Who’s REAL?

Posted on October 26, 2009


Really REAL?

There are some really grimy, hardcore crews out there. There are even more bubble gum groups, with three or more members, who call themselves a crew. Let’s cut through the bullshit and find out who’s really real:

Pakistani dj crew; found on myspace:DJradMuslimNo, I don’t think so. The only thing I fear their leaders’ unibrow; nothing else. If I was walking down those stairs, I’d push my way right through them and wipe my kicks on the guy in red’s back; while elbowing the bombed-out loser in the t-shirt. I’d spit (sort of down and to the side,) hitting the suit in his lap (and on the wall.) I’d be spraying whatever I was drinking at the time in the most disrespectful of ways. At this point, I’d mentally curse myself for not being a tobacco-chewer, and having a big brown loog on tap for that chopped-up flat top. I’d then utter “Move, bitch!” and “Excuse my back!” Finally, I’d continue on about my day, without a hint of fear of retaliation; and I’d be right for doing so. In that knockoff-ass gear you bought in the Pakistani bodega…tell Uncle Patel you want your 25 Obamas back for selling you bootleg shit. Oh, you three work at the store? I’m guessing the suit is the boss, Dubai (pronounced ‘doobie’) works the mop, and DJ Rad Muslim sells me blunts at the register. Congrats on the promotion; remember when Dubai just loitered outside and bought a can of beer each morning? Congrats to him, too. Way to join the work force. Bitch please.

These guys:GapCrewWe’re getting closer, but no. This is what would happen if hip-hop ever embraced Old Navy; and vice versa. No; for many reasons. This rag-tag band of high school/college students appears to be living the struggle (black, yet upper middle class.) I’d say there’s more criminal credibility in a 3rd grade public classroom than in the entire starting basketball team at St. Theresa’s. These guys probably use slang and poor grammar, but they smile and nod, indicating that they both know the correct way to say it; yet they understand why the other does. They only say hell and damn when they swear. They are all SHOCKED when someone drops the N-Bomb, and discourage friends from saying it, even when they are alone. They have expensive clothing that they didn’t pay, work, or hustle for: “Moms got my school clothes…I’m so fly!” There has to be some real G’s out there somewhere…

Soft as Shit dance/skate crew:skatecrewOh, you’re a DANCE crew. You “serve” people. I wish you’d robot over my way….Fred Astire couldn’t save you from the savage beating you’d have coming; not with all the hate-crime legislation in the world. I’d let the black dude slide, to tell the tale of the epic annihilation. The rest of you, pray this death comes fast. I’d certainly be beating the pussy in the back with his skates. I’d smash him many times, square in the forehead, until gray matter was on the menu. I’d teach the two wearing ball caps proper care for, and the correct way to wear, their New Era hats; just before slitting their throats simultaneously. Dude on the left…chucking deuces at me? It would be over fast for you; double-tap upper chest. Even if you died instantly; I would still give you a contact head shot just to ensure that you never existed again. These Girl Scouts aren’t real…so who is?

These guys.18REALYep. These vatos are as REAL as it gets. They would make slurry out of all those other crews. Look in their eyes. You can see it; the look of someone who’s “done it.” The poppy seeds in the dance crew would piss their panties if they ever found themselves accidentally roller-skating down 18th Street.18TATSYeah. These guys are the real deal. I don’t even need faces. With that much ink? Trust me…Imagine the shit these guys have endured, if 50+ hours apiece of tattoo work is nothing. Serious props to you, fellas.

Real gangs do shit like this:grafittiSpray-paint the name of a guy you’re going to kill on a wall around the corner from your own house; then kill him. That is like sending out an e-mail memo about your intentions to shit on a co-workers desk. After waiting for three days, you not only shit on the desk, but also use the turd to write your name on the wall for the boss (or cops) to see.


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