I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – social distancing ain’t gonna work in the hood. Ghetto folk don’t watch White House press briefings, they don’t know who Dr. Fauci is, they don’t take their marching orders from Charlie Baker, and they don’t buy into the idea that we are “all in this together.” Today’s episode of social distancing in the hood comes from Springfield, where several flat brimmed, gravitationally challenged laardvarks got together to race cars, but ended up getting into an epic two round, male-female bro-ha-ha. First was the ladies.
It all began when Land o Earthquakes called out the Notorious P.I.G for disrespecting her man’s jelly rolls.
The Notortious P.I.G didn’t take too kindly to that and so the battle ensued as these things always do in Springfield – on the hood of a Honda Civic.
They both attempted to gain leverage on the other, knowing that gravity was their friend.
But alas the Notorious P.I.G. gained the upper hand by giving Land o Earthquakes the hoodrat helicopter.
This then led to the ceremonial unveiling of the fupa.
And it continued until both parties agreed that 45 seconds of exercise was they could handle, and the Notorious P.I.G. was crowned Princess Hoodbooger.
Next up was the main event, featuring Land o Earthquakes’ porridge packer, the Diabetes Dumpstercoon vs. Pony Tail Pedro, who of course was rocking the hat of champions.
This still image right here is the most iconic Springfield image that has ever been taken.
A morbidly obese man on food stamps rocking one size fits all sweatpants and Jordan’s, a grown man with a pony tail and flat brimmed Chicago Bulls hat who probably could get you heroin in less than 3 minutes, multiple people filming on their Obamaphones, and a lone gutterslug ripping a Newport Light in front of an idol Honda Civic while thinking, “this is what I’ll be doing every Sunday night for the rest of my life.”
The Diabetes Dumpstercoon took a deep breath as he prepared to engage in physical exercise for the first time since 8th grade gym class.
He eyed up Pony Tail Pedro like he was the last cold taquito at 711.
But he left himself as wide open as most of the women’s beef curtains who were watching this all go down, and then BOOM!!
Right in the kisser!!
That was the only connected punch in either fight, as the flat brimmed Chicago Bulls hat wearing spectators watched a defensive battle transpire from that point forward.
Credit to the Diabetes Dumpstercoon though – he kept his form and footwork solid despite not being able to tuck in his overflowing fupa folds.
Once the flat brimmed Bulls hat fell on the ground a gasp overcame the crowd and the fight was officially ended with no winner.
Question – how many masks did you count there?
Answer – the same amount you will see on these same people starting on Wednesday. Zero.
So the next time Karen complains that someone didn’t have a mask on at Honey Farms, send her this video to remind her that there are much, much more egregious social distancing violations in the hood. And this is why the plan we have used to stop the spread of the disease was a horrible idea – because they didn’t factor in that ghetto folk don’t play by the same rulebook as the rest of us.
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