“I think that it’s unfortunate, but at the same time I really feel like [Lil' Wayne's] not gonna miss out on anything… T.I.’s about to be home and he didn’t miss nothing. Nothing happened while he was gone. I don’t think anybody wants to go to jail, that’s just not a place for people.”
Wow, O. That shit was spoken like a nigga who not only has never been incarcerated, but doesn’t know anyone who’s ever been in the box either. T.I. isn’t missing anything? The nigga has like 5 kids. He’s missing a lot. Lil’ Wayne’s upped his baby collection in the past year himself. I don’t know if Weezy planned on ever seeing the new litter in person, but still. They’re out there.
I know Mr. Rad’s guidance made it so that nobody had to get locked up in You Got Served, but to suggest that people locked away for a year—or any other period of time, for that matter—aren’t missing anything is ludicrous. Fuck, put me in the cage for the weekend and I’d be wiggin. Dallas Penn’s account of going down for like 30 hours made me reflect on the shit I’d miss.
Niggas like Omarion should really shut the fuck up and go pop-lock somewhere instead of chasing down camera time with his no project-havin’ ass. Submitted for his review, Negro Please Presents: Things Niggas Miss When Locked Down.
Privacy – I grew up in a 3-bedroom apartment with 11 other people in Harlem’s St. Nicholas projects. “Two at the foot, two at the head” applied to couches and loveseats, let alone beds. I’m not saying this to brandish my ghetto stripes or what have you. I’m saying this because my favorite thing about growing up, moving out and having my own shit was that I didn’t feel other niggas’ eyes and breath on me all the god damn time. This speaks to the time when I had the freedom to go outside and play “don’t get hit by a stray” with the other pre-prisoners. I couldn’t imagine what it’s like to not have even that much.
Family – Those 11 other niggas including Tameka Mexico-Barclays, Mama Mexico, Grandma-nana Mexico, Pop-Pop Mexico, Ricky Mexico, Mike Mexico and uncles between prison stays are the niggas I can’t imagine going through life without. [Blogger’s Note: Sorry. No Bobby.] Pop-Pop is no longer with us, which blows enough. We were all pretty tight, both figuratively and literally. The locked up uncles always got letters and shit. One such uncle missed the first words and steps of multiple children… whom I babysat. That’s far from “nothing”. We’re also still on Boosie watch for when the nigga breaks over pushing away the few people that care about him, even if only momentarily.
[Blogger's Note: Now, if anyone deserves a "Boosie response", it's Omarion.]
Elective Work – Some of us hate our day jobs. Most of us would gladly choose them over pressing up license plates, building shopping centers and cleaning roads for 12 cents per hour. How about being on a work detail in the middle of a city and being recognized by friends or neighbors?
“Hey, wanna go for a beer after you get off your shift?”
“Yeah. Meet me at ESPN Zone in like 5.”
“5 hours? That’ll be a little late for me tonight. I got work in the morning and shit.”
“Naw, nigga. I meant 5 years.”
Shit like that will make you miss that stressful occupation of recording slizzard freestyles and rapping on stage for thousands of horny teenage girls.
Decent Food – I had the pleasure of being half-Southeast American Negro [GASP! Did he say "south"?] and half-Jamaican. Fortunately, this meant meals were slammin’ on both sides, even when we didn’t have much to work with. I hear grub in the slammer is pretty fuckin terrible. Though, I’ve always been amazed and saddened by the niggas on Lockup Raw who talk about prison food like it’s the one improvement upon life on the outside. That must suck. I know it’d be damn near impossible to jerk chicken or make cornbread in one of them super-restrictive maximum security New York prison cells. My uncle didn’t even want to talk about food on the rare occasions we could afford to accept his collect calls. He damn sure appreciated them plates when we visited, though. They were cold from the 4-hour bus rides and Canadian air, but he always felt the love… and the Lawry’s.
Companionship – I’m not even talking about romantic relationships. Though you can get those in the joint if you wanted. Lil’ Wayne strikes me as the kind of nigga who gets blented and needs to have one of those weed ramble conversations. He will be surrounded by plenty of people who respond to the soo woo in a New York prison. I don’t know too much about gang life, but I hear it’s like having another family. Maybe he won’t be at a loss for homies, conversation and activity partners. However, if no one recognizes his soulja rag, I can imagine this career performing artist from pre-adolescence will be quite the recluse. That shit gets to you over time. Ask Beanie Sigel. He missed his big homie, didn’t he?
Pussy – The self-proclaimed “Pussy Monster” will definitely miss all that raw dog consensual vaginal intercourse and cunnilingus he’s been having. There may be other sexual alternatives in the box, as explored by my nigga Ike with the Iverson jersey. But unless he comes up on Mrs. Officer, Weeziana won’t be playing the Andy Griffith theme song any time soon.
With that said, a pussy break might be the best thing to ever happen to a nigga like Wayne. The man has reproduced like mold spores this year. Everywhere he touches down there’s a new goblin on the way. We can all appreciate a break from new Carters for a minute, right?
Questions? Comments? Requests? What would/did you miss about home? firstname.lastname@example.org
This piece is dedicated to former New York City police commissioner Bernard Kerik, who pleaded guilty to corruption charges this morning. Night, night. Keep that asshole tight and them blues loose. Adebisi is watching.
Too bad the grimy nigga didn’t have any crack on him. He wouldn’t have been able to plead down to 2 years from 61.