This Easter, I discovered one universal truth:

Old black people really do eat EVERY part of the pig.

Seriously. This weekend, I’ve been offered bacon, spare ribs, hot dogs, sausage, ham, chitterlings(chit’lins) and some shit called Sousse, which looks like baloney, but is made of pig snout and pig heart(no bullshit).

Old country negoes must be made of cast iron, because I don’t see how anybody could live to 70 years of age eating shit like that…LOL. This proves my theory that we, as a generation, have become soft as a result of our desk jobs and conveniences. Think about it…Nowadays, if you want to wash clothes, you use a washing machine. Back in the day, you used a BOARD and some water LOL. That shit will make you tough by default.

So next time you’re at your desk complaining about some pansy-ass shit, think about what I typed here and eat some swine.

Happy Easter!

Hustleman

Ok…gotta make this quick today since I’m about to hit the road and head back to MD.

I love my Grandma and her husband Lesse. They are the greatest. I was having a rough week, but seeing them made me smile and really realize how blessed I am to have a family this wonderful.

Also, Cal is out of town, so I’ll be handling the Blog-ing this weekend. So if there is anything in here offensive, shocking, or just plain unCal-like, don’t blame him, blame me…LOL.

I know you all expect shit-talk fromme on Thursday, but I’m actually very happy today so I’ll save the biting comedy for tomorrow or something. Have a great one!

Leon
a.k.a.
HustlemanL77
a.k.a.
The Nigga You Love To Hate
a.k.a.
Tito Santana
a.k.a.
Puerto Rican Apollo Creed
a.k.a.
O.G. Big Dookie
a.k.a.
Niggerace

Upon reading last week’s comments, I see that some of you still haven’t caught on. On Thursdays, Cal DOES NOT do the entries…I do. Now I know some of y’all are wondering who I’m is…and I don’t blame you. So, to once again quote Jay Z: “Allow me to re-introduce myself”

My name is Leon. That’s Hustleman to you, unless I already know you or you have big titties. I’m representing our Nation’s Capitol, Washington, DC. I am a graphic designer/entrpreneur/writer/reformed ladies man/laborer/caffiene addict. I’m a really nice person. Do not mistake kindness for weakness, though. I’ll slap the shit out you.
I’ll slap the shit out you then have sex wit your mom.
I’ll slap the shit out you, have sex with your mom, and cook breakfast butt-naked in your kitchen like Ving Rhames in Baby Boy.

I only do shit like that when the situation calls for it, though. I’d much rather be remembered for my triumphant achievements:
- I made the word “tipple” popular. Tipple= Big Titty Nipple
- I was the first negro to travel to the U.S.S.R.
- I invented Kool Aid
- I am Sammy Davis Jr.’s illegitimate son. My middle name is Bojangles.
- I was Jim Varney’s stunt double in “Ernest Goes To Camp”
- I am the real reason Mandela is free. I went to South Africa singlehandely and took the bitch over John Rambo-style.

Now, if THAT’s not impressive…here’s a photo montage of the great one…LOL

http://www.imgmag.net/images/leondesign/Hustleman_ava.gif

Now, you know my name, know what I look like, and know that I talk big shit. So next Thursday, everyone should know that I type on here on Thursdays. And you all need to thank me for inventing Kool Aid. Have a nice afternoon, everyone.

HustlemanL77

Happy Thursday folks. I noticed a pattern in my entries on this board…I always end up talking about women. So this week, I’ll talk about something totally unrelated. I’ll just say this last thing: Despite the shit I talk, I really love women and respect them. Even when you all do get on that dumb shit.

I’ll tell the story of the one and only time I played basketball with Allen Iverson.

It was summer ‘98 if I remember correctly. All I know was, I was still attending Hampton, and on occasion A.I. would ride across campus in his Bentley making new friends over near the female dorms. So one particulary nice day, he decided to come out to the courts and shoot around with some of us who were already out there playing. So he comes out there and was like “Can I get a run?” So one of those guys on my team said “Hell yeah you can get a run! Ay Larry!, Getouttahere! A.I. got your spot!”

So my man E was on the other team…and he happened to steal the ball from Allen Iverson and take it downcourt for a layup. I guess that made him feel confident, cause he said some shit to the effect of “Yeah! I don’t give a shit if he is an All Star. He can get it too!”

After that, I’m dribbling upcourt, and Iverson was like “Give me the fuckin’ ball.” I did, and he heads downcourt right past two defenders. E is standing in the paint in a defensive stance, probably thinking he’s going to make another big play.

