#thugs
Two nights ago, Sophy and I were studying for our chemistry class in a library 24/7 room. Those feature large open areas with couches, tables with computers and some other, small desks behind cubicle walls. We were seated in the cubicle area. It was after 11pm, a time when the library rooms are usually deserted.
Suddenly, these five brolics come noisily into the open area. As soon as we heard them, Sophy and I exchanged a look where we asked each other, “Should we leave?” But we decided to wait and see if they’d settle down or stay.
There’s a native kind of white, frat **** I’ve encountered once or twice in my year at Yale. These men, usually upperclassmen, are big, rude, entitled and combative ***** who are positive they rule the universe. We derisively call them “scions”.
One time Leong and I were in line to buy snacks. Leong had just stepped up to the register and this scion walked up - cutting the line - to buy a drink. He reached out with his card almost hitting Leong in the face - like she wasn’t there, like the line wasn’t there. I'm sure the checkout lady just quickly processed his card to avoid a scene.
Now there were 5 of those jerks in one room - their inherent chaos introducing them. They were loud and bunxious (hello, can you say library QUIET?). One, in particular, had a very deep, grinding and irritating voice. He started truthing to his audience, crowing about a recent, violent, gay *** encounter he’d had. Sophy and I looked at each other in shock, like ***
At the end of his explicit narration, he kept repeating “Bang’n it.. Bangin’ it.. Bangin’ it.. Bangin’ it..” slowly, rhythmically, grindingly over and over - he must have said it 80 times with various nasty inflections. While he was playing that out, the others were laughing and yelling encouragement and raunchy feedback over his “Bang’n it” mantra.
I’m sure they didn’t know we were there. But I turned a little and drew my feet up onto my chair, my knees becoming a small wall, in case the barbarians rounded the corner. I’ll admit that psycho-guys like that scare me a little and there’s something in the tone of their voices that makes my skin crawl.
This seemed more than those “guy’s locker room talks” we’ve all heard about. The scene seemed oddly private and primitive, like a band of excited apes celebrating a **** Perhaps something one was more likely to overhear in a dark fraternity basement than in a college library.
I guess I experienced a moment of gendered fear. Sophy and I both scrunched down in our seats a bit, exchanging “chagrinned, what now” looks. There just didn’t seem an opportune moment to reveal ourselves by leaving. Sophy showed me her phone - the app that summons a security escort if a student needs one was up - but I shook my head “no,” to mean “not yet,” and we decided to wait.
After about 15 minutes one of them said, “Let's get a drink” and they left. Thank God. I wonder what would have happened if we stood up and left. Hopefully nothing, but even now I shudder at the memory of that guy's voice. Those guys were way, way more than creepy.
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 12:15 PM UTC
I’ve known many unsavory characters from my home city of Manchester
There’s the ex-demolition guy who took a great dislike to me
Did he have visions of blowing me up instead of my old car?
He had a trainee apprentice in the wings and had connections
I knew several football hooligans who fought for what?
For England, their home team, themselves, for violence?
Each told me a story of Rah-Rah-Rah Here We Go Lads!
One fought riot cops in Poland and was jailed in a sanatorium
He somehow escaped and was banned from Poland for life
The other was a City fan and battled his opponents in Greece
He was 45 and still loved a good tear up on match days
Drug dealers prominently featured in the city and surrounding towns
One dark night in my home town I saw an ex-dealer shot dead
I heard then saw the BMW getaway car zoom off
Oddly I thought I heard two gunshots after it had gone
The ex-dealer’s wife asked me to help and I tried to
But there was nothing I could do but call the medics
Chavs are the worst in my town and others
Council House And Violent and ruling the tough estates
With their violence, crime, dealing and other acts
Not going to school or college but sleeping all day
And drinking and smoking **** all night with their underage gals
But when do they have time to do their crimes?
There are the plastic gangsters who think they’re it
Maybe with their mates they can burst a paper bag
Or intimidate innocent law abiding citizens who are meek
Further afield I met a gangster in Liverpool who was alrite
He liked a right tear up and had a job to appear legit
But his real work was in various things like drugs, guns and cash
He offered me a job as a courier because my car was old and gray
I said no for its easy in and never ever out
The English racists were a breed apart who hated all skins
I got on with one who liked metal but we clashed on views
He loathed foreigners and wanted them all out
And insisted that white men stick to white women
Most scary of all I met a killer on the run in Newcastle
We were on the ship disco by the river having fun
This guy had a real flirty wife called Carmen
I danced with her and later talked to her husband
He schitzed out and went mad but not for chatting with his gal
I asked what’s wrong and he admitted to killing a man
And said he didn’t know me from Adam so be quiet!
