me explain.
First off, he was in mid- to late-twenties, and he was wearing a hooded sweatshirt bearing what I call “a Tron pattern.”
Which on its own, I guess, would be fine and dandy (I shall never write that phrase again). But he could have worn something akin to this, instead:
And he would have pulled off the look a bit better. But he also could have actually gone to this extreme like this guy:
Yet I’m not done. The sweatshirt was a few sizes too small, as it tapered and adhered to his arms. A bad choice on its own, but forgivable if he opted NOT TO WEAR THE HOOD. It was snug on his noggin, and seemed to pull up the shirt underneath as well.
So what? you might be thinking. He can just put down the hood. My response: then why doesn’t he pull up the back of his pants! He had them purposely draped below his gray boxer briefed bum, as his leather belt held them firmly there. My friend, Jess, thought he might not know, but I knew he knew. It was another in a long line of bad choices.
The coup de grace for me was when my friend Devin was doing karaoke of Lil’ Wayne’s “A Milli” (which is a dumb song, btw, with some of the worst lyrics… check them out after the jump). This too-small-Tron-hoodie-wearing, non-boxer-pants-sagging doofus jumped up to sing with him, and he couldn’t keep up! He ruined it for Devin. Oh well. Like I said, who am I to judge… in my 90’s X-Men tee and skaterboi jeans with the cuffs rolled up.
(SIDE RANT: What’s the appeal of Lil’ Wayneanyway? Is he big merely for the fact he may have been the first to integrate electronica with rap? Why couldn’t he be a nice, clean cut guy like Chris Brown, and get cozy with a sweetheart like Rihanna?)
Lil’ Wayne’s “A Milli”
A millionaire, I’m a young money millionaire
Tougher than Nigerian hair
My criteria compared to your career this isn’t fair
I’m a venereal disease like a menstrual bleed
Through the pencil and leak on the sheet of the tablet
In my mind ’cause I don’t write shit, ’cause I ain’t got time
’cause my seconds, minutes, hours go to the all mighty dollar
And the all mighty power of that ch, ch, ch, ch chopper
Sister, brother, son, daughter, father mothafuck a coppa
Got the Maserati dancin’ on the bridge pussy poppin’
Tell the coppers hahahaha you can’t catch ’em, you can’t stop ’em
I go by them goon rules if you can’t beat ’em then you pop ’em
You can’t man ’em then you mop ’em,
You can’t stand ’em then you drop ’em,
You pop ’em ’cause we pop ’em like Orville Redenbacher!!
Motherfucker I’m ill
A million here, a million there
Sicilian bitch with long hair
With coke in the derriere
Like smoking the thinest air
I open the Lamborghini hopin’ them crackers see me
Like look at that bastard weezy
He’s a beast, he’s a dog, he’s a motherfucking problem
OK, you’re a goon but what’s a goon to a goblin?
Nothing, nothing — you ain’t scarin’ nothing
On some faggot bullshit call him Denise Rodman
Call me what you want bitch, call me on my sidekick
Never answer when it’s private, damn I hate a shy bitch
Don’t you hate a shy bitch?
Yeah I ate a shy bitch
She ain’t shy no more, she changed her name to me bitch
hahahaha, yeah, nigga that’s my bitch
So when she ask for the money, when you through don’t be surprised bitch
It ain’t trickin’ if you got it
But you like a bitch with no ass, you ain’t go shit
Motherfucker I’m ill, not sick
And I’m OK but my watch sick, yeah my drop sick, yeah my glock sick and my knot thick
Motherfucker I’m Ill!
They say I’m rapping like Big, Jay and Tupac, Andre 3000 where is Erykah Baduh at? Who that?
Who that say they’re gonna beat Lil’ Wayne
My name ain’t BIC, but I keep that flame man
Who that one that do that boy?
You all knew that
True that swallow
And I be the shit now you got loose bowels
I don’t owe you like two vowels
But I would like for you to pay me by the hour
Ha ha, and I’d rather be pushing flowers
Than to be in the penn sharing showers
Ha, Tony told us this world was ours
and the Bible told us every girl was sour
don’t play in the garden and don’t smell her flower
call me Mr. Carter or Mr. Lawn Mower
boy I got so many bitches like I’m Michael Lowry
even Gwen Stefani said she couldn’t doubt me
Motherfucker I say life ain’t shit without me
Chrome lips poking out the coup look like it’s pouting
I do what I do and you do what you can do about it Bitch
I could turn a crack rock into a mountain, dare me
Don’t you compare me ’cause there ain’t nobody near me
They don’t see me, but they hear me
They don’t feel me, but they fear me.