All I know is Iverson jumped, and E jumped. Once the two were both in the air, Iverson just kept rising and rising, while E kinda rose, then the laws of gravity caught up with his ass. When A.I. finally did throw it down, E was horizontal in the air about a foot below him…LOL. He dunked on E so hard, it was borderline violent. It was the basketball version of an Ike Turner open-handed slap in the mouth. The shit was so dramatic, that it actually seemed like it happened in slow motion…LOL.

To this day, I still joke him about it whenever we talk basketball.

Hello everyone…It’s me, Hustleman checking in with my weekly guest-entry. Today I’m writing about woman troubles…the kind of woman troubles that made Lenny Williams cry all over the record the way he did.

I can’t see ‘em coming down my eyes, so I gotta make the post cry.

I miss being in love sometimes…Don’t get me wrong, new and assorted tang is FAN-TASTIC. I miss the feeling of having someone there who has my back through thick and thin, though. Before I get to sounding like P-Diddy and Loon making this post into “I Need A Girl, Part XVIII” with Ralph Tresvant singing the hook, let me give you some insight into how I fell into Gigolo-dom.

I was a poor black child born in rural Virginia to a schoolteacher mother and a salesman/reformed pimp/pool hustler/Kool cigarette smoking father. They taught me a lot of things…most good. Now, skip to 2002. I fellin love, fellout of love in 2003…but once things ended, me ex still wanted to give me stuff($$$, clothes, tang, etc…). I felt guilty for after awhile. I don’t anymore, because it was her decision to break up, and she knows what’s up. Only thing is, I’ve kinda aquired a few more friends like that who do “unsolicited good deeds” for me, although none on the level of my ex.

The problem lies in when they try to use the material shit to control me like a puppet. Then get mad when I tell them to lick my left ball after refusing to take whatever ignorant, degrading shit they try to throw on me…Shit like “Leon, I think you should wear the shirt I bought you when you take me to see your family this weekend”

To which I’d most likely respond “Thafuk you mean, ‘meet my family’? You gotta earn that shit. I just met you last week.”

Man, I’m going to need to hook up with the right lady soon, or this path I’m on might have me legally changing my full name to “El Guapo”, getting a Snoop Dogg perm, and moving to the French Riviera with one of the Olsen twins once they turn 21.

Then again, things could be worse, I guess.

“Allow me to re-introduce myself my name is…”

HUSTLEMAN!!!

What’s up regular KillaCal viewers…Your gracious host has allowed me this time to talk a little shit and hopefully make people smile today. So I’m going to do this by telling everyone the reason I’m up and playing on the internet at 1:00 AM. I made a profound discovery tonight…I SUCK AT BEING THE WINGMAN.

I’m at a bar chillin with my boy E, and this tall, sexy brownskin lady walks over to him and is on his shit HARD. I couldn’t do shit but smile and watch it all unfold. So after about 20 minutes of them talking and me drinking heavily while watching two shitty schools on ESPN battle for an NCAA berth, the lady turns to me and was like “I have a bunch of friends who came with me…I’m going to hook you up with one of my girls”

Now, my mind was like “Oh FUCK no!” but my boy was all smiling and shit, so I decised to do my civic duty and play wingman. Wrooooooooong decision.

First of all, these ladies came to the bar straight from the gym next door. Still in their damn gym outfits. No showers or anything. Nasty bastards. I kept my distance from the lady when we got introduced, but I couldn’t help but notice the little dried up sweat stain on her leotard. That was a blower like shit. Secondly, she offered no substantial conversation. I felt like I was carrying the conversation and that quickly got boring. After awhile, I was just like “Nice meeting you” and walked away.

Her girl was like “what happened?”

So I told her”Your friend has no social skills. I’ve been drinking too much to carry the conversation singlehandedly. I may just be too honest with her and say some shit like ‘I’ve never fucked a white girl before, but you’re kinda cute’ and offend her” LOL.

So she goes back to my friend talking shit, and I go over to the other side of the bar cause I caught three sweet sexy thaaaangs over in the corner watching me go through what I just went through.

So long story short, I ended up meeting this sexy-ass carribean lady in there who witnessed that shit and could relate. I’ll be calling her later this week, so I guess this story has a happy ending. I just know that my wingman skills need a little work. Maybe I’m not patient enough. Maybe I’m just a selfish bastard…Hey, all I know is that I’ve recognized that there is a problem, and that’s the first step to recovery. Wish me luck, y’all.

Until next week, this is HustlemanL77