I pull up to the curb in my black SL 500 with the top down bumping a DJ Rello mixtape. T-Pain’s vocals for ‘I can’t believe it’ meshed perfectly over the track from Jay-Z’s ‘Excuse me miss’. In much the same fashion as rich, milk chocolate falls smoothly and evenly over a sugar wafer to produce a Nutty Bar. I display optimum swaggnatiousness in the mist of my swaggerific, swaggerlicious, stunt session. Then suddenly I notice the two sets of peepers peeping at me from across the street. They belong to two very attractive young women. Two 5'3'', chocolate Brat dolls. Bright eyes, full lips, over animated, over exaggerated breasts that bounced. Their jeans painted on and booties super tight, like a J-Dilla track. Two very attractive women whom I was hoping were at least in their early twenties, though my gut told me they were probably closer to sixteen or seventeen. I acknowledge their heavy gaze with a courteous nod and duce chuck of my own. They turn to each other, giggle and touch palms. Hi-five. Jackpot. Like a great opportunity or hot commodity, niggas like me don’t come around too often!
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