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Slap-Boxing With Jesus

You’re Too Bitchmade To Be Hard, Sir

Back in my rambunctious high school years, there was this one classmate named Ed. Ed was the prototypical pretty boy: skin so light you’d think one of his parents were a highlighter, that “Indian”-textured hair, the whole nine. Ed came from a reasonably well-to-do household, where not only did he have both parents, but both were relatively successful in their own respective areas of expertise.

Still, Ed used to try too much to be some kind of faux dope boy, despite the fact most of his peers knew he wasn’t. Perfect example: back in my robbing hood days I would go to my campus’ (my high school alma mater was on a college campus… the same college I ended up attending and graduating from, but whatever) student union store, snatch a few hundred dollars’ worth of university books and sell them back to the store. Word got out on the low amongst my peoples about my money train and sure enough Ed tried the same stunt, where he was promptly caught by the registrar for not taking the shits out of their plastic wrapping. A few days later, the entire section was relocated to a place behind a shitload of cash counters, where nobody but the employees of the store could reach them, essentially deading one of my various ski mask schemes. I was so pissed that I looted the ever-loving shit out of his Jansport one day.

My bad, Ed.

Point being, I haven’t been a fan of people that go all out to front like they’re someone or something they’re not. And, as you can see in the recent cases of Plies and Rick Ross, they’re liable to fall flat on their faces once exposed. With all the tough talking I’m expecting a lady to get shot in her face at a club a la Shyne, or at least slapping some random-ass kid through a wall like Tony Yayo.

The thing with being tough in the public eye is that cats have to act surly all the time, lest be called a biggedy-bitch for showing some kind of emotion. Take Young Buck’s recent bitchmade moment, when he openly wept to Fiddy because the IRS was knee-deep in his asshole, yet he kept buying ridiculously gaudy chains, rims for his toaster oven and whatnot. While I found that shit to be the funniest thing I’ve encountered this year I was a bit hard-pressed to actually feel contempt for the guy, as he would come off as some über-tough guy, not to mention he did stab that one guy who mollywhopped Dr. Dre – who ironically also got exposed by Eazy-E back in the day – at the Vibe Awards a few years ago.

Even the chewstick, nag champa rappers aren’t excluded from their bitchassness. I’ve heard stories of how the likes of Talib Kweli and dead prez used to mack more broads than Suga Free, but that’s excusable considering that they’re simply trying to get some heady moe; I can’t knock anybody’s love muscle game. However, Mos Def made his living preaching about fat-bootied brown skin ladies and such, only to get caught out there by some random-ass YT video chick-turned-smut peddler. Considering the state the Amerikkkan economy is in, nobody is safe: good thing my former flings don’t know about this section I do. Then again, it’s probably best if they did keep their mouths shut; I’m pretty sure there’s some embarrassment knowing they were plowed by a loudmouth, anti-social, rake-thin Nigerian.

While I’m pretty sure these cats could land back on their feet – hell, even Ed became a success, or at least what I’ve gathered from his MySpace page – one has to wonder if it’s even worth going through all kinds of bullshit to prove and/or maintain one’s hardness. Considering the almost-daily tests they go through already, I’m glad I don’t have go around proving my nerdity to anybody even quasi-important.

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