BLING BLING BYITCH!

Ya’ll know me. I enjoy talking about any shit under the sun. Even things like cars, tech, and other materialistic things. But the reality is, it’s like window shopping for me. I’m thrifty as a mother fucker. Just talking about it more than satisfies any curiosity I have about those things because I learned at a young mother fucking age to save my money, live within my means, and get a good fucking deal when it finally was time to buy something.

This shit goes back to my youth. When I was young and wanted some dumb ass G.I.JOE SR71 Blackbird or Zap-it disappearing color water gun or whatever, my dad would always make me trade something in exchange for it. Sure I could have that water gun if I took out the trash for 2 weeks straight. Or mow the lawn a few times. Or recited all the motherfucking states in the U.S. a thousand times.

FARMERS MARKET, HO!

Since living in LA for the last 10 years, I’ve realized two things:

1. There’s a fuckload of Priuses out here.

2. You can't walk 5 feet in LA without hitting a goddamn farmers market.

So the other day I'm cruisin through a weekend market when I see a vendor for stone fruits. There’s samples lined up for miles and kids are sticking their filthy grubby hands into the bins, spreading their hand, hoof, mouth disease or whatever all over the place. And I look up and I’m like WTS (dass short for what da shit, ho) are all these fruits, bitch?! There were varieties like a motherfucker there, and most of them with crossbred-ass fruity names like mango-habanero-pluots, bubble-yum-gum plums and watermelon-purple-nurple peaches and shit. Bitch if I’m eating something called a watermelon anything, there better be a slip-n-slide within 10 feet of that motherfucker.

DEEZ JORDANS.

In nineteen-eighty-motherfuckin-nine I was in the fifth grade. Straight ballin. Michael Jordan was (and will always be) the greatest player of all time. If your dumbfuck ass is too young to understand that and is even thinking about saying the word Lebron in my online presence, then stop and punch yourself in the fucking face. Seriously. So I had begged my parents for a year to buy me a pair of Jordans and after my slave-driving dad forced me to mow his piece-of-shit 2 acre lawn like 10 times, he finally agreed. We went to the store, strapped those shiny bitches on my feet (2 sizes too big because my parents were cheap as fuck), and headed home with a smile on my face. This would be my year.

The next morning I rolled to school in them, wondering how they would be received. My expectations were annihilated when this dumb fat kid in my class ran up to me and screamed at the top of his lungs “HOLY SHIT YOU GOT THE JORDANS! YOU’RE AWESOME!” I tried to play it off like I was embarrassed by the spectacle caused by his fat fucking face, but really, I was thrilled with his incredible instant mass marketing campaign.