Tales From The Hood

Living in the hood, you see and hear different shit on the daily… 

Fortunately/Unfortunately…minus college, and a few apartments here and there, i’ve been in the hood my whole life, and the shit is so sad, that its amusing. Growing up, I didn’t have a choice…deadbeat dad + single, high school educated mom = projects in my case. Not mad at that situation at all…when life gives you food stamps, buy ten cent worth of penny candy, and save the change to buy some good shit. Blame it on the excessive amounts of Grey Goose or the one time my boys coerced me into smoking some of them tweeds (all I remember from that night is…nigga, you work for yo uncle, how he gon drug test you?..after they broke it down in those terms, how could I refuse?), but I don’t remember much from my childhood besides food stamps, penny candy, excessive ass whoopins with extension cords and playin football, so my tales from the hood will only cover my current situation.


Niggas are probably askin…M.Keez, you’re a college educated young man, why in the hell are you stayin in the hood? And everytime a crack head asks me to hold a ‘loose buck’, I ask myself the same. Long story short, I had the opportunity to get a house built in a neighborhood going through gentrification (google that, niggas), so the opportunity to build equity, and give back to a traditionally black neighborhood seemed great at the time…


When doing the right thing goes wrong, lol…Now, I didn’t know too much about Charlotte, and I said to myself, hell, its Charlotte, it can’t be that bad, ain’t like I bought a house in Watts…boy was I wrong. I shoulda knew something was fishy when I told niggas the street I was stayin on, and they gave me that Kanye smile, and shooketh their head. Fast forward…so now a nigga is in the new crib, tryna christen the crib with a new jumpoff, and shots are fired. Being that I’d been outta the hood for about six years at this point, I’ll admit, the bitch came up outta me. I’m midstroke with ole girl, and screamin like a biatttch…no lie. Me and ole girl hit the floor like it was a tornado drill…and I broke her off real proper like…for five strong, ghetto fabulous minutes (ladies, if you read these blogs, and do decide to get with a nigga…do not give me that surprised ass look when you see that its over after five minutes…I keeps it real, plus, if a nigga don’t bust in 15 minutes, yo cooch ain’t shit © Corey Holcombe, lol). Now…I’m not into havin chics stay the night, so when I go to walk old girl to her car, this damn crackhead is out in front of my house jiggin, and cussin out the air. Ole girl is lookin at me like, oh hell nah, I am not getting in my car with this lady cutting a fool like this. The bitchassness in me wanted to call the police, but the comedian in me said to just stand there and watch ole girl jig, cuz it’d been a hard day and I needed a laugh, so the comedian prevailed, and I laughed for a good twenty minutes…while funny at the time, this crackhead would pay my ass back at a later time, but we’ll get to that.


So then, a nigga starts to develop a side hustle, doing taxes seven days a week during tax season. I get a lot of extra chips, so I do the first thing every nigga would do…trick it off at the strip club…nah, I bought a 42” Flat Screen. I wanted one for the longest time, and I felt like I deserved it. Not two weeks after getting the TV, I’m doin taxes, and get a call from this crazy ass number. Thinkin it’s a chic I used to mess with back in the day, I pick up the phone…hype. Nigga, it was ADT on the line sayin “Mr. Key, we’re sorry to report this, but your house has been broken into, and we’re sending the authorities right now.” First thing that came to my mind was “NIGGAS”, then “FLAT SCREEN”. I rush to the crib, only to see my TV still there, but niggas stole my cable box…a cable box? WTF? So I call my insurance, file the claim and the whole nine, keep in mind, this was a Wednesday night. Saturday night, a lot of parties goin on in Charlotte for CIAA weekend…a nigga is at home with the smell good on, nice outfit, and some Goose in hand, kickin it. Head over to my bruhs house to go out, and get a call from that same damn number…”Mr. Key, we’re sorry to report this, but your house has been broken into, and we’re sending the authorities right now.” First thing that came to my mind was…”Ain’t this about a bitch…twice in one week?” Niggas got me for the flat screen this time…Oh, and both times my house got broken into…damn police took two hours to get to the crib. It turned out that they found ole boy the next day at a crackhouse, cuz the nigga had broken into nine other houses within a 4 day span. After dealing with this bullshit, two broken windows, I decided to put up a fence, and install my own bars on my windows…and you would think niggas would leave a nigga alone…nah, homie.


