Back in the day, I was endlessly fascinated with the lavish lifestyles that many rappers brag about providing for their women in their songs. Like T.I., for example. Although he can’t seem to form coherent sentences (if you’ve ever watched T.I.’s Road to Redemption, you know what I mean), he sure as hell can buy his ladies a lot of shit. And that’s really all I wanted: a lot of shit.
I was always curious about how exactly one rolled with a hustler. Do you sell drugs, perform sexual favors, or both? And is there a way around those things? If the hustler takes you shopping, does he pick the stores? Does he come in the dressing room with you? Cause if you don’t like him like that, it could be weird. But then, isn’t the whole arrangement a big facade anyway?
I used to think that maybe, just maybe, I could roll with a hustler. That is, until Jenny and I were propositioned by LL Cool J’s opening act in Atlantic City this past weekend.
Or so he said, anyway. My Google searches have turned up naught for a Mr. Atlantic City. He was strolling through the casino with an entourage of four guys that looked like Ice Cube in various stages of life, which is the only reason we sort of believed him. His opening line was, “Chocolate cake goes great with white milk.” No amount of showers could wash away the filth we felt at that moment. When he ran out of gross innuendos, he made promises of shopping trips and a lifetime of financial stability. His diamond chain and matching diamond studs suggested he could one day make the right hussy very happy. But we were not those hussies.
I know he was probably full of crap and his pockets were more likely filled with roofies than Benjamins, but I wonder what happens to the hoes who actually buy his lines. When you hit on everyone with boobs in a casino, you’re bound to find one prime for drugging at some point. But do Mr. Atlantic City and the rest of the so-called gangsters slash gentlemen of the world make good on their fiscal promises?
I guess I’ll never know.
