Walking down the street here in Flatbush the other day, I came upon a truck parked in front of a house. Emblazoned on the door of the truck was “Mobile DNA Testing” and on the window, a picture of a baby with the question: “Does he really have his father’s eyes?”

Ho, snap!

Why not just put a sign outside your house that says “Cheating Bitch”?

I don’t recall when I saw him, but I wound up sitting across from an old pimp on the subway. Decked out in a burgundy suit with a cream jacket, fuzzy purple velveteen hat and alligator skin-esque shoes with goldish capped toes. Pimpin’. Word.

There was a hat store on Fulton Street near where I used to live in Bed-Stuy. I could see this cat shopping there. They had everything, from old pimp shit to new pimp shit. It spanned generations. Like R&B, the old shit is infinitely better, hipper and cooler than the new.

Finally, this is how problems are handled at my place of work. Do we fix the sink? No. We put a bucket over the faucet.

Tags: Bed-Stuy, cheating whores, Flatbush, infidelity, laziness, mobile DNA testing

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 23rd, 2009 at 9:59 PM and is filed under The Commute, entertainment, incredulity, miscellanous bk, piss poor. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.