So, the homie…Ms. Cali was visiting Charlotte (we don’t date our blogees, lol) for career purposes, having a good time, trying to convince her to move to the city. So, on the day that she has to go back to the airport, I wake up, ready to go to work, walk outside…and the damn Dodge is missin, from in front of the crib. I ask Ms. Cali if she had to make a run to her jumpoff’s crib, and left my car over the nigga house, and she responded ‘No mas’…so a nigga looks to the left, walks to the right…no car in sight. I call the po’s, my insurance company, and get my rental, head to work, and i’m just in a state of disbelief…I’m thinking of any of the women I messed with in Charlotte who could’ve been behind this shit and nothing comes to mind. Later on that day…I get a call from the po’s, sayin they had found a nigga’s car. I was really pissed, because I had been on cars.com looking for a new whip, only to find that these niggas had returned my car with literally $300 under the amount I needed to total my car out. At this point i’m thinking…why, lawd, why…at least if you gon have people steal the whip, let them do enough damage to total it out…sheesh. I figured these niggas was hungry, saw my car sittin there, drove to McDonald’s, and left my whip in front of they baby mama crib…you can’t tell me anything different, cuz they never found these niggas.




Another issue with living in the hood is…random ass niggas stopping you at the bus stop asking for change, bustdowns askin a nigga if he tryna pay for it (shiiiiiiid, not when we in a recession, and jackin is free), and random ass niggas knocking on the door. This is the shit that brings the Uncle Ruckus out of a nigga. Swole crackheads have come to my door, asking to cut my grass at 6:30 in the morning, dusty ass niggas have knocked on my door lookin for they baby mama (and I seriously ask these niggas…now do you think I’d stick my genitalia in the same shit that you do…get the fuck off my property, nigga). Unfortunately, a nigga stays in front of the bus stop, so I can’t tell you how many niggas come by the crib, askin “A nigga, you got a quarter?” Nigga, no! But, the thing that inspired me to write this blog, was the most reckless shit I’ve encountered since I’ve been at the crib. It’s literally 10:19 at night, a nigga is fresh out the shower, after a good workout, and a tough softball game (no homo, lol), and I hear my doorbell ring. I look through the peephole, and don’t recognize the nigga, so I ask, “Who is it?” This nigga responds, “Pookie”…I’m like, “What you need my nigga?” He’s like, “Man I’m kinda embarrassed to say this, but….” Now, I’m thinking, well damn, is this nigga gon ask me for some condoms? I hope so, cuz I’m damn sure gon ask him where the hoes at”, lol. But nah niggas…this nigga rings my door at 10:19 at night to ask for some…baby formula. Nigga what? I was like nigga, I can’t help you with that…I ain’t got no kids. So through the door, he hits me with a ‘Fuck you then, nigga’. I had to read the Bible after that one, lol…seriously. The only way I was gonna give that nigga some money for some baby formula is if he was with Joseph, a pregnant Mary, three wise men, and a couple goats…other than that, i’m not opening the door for you my nigga. My nigga instincts tell me that he was lookin for some white powder aight, and not infant formula.


Last tale…its a lot shorter, but its dealin with the same crackhead who was jiggin in front of the crib to welcome me and my jumpoff to the neighborhood. So a nigga is standin at the bus stop, bumpin my music, when the same crackhead approaches me. She asks me, ‘Nigga what you lookin at?’ I ignore this broad, cuz obviously she don’t know who she talkin to, lol…then I hear ‘Yeah, bitch, I’m talkin to you’…Seeing the bus approaching, I see this as my out to escape this crazy woman, but this chic follows me on the damn bus, and continues to cuss a nigga out. The bus driver had to put the damn bus in park, to get this broad off the bus…and this type of shit happens ev-er-y dayyyyyyy © Snoop.


Long story short…niggas, ladies, pray for ya boy…living in the hood is tough, and i’m this close to goin back to slangin that yayo © E-40, lol.


I leave ya’ll with this…nowadays, women be having more babies snatched out of them than a burnin orphanage © Corey Holcomb.



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