The other day, I ran into this gang of crosswalk gangsters. The crosswalk gangsters are a ruthless group of those really lame white kids who wear incredibly baggy clothing and pretend to be black, rap superstars. You know the ones; they wear those short little nylon condom hat things, and more jewelry than Mr. T and the Queen of England… combined… which really seems to fuck up the way they walk… across the street… when the light is green… or in the event that they’re feeling particularly adventurous, sometimes yellow.

So this particular posse of crosswalk gangsters was giving me a hard time the other day when I was at this intersection, waiting to cross the street. I guess I wasn’t so much waiting to cross the street, as I was walking across the street… cuz the light was green, and I needed to get to the other side of the road… kinda like the chicken, but in human form and without the unfunny punch-line. But these punks were being kind of like the mother of the really annoying kid at the store; the one who counts to 5, but at 4, if the kid’s still being a pain in the ass, goes to 4 and a half… and then starts making up some weird fractions, that aren’t really in the proper sequence, before landing on 5, and laying out a good, hard, ass whooping that leaves the kid in tears and emotionally scars him for life… cept the crosswalk gangsters were counting down instead of up, and they didn’t so much beat my ass down for not getting across the street, they just flashed an open palm at me every couple seconds.

What kind of lame ass crosswalk gangster posse can’t even cripple a man, emotionally? Aren’t thugs supposed to be all tough and shit? I was actually pretty disappointed at the lack of action taken by these yuppie gangster wannabes… I mean, they didn’t even pull out a gun, or threaten to break my face with a crowbar… they just waved a hand at me a couple times. What the shit is that? Grow a backbone and start intimidating me, or get the fuck away from the crosswalk. Beat it! Don’t tell me I have eight seconds to get across the street if you have no intention of enforcing the time limit. Punks.

Why exactly is the bandanna synonymous with bad-ass? Bikers, gangsters and run-of-the-mill bad guys all seem to embrace the idea of wearing bright, occasionally floral-patterned pieces of cloth on their heads, or hanging out of their pockets, or tied around their wrists… am I missing something here? If I carry around a bouquet of flowers, people are probably going to call me a sissy, push me down, point and laugh at me… but when some guy, with a motorcycle or baggy pants, drapes himself in floral linens he becomes some fabled brand of uber-tough guy who shouldn’t be messed with… what’s the deal? And why can a guy, wearing a leather vest, get a tattoo of a heart, with the word mother printed in it, and be considered a dangerous villain of a man? If I got a tattoo of the word mother, I’d immediately be labeled a mama’s boy by every Tom, Dick and Harry (what ever happened to that saying?) within a one mile radius. I don’t even want to know what would happen to me, should I ever come to the conclusion that donning a leather vest is a good idea…

What’s wrong with the world?

Recap:
The crosswalk gangsters try to instill fear to all who cross the street;
It doesn’t work;
Floral bandannas, tattoos that say “Mother” and leather vests make bad-asses significantly more bad-ass;
Floral bandannas, tattoos that say “Mother” and leather vests make regular-asses significantly more homosexual.

Ask your friends why they crossed the street… and then call them a chicken.

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