As the leaves change colors and the sun shines rarely in these cold-as-fuck winter months, I find myself changing with the season. I shall no longer be known as "Bryan", "B", or "Oogie" if you're nasty. I shall now be known as "Brizzle". I will no longer drive the speed limit down Sunrise Avenue blaring At The Drive-In or Husker Du. My new tunes will consist only of lyrics containing the words "bitches", "ho's", "bling", and "fo' sheezee" even if I am not one hundred percent sure that I have spelled those words correctly. My slang will no longer be made of words like "gnarly" and "rad" and "dude", but be replaced with more hip and cool words like "shizzle", "bomb", "tight", and "nigga" (but only to my white homies), even if I do not know how to use those words correctly or even what they mean. I will now be seen looking fashionably cool driving twenty miles below the speed limit, ridin' dirty in my mustang, hat cocked to the left, sippin' on my jamba and juice as my 3 spinners spin like a spinning... spinner (I couldn't afford all 4, those fuckers are expensive). That's right; I will now and forever be gangsta. I'm trading my punk rock for hip-hop, my Jawbreaker for Master P, my Nixon watch for a tribal armband tattoo. Maybe now I will be cool. Just maybe.
-B
damn it feels good to be a gangsta
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