By now you’re likely familiar with Soulja Boy Tell Em having been arrested late last week. If you’ve been reading Negro Please a while, you’re also aware that we’ve had a lot of laughs at Soulja Boy’s expense. We also pity his ignorance, which is not absolved by having made money. In this latest installment of The De’Andre Way, our hero seems to simultaneously botch both a “music video” shoot and criminal record.
I’m sure by “music video” Soulja Boy means straight-to-WSHH cameraphone cinematography. Why else would the nigga be trespassing? Unless, of course, he wasn’t shooting the visual component to his latest auditorture at all. Either way, he should have gotten a permit or some form of permission to do be in the mawfucka.
When you’re up in some spot you don’t belong, you’ve got to have some level of creep to you. Not to say Soulja Boy was there stealing anything—he’s a rich nigga with rich nigga shit, after all—but burglars don’t come up in your home with a blaring boombox when they come to steal whatever isn’t nailed down. But, of course, Soulja Boy gets popped as the result of a noise complaint. Not one of them S.O.D. Money Drainers has the sense to think, “Hey, we shouldn’t even be up in this mawfucka. Let’s at least try to keep it down so these people don’t call the police” or “You know if anyone sees our headlights approaching this house in their neighborhood, they might call the police right?”
No. They were just thinking about how much money they’re getting. Or whatever it is they think about between blunts and XBOX sessions.
So, I’m supposed to understand that after the police do come and everyone scatters on foot or whatever, that this nigga returns to the scene of the “crime”? He comes back a few hours later to get the Range Rover?! Nigga, please.
First of all, you’re caught right there if you left your car. That’s not dropping a wallet or a bloody glove. That’s a vehicle with license plates and registration information. The police are going to tag that shit and get you eventually. They probably ran the plates, figured out whose vehicle it was and decided to wait for Soulja Boy to come back for the quarter pound weed left in the backseat.
Officer 1: What do you wanna do, Jimmy? Wanna take this Range Rover to impound?
Officer 2: *looking pensively at the dashboard monitor* De’Andre Way. Hmmm. I’ve seen that name before somewhere. Is that an actor or a rapper or something?
Officer 1: Don’t ask me how I know, but that’s Soulja Boy. My daughter loves that little shit. Got his posters all over her fucking room.
Officer 2: Soulja Boy? Oh shit. I don’t know much about him, but I do know he’s a fucking moron. Hold off on that impound. I think this one might be open and shut if we just hang around just a little while long—
Officer 1: Shhhh! Someone’s coming. I bet it’s him.
Soulja Boy: Oh, hell yea! That shit still here! Pussy ass cracka po’-leese stupid as hell! POW!
Arab: *giggling, as he would at anything Soulja Boy says*
Officer 1: Freeze! Police! Are you De’Andre Cortez Way?
This poor decision and poor planning was going to come back to haunt Soulja Boy at some point, but it didn’t have to be fucking immediately. It looks like walked into that shit like the Trix rabbit.
Speaking of mythological forest-dwelling creatures, what the fuck is this nigga trynna do with his hair? If he’s one of us many young blacks who have been searching for pops to no avail all our lives, he might want to try swinging by GameStop. Nigga look like he could take Sonic the Hedgehog on Maury for a paternity test. His mama should have been fuckin with Mario. No Charles Hamilton.
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