Thursday, July 11, 2013


With today's level of education and regard for spelling, I'm surprised these aren't UOL1 caps...

I know I used "you're" instead of "your". It was intentional. I am trying to ram home the point. Jees, do I have to explain everything?

I was at the cricket at Newlands about a year or so ago. I saw a shy, pudgy, snow-white teenage girl skulking around, emblazoned on her hoodie the letters "YMCMB". I had no idea what it meant and, having seen it on so many shirts, tops and ears-tucked-in caps, my interest was piqued. Recognising the perfect opportunity to broaden my horizons and add to my vast library of acquired knowledge, I asked her. She almost weed her pants, but before running off in an embarrassed shuffle, she managed to blurt out "Young Money Cash Money Brother". I stood there in confused silence.

Was it a reference to the Fresh Prince? New Jack City? The fast rising new black bourgeoisie in SA? What? It dawned on me that, like with most "fashion" these days, this young person had fallen victim to what passes for popular apparel among Western culture's youth. Haven't Li'l Wayne and Chingy done enough? Why didn't they stop at assless pants and golden grills?


If I read that correctly it translates directly into "I live my life by one simple tenet. The value of anything I am, anything I become or anything I achieve can very simply be measured by how much cash I have. I will stop at nothing to accumulate as much money as I possibly can and there is nothing I will not do, no matter how unsavoury, to achieve this goal. It will never be enough. I will be in pursuit of more wealth until the day I die. I will not hesitate to lie, steal, cheat, embezzle or commit violent crime if it leads to more money. Even worse, I'll inflict upon the unsuspecting world whatever ill-informed, misogynistic, badly worded, uninformed kak they're willing to accept as my art... Furthermore, I will invest my ill gotten gains in the most garish trinkets to show the world how much I am worth. Then print stupid slogans to remind humanity that it is in fact they who are responsible for my existence, wealth and obnoxious dress sense."

Then all the pubescent little girls in high brow Newlands can wear that shit...

Young Money Cash Money Brother indeed.

It makes me extremely concerned for the fashion sense of my own offspring one day. What will they think of then? When looking like a criminal dipped in the semi-precious scratch patch is considered a throwback to more elegant times? I shudder to think.

Not that my folks didn't faint at the sight of their little scrawny, awkward progeny bedecked in black from head to toe and sporting (sprouting) enough body jewellery to start a small scrap business. The horror with which I was sometimes viewed was quite unsettling, but then again, that's probably why I did it. It makes me feel really old to think that I am now that person doing the disdainful glare of disapproval.

Anyway, on with the body count...

It is with great joy in my heart that I can proudly announce that last night's musical collaboration went exceedingly well. I cannot tell you anything else, but feel good in the sure knowledge that I am sitting here as chuffed as fuck and really excited for the future.

And on that note I shall allow you to get back to your boring, mundane little existences.

Or will I?

The whole point of this entire post was to tell you the punchline.
Thanks to Sabretooth's tub thumper for the following:

YMCMB = Your Mommy Can't Make Breyani

I nearly fucking DIED!

NGDG: I wore Gorbachev-style glasses and had a Justin Beiber haircut in 1988. You can't imagine the shit I went through. I wish I had a time machine. So I could introduce fin-de-siecle weapons banned by the Geneva Convention to the youth of today.

Spread The Love. Even If Your Mommy Can't Make Breyani.

No comments:

Post a Comment