He was a Londoner and I said you did it for your own reasons
His wife consoled him when he had flashbacks
Ex-servicemen gave me a few problems over the years
I was drinking in my local pub when a para and a marine argued
First with one another and then with me over who was best
They hated the air force and me wearing an Air Force badge
Maybe they needed a war to get their heads blown off?
There were many fighters who lived to fight and cause trouble
Some had a go at me I tried to avoid their skills but heard their stories
Some were nutters but others quite pally and fine lads
There were brawlers, boxers, Martial Artists and more
Near the Mess House pub in Oldham guys die by a single punch
These savory and unsavory characters were the fabric of England
Some I remember and many I forget for right or wrong reasons
Their stories live on here my poem for you to judge
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 1:34 PM UTC
Maybe thugs aren’t shooters,
They all need to decompress.
Calling themselves gangsters,
Never should they be blessed.
Thugs don’t get all their girls,
They pay them just big bucks.
Killing like they own all worlds,
Murdering with all their Glocks.
Blood gangs, where are the Crips?
Crip gangs, where is the Bloods?
They are fake owning their cribs,
Murdering just to own any goods.
Gangsters don’t own their swags,
It’s the Rap Game, it’s the G Code.
They rob and steal, filling all bags,
Man, these gangsters seem all old!
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
We learned that freedom of speech is
Is a privilege granted by some
For seeing the abasement of millions
And remaining politically mum.
The violations of human rights today
Are too numerous to record
And the rich perpetrators of the crimes
Grant each other the rewards.
We learned that rich people only care
About the money they make
And the rest of us can congregate
And please go jump in a lake.
If the forests are all sawed down and gone
They don’t give a stinking ****
If they bees are all dead and we all die
They lie and say ecology is a sham.
We saw that fossil fuels are the biggest game
And they’ll **** to win and get rich
And anyone that gets in their billion dollar way
Will be a sad and sorry son of a *****
We know that our country is run into a ruin
By the greedy whims of a stinking few
And they care not all that much among them
For the outcome for me or you.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 2:33 PM UTC
He was the meanest kid on the playground
If the kid he picked on was half of his size.
He abused his playmates if they were weak
Had freckles or wore glasses on their eyes.
He was not a handsome lad in any way.
It was almost like he took it out on the world
That none of the guys wanted to play with him
And he seldom got lucky with the girls.
There was the slightest hint of intelligence
But it was always of the devious kind.
Nobody ever thought this kid would turn out
To be the type to make fortunes with his mind.
Taking little kids lunch money from them
Was why he even went to school each day.
If he looked a bit older and wasn’t lazy
He might just have hid out and run away.
He didn’t play ball or do any kind of work
And his mom waited on him hand and foot.
You could tell when he reached legal age
He’d find a woman who would follow suit
And treat him like a six foot baby brat
As if he was a gift to the whole world.
Of course he was in luck there because
It’s easy to hook up with that kind of girl.
At work he will call all the women sweetie
And soundly slap his cohorts on their backs.
He’ll always remember his boss’s birthday
It pays to keep the important things on track.
If he can block a promotions of co-workers
Who are not Caucasian and Christian,
He will stick to his hidebound beliefs
And stick to ideas of The Dominion.
And if this reprobate ever has children
They will grow up to be just like him;
They’ll subject siblings and playmates
To their own temperament and whim.
Because bullying is passed by parents
From their parents to their own children.
And bullying adheres to no rules about
Morality, propriety, intelligence or wisdom.
Jan 8, 2017
Jan 8, 2017 at 9:28 PM UTC
Hood isn't getting money and chicks
Its not what they show on the flicks
Its pain, death, and the struggle to survive
Its waking up
And praying to god that you stay alive
That walk down the street
Could be your very last
It could easily be taken
By someone wanting your cash
Y'all may not even read this
Y'all may not even care
But if you do
I'm just trying to make you aware
So before you sling dope
Thinking its cool
Remember there are real gangsters
That won't think twice about ending you
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 2:43 AM UTC