Gizgoogle on: Fractals! "This idea of bein detailed relates ta another feature dat can be understood without mathematical background: Havin a gangbangin' fractionizzle and fractal dimension pimped outer than its topological dimension, fo' instizzle, refers ta how tha fuck a gangbangin' fractal scalez compared ta how tha fuck geometric shapes is probably perceived. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! A regular line, fo' instizzle, is conventionally understood ta be 1-dimensional; if such a cold-ass lil curve is divided tha fuck into pieces each 1/3 tha length of tha original, there is always 3 equal pieces.
In contrast, consider tha curve up in Figure 2. It be also 1-dimensionizzle fo' tha same stupid-ass reason as tha ordinary line yo, but it has, up in addition, a gangbangin' fractal dimension pimped outer than 1 cuz of how tha fuck its detail can be measured. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da fractal curve divided tha fuck into parts 1/3 tha length of tha original gangsta line becomes 4 pieces rearranged ta repeat tha original gangsta detail, n' dis unusual relationshizzle is tha basiz of its fractal dimension."
[QUOTE=Super_Nova;39231734][url]http://www.gizoogle.net/xfer.php?link=http://shakespeare.mit.edu/romeo_juliet/full.html[/url]
oh my god[/QUOTE]
[quote]But, soft, muthafucka! what tha fuck light all up in yonder window breaks?
It be tha eastside, n' Juliet is tha sun.
Arise, fair sun, n' bust a cap up in tha envious moon,
Who be already sick n' pale wit grief,
That thou her maid art far mo' fair than she:
Be not her maid, since her ass is envious;
Her vestal livery is but sick n' green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
It be mah lady, O, it is mah love!
O, dat her ass knew her ass were!
Biatch speaks yet her ass says nothang: what tha fuck of that?
Her eye discourses; I will answer dat shit.
I be too bold, 'tis not ta mah crazy ass her ass speaks:
Two of tha fairest stars up in all tha heaven,
Havin some bidnizz, do entreat her eyes
To twinkle up in they spheres till they return.
What if her eyes was there, they up in her head?
Da brightnizz of her cheek would shame em stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes up in heaven
Would all up in tha airy region stream so bright
That birdz would rap n' be thinkin it was not night.
See, how tha fuck her ass leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, dat I was a gludd upon dat hand,
That I might touch dat cheek![/quote]
SOMEONE MAKE THIS NOW
[quote]Stormtrooper: Let mah crazy ass peep yo' identification. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.
Obi-Wan: [with a lil' small-ass wave of his hand] Yo ass don't need ta peep his crazy-ass muthafuckin identification. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.
Stormtrooper: Our thugged-out asses don't need ta peep his crazy-ass muthafuckin identification. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch.
Obi-Wan: These aren't tha drizzlez you're lookin for.
Stormtrooper: These aren't tha drizzlez we're lookin for.
Obi-Wan: Dude can go bout his bidnizz.
Stormtrooper: Yo ass can go bout yo' bidnizz.
Obi-Wan: Move along.
Stormtrooper: Move along... move along. [/quote]
[quote]Obi-Wan: I felt a pimped out disturbizzle up in tha Force, as if mazillionz of voices suddenly cried up up in terror n' was suddenly silenced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I fear somethang terrible has happened. [/quote]
[quote]Obi-Wan: Da Force is what tha fuck gives a Jedi his thugged-out lil' power. It's a juice field pimped by all livin thangs. It surroundz our asses n' penetrates us. It bindz tha galaxy together. [/quote]
This site is a danger to the lungs.
[IMG]http://i.imgur.com/0yxJV.png[/IMG]
[quote]Nicolas Cage (born Nicolas Kim Coppola; January 7, 1964) be a American hustla, balla n' director, havin rocked up up in over 60 films includin Raisin Arizizzlea (1987), Da Rock (1996), Face/Off (1997), Con Air (1997), Gone up in 60 Seconds (2000), Adaptation (2002), Nationizzle Treasure (2004), Lord of War (2005), Pimp Rider (2007), Da Wack Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (2009), Kick-Ass (2010), n' Pimp Rider: Spirit of Vengeizzle (2012).
Cage started doin thangs Nicolas Kim Coppola[2] on January 7, 1964[1][3][4][5] up in Long Beach, California yo. His father, August Floyd Coppola, a professor of literature, n' his crazy-ass mutha, Joy Vogelsang, a thugged-out dizzla n' choreographer, divorced up in 1976 yo. Dude was raised up in a Catholic family.[6][7] His daddy waz of Italian descent n' his crazy-ass mutha iz of German n' Polish descent.[8] His paternal grandmuthafathas was composer Carmine Coppola n' playette Italia Pennino, n' his thugged-out lil' paternal pimped out-grandmuthafathas was immigrants from Bernalda, Basilicata.[9] Through his wild lil' father, Cage is tha nephew of director Francis Ford Coppola n' playette Talia Shire, n' tha cousin of directors Roman Coppola n' Sofia Coppola, film balla Gian-Carlo Coppola, n' hustlas Robert Carmine n' Jizzo Schwartzman. Cagez two bruthas is New York radio personalitizzle Marc "Da Cope" Coppola n' director Christopher Coppola yo. Dude attended Beverly Hills High School, which is known fo' its nuff alumni whoz ass became gangbangin muthafuckas yo. Dude aspired ta act from a early age n' also attended UCLA School of Theatre, Film n' Television. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch yo. His first non-cinematic actin experience was up in a school thang of Golden Boy.
Relationships n' family
In 1988, Cage fuckin started pimpin playette Christina Fulton, whoz ass later bore they son, Westsideon Coppola Cage (born December 26, 1990). Westsideon is lead thug of tha black metal crew Eyez of Noctum, n' rocked up up in Cagez film Lord of War as Vladimir, a lil' Ukrainian maniac whoz ass quickly disarms a Mil Mi-24 helicopter.
Cage has been hooked up three times yo. His first ho was playette Patricia Arquette (hooked up on April 8, 1995, divorce finalized on May 18, 2001).
Cagez second marriage was ta thug/beatmaker Lisa Marie Presley, daughter of Lizzy Presley. Cage be a Lizzy hustla n' used tha star as tha base of his thugged-out lil' performizzle up in Wild at Heart. Presley n' Cage hooked up on August 10, 2002 n' filed fo' divorce on November 25, 2002 which was finalized on May 16, 2004. Da divorce proceedin was longer than tha marriage.[24]
Cage kicked it wit his cold-ass third n' current ho Alice Kim, a gangbangin' forma waitress whoz ass previously hit dat shizzle all up in tha Los Angelez restaurant Kabuki n' all up in tha Los Angeles-based Korean nightclub, Le Privé. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Biatch bore they son, Kal-El, (after Supamanz birth name[25]) on October 3, 2005. Cage was once considered fo' tha role of Supaman up in a gangbangin' film ta be pimped up by Tim Burton fo' realz. Alice had a minor role up in tha 2007 film Next, which Cage produced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They was hooked up at a private ranch up in Uptown California on July 30, 2004[/quote]
its amazing
I think I just turned a design document into Pimp my Ride.
[quote]NOTE TO READERS: This be a livin document used by tha Star Citizen crew ta pimp tha ships yo big-ass booty is ghon peep up in tha finished game. Our thugged-out asses is pluggin em wit you up in tha hopez of givin you a funky-ass mo' betta understandin of tha design ideas behind ships yo ass is pledgin for.[/quote]
[url]http://www.gizoogle.net/xfer.php?link=http://www.robertsspaceindustries.com/ships-plan/&sa=U&ei=nvP1UPzJLYaAhQfegoHYAQ&ved=0CBQQFjAA&usg=AFQjCNGtJsVXMzQUnOdtwOzBzZroA_vbMw[/url]
[QUOTE=RobbL;39227645][thumb]http://i.imgur.com/39O4v.jpg[/thumb][/QUOTE]
"Hook up Da Heavy" is what "Meet the Heavy" should have been called.
"Let no playa write mah epitaph; fo' as no playa whoz ass knows mah motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice and ignorizzle, asperse them. Let em n' mah crazy ass rest up in obscuritizzle n' peace, n' mah tomb remain uninscribed, n' mah memory up in oblivion, until other times n' other pimps can do justice ta mah character. When mah ghetto takes her place among tha nationz of tha earth, then n' not till then, let mah epitaph be written. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. I have done."
Holy fuck this is the greatest thing I have ever seen on the internet
Shit putting poetry into this is hilarious
"Da bicyclez go by up in twos n' threes -
Therez a thugged-out dizzle up in Bizzley Brennanz barn tonight"
I be certain dat mah fellow Americans expect dat on mah induction tha fuck into tha Presidency I will address em wit a cold-ass lil candor n' a thugged-out decision which tha present situation of our gangstas impel. This is preeminently tha time ta drop a rhyme tha truth, tha whole truth, frankly n' boldly. Nor need our crazy-ass asses shrink from honestly facin conditions up in our ghetto todizzle. This pimped out Nation will endure as it has endured, will revive n' will prosper. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. So, first of all, let mah crazy ass assert mah firm belief dat tha only muthafuckin thang our crazy-ass asses have ta fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts ta convert retreat tha fuck into advizzle. In every last muthafuckin dark hour of our nationistic thuglife a leadershizzle of franknizz n' vigor has kicked it wit wit dat understandin n' support of tha gangstas themselves which is essential ta victory. I be convinced dat yo big-ass booty is ghon again give dat support ta leadershizzle up in these critical days.
In such a spirit on mah part n' on yours our crazy-ass asses grill our common difficulties. They concern, give props ta Dogg, only material thangs. Values have shrunken ta dunkadelic levels; taxes have risen; our mobilitizzle ta pay has fallen; posse of all kindz is faced by straight-up curtailment of income; tha meanz of exchange is frozen up in tha currentz of trade; tha withered leavez of industrial enterprise lie on every last muthafuckin side; farmers find no markets fo' they produce; tha savingz of nuff muthafuckin years up in thousandz of crews is gone.
Mo' blingin, a host of unemployed playa hatas grill tha grim problem of existence, n' a equally pimped out number toil wit lil return. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Only a gangbangin' foolish optimist can deny tha dark realitizzlez of tha moment.
Yet our distress be reppin no failure of substizzle. Our thugged-out asses is stricken by no plague of locusts. Compared wit tha perils which our forefathers conquered cuz they believed n' was not afraid, our crazy-ass asses have still much ta be thankful for. Nature still offers her bounty n' human efforts have multiplied dat shit. Plenty be at our doorstep yo, but a generous bust of it languishes up in tha straight-up sight of tha supply. Primarily dis is cuz tha rulaz of tha exchange of mankind’s phats have failed, all up in they own stubbornnizz n' they own incompetence, have admitted they failure, n' abdicated. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Practicez of tha unscrupulous scrilla chizzlaz stand indicted up in tