Criminal Minded

Inspiration - "Criminal Minded" Boogie Down Productions "Criminal minded, you've been blinded/Lookin for a style like mine you can't find it/They are the audience, I am the lyricist/Sometimes the suckas on the side gotta hear this/Page, enraged, that I'm not in a cage/Free as a bird to fly up out on stage/Ain't here for no frontin just to say a little somethin/Ya suckaz don't like me cause you're all about nothin"

What I'm Listening To - "Breakin Atoms" Main Source

Question(s) I Asked Myself Today - "Am I telling too much with this post?"

A sit-eation (yeah, I spelled it like that on purpose) came up today that made me think about the old T. See the old T. was a miscreant, a deviant who would sooner pick your pocket than talk to you. Without going into too many details, I had an opportunity today for a quick come up and for a minute, I forgot that I was a grown ass man. I fought the temptation and didn't involve myself in the criminal enterprise, but I thought to myself... "If this had been a few years back..." Back in the day, I didn't concern myself with matters of right and wrong. If there was an opportunity to take your shit, your shit would be tooken (yes, I typed that on purpose too.) I ran scams like a professional confidence man back then. You wouldn't see it coming. The quiet guy in the corner was scheming on a way to get you for what you got. Let me give you a few examples.

Back in high school, I never really had any money. I mean, we lived comfortably but there wasn't anything left over for frivolous things like allowances. Being a prideful teen, I had to find a way to supplement my income so I could afford to go to football games or Jack and Jill parties. $5 was a lot of money to me then. So I hustled. Nothing bad like selling drugs or armed robbery, I used my brain and sneakiness to achieve my goals. There was this kid at my school named Brad (I can use his real name b/c there is no chance of him ever reading my blog.) Brad was a little white kid who wanted to be down with the brothas, and chose my crew because we were Black, but not like scary Black, if you know what I mean. Brad used to always brag about his material possessions. I felt it was my duty to liberate said items from him. Over the course of 2 years, I must have stolen 3 walkmans, a gameboy, and untold amounts of cash from Brad. The ill thing was he never knew how his stuff kept coming up missing. The way I did it was slick. I watched him when he opened his locker and stole the combination. Then later when he was in class, I would help myself to his belongings. My justification was that he was a white boy who had every advantage and I was a Black man stilled denied my 40 acres and mule. Whatever, I know that's bullshit, but selling Brad's stuff kept me laced in the freshest Cross Colours and British Knights.

In college, I had a similar hustle. But this time, because I went to a HBCU (SAVANNAH STATE UNIVERSITY, REPRESENT!!!) there weren't many overprivileged white kids to rob. I made it my mission to steal from those guys who were being supported by mommy and 'em. A good rule of thumb is "Don't brag about what you got in front of T., because it will come up missing." Case in point, I had an associate by the name of Bear. Bear had his own apartment and always had the fellas over to drink and smoke weed. This nigga just got extra verbose when he was faded, bragging about what he had. Mind you, he aint have a job, so really that's not his shit, its his parents shit. One day, me and my homeys decided that we were tired of hearing his rhetoric and decided to teach him a lesson. As usual, that night there were a ton of people at Bear's apartment getting intoxicated. My man Kareem starts feeding Bear shot after shot of liquor (we were drinking Bacardi 151) and when Bear said he was through, my other homeboy Tori and I goaded him into drinking some more. "Come on, man! Don't be a little bitch!" Bear succumbed to the peer pressure and drank until he passed out. Slowly the throngs of hanger-ons either left or fell asleep, and that's when we struck. We stole every last one of Bear's Playstation games, the majority of his cd's and $100 he had hidden in a empty Alize bottle. When we saw him the next time, he told us that he got robbed and we acted like we ain't know what happened. My justification was I needed it more than he did.

It wasn't until a couple years after college when I was finally scared straight. I can't tell you this story, but suffice it to say that my criminal ways didn't diminish after graduation. I found a new hustle at one of my jobs, straight white collar. My justification was "these mf's should be paying me more for all the work I do!" It was all lovely for awhile, I was enjoying the free money until I got caught. Well, maybe I should say "suspected" because nothing was ever proven and no charges were ever filed. But I got interrogated. Now, I had thought about that moment before, but I never thought that I would end up like Caine in Menace to Society. You remember that scene with the detective saying "you know you done fucked up right?" That's how I was, every ounce of coolness I had going into the room disappeared. The shit scared the hell out of me and I have been (mostly) legal ever since.

Yeah, I admit that I thought about it today. But that only lasted a split second. I'm not the same cat I used to be. I think about right and wrong now. I no longer try to justify my fucked up actions. Besides, I'm too pretty for jail. Anybody else do dirt back in the day? We won't judge you, I promise.


It was written...