What’s that? No, I’m not laughing. That’s just what my face looks like when I’m overcome with pain, kinda like that one terrified kid who couldn’t stop smiling in Scared Straight. Submitted for your disapproval, Lil’ Jon’s name and crunkafied visage are all over this qualifier for the upcoming 2010 Coon Olympics’ premiere event. Check your dignity at the door.
Bring your appetite, though.
On the subject of coonery, I’d hoped for the sake of both flavor and appropriate sponsorship that they were using Bojangles’ chicken in this year’s event.
A Chicken/Malt Liquor Binge & Purge is the kind of contest I expect World Star Hip-Hop to be sponsoring, even though it looks like a normal Bossip staff lunch hour. I would say these nappy-headed hoes is goin’ ham like the new tribal dance Africa just came out with, but as we’ve already established, that’s chicken in them Styrofoams.
[Blogger’s Note: But, of course, the swirl offenders and the down low brothers are exactly the reason why they don’t have a man right now.]
You know at least one of these nappy-headed ho-ticipants is pregnant, but has effectively rationalized not only being in the club, but slammin down a 40 like Patrick Ewing in a sorority house. I hear you can get good-ass prenatal care for $500 in some rural areas. Either that, or you can pay for Planned Parenthood to finish up the “smishmortion” you’ve just given yourself.
Not a single nagger in this god-forsaken dancery had a racial pixie on his or her shoulder as the fuckery went down? Had I been there for some strange reason, leaving quietly as these displaced African hippos unhinged their jaws for feeding would have been the most civil thing I could have done. A nigga like me would be inclined to leave, block the doorways and toss a Molotov into that bitch. However, had I made the molly out of a 40 dog, one of the Tyler Perry All-Stars in attendance clearly would have caught the shit before it hit the ground.
“This is unleaded? That’s spicy than a motherfucker. I like that!”
Let’s say they didn’t mean anything by this scene. If you don’t like inhaling fried chicken and washing it down some of that good-ol’ 8-ball there’s something wrong with you. Hold the tiger, right? But these silly negroes had to know what this looks like. The implications of such naggerdom… God damn, people—and I use the term loosely. This shit is like KKK training footage.
The DJ’s guidance throughout only makes things worse for me. “Drink awwl the beer out the bottle!” He later adds rhythm to the guidance with a series of provocative chants including “Drink that shit! Drink that shit!”
The best part is, this wasn’t even about the money for the unofficial “winner” in the red top. Yeah, there’s a $500 prize. But listen to her earnest bellow of [Adventures in] “Hollyhood motha-fucka!” “Drink that shit” sounds a lot like “Whoop That Trick!” So, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out Three 6 Mafia had a hand in this somewhere. Maybe she’s related to Miss Sugarfoot. She may or may not have thrown up, though. I couldn’t judge for myself. The cameraman didn’t hold his phone steady at that juncture.
That open mouthful of chicken bits on our champion looks like a shot straight out of National Geographic. They’re going to fuck around and start filming the hood on the regular behind this shit.
Y’all got a nigga fucked up right about now.
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Money Tree Entertainment sounds familiar. I feel like I saw a Frankie F. Baby video with that damn Microsoft Paintbrush “logo” emblazoned across the front. The “Man Down” song jarred my memory after the chicken and 40 binge wiped my brain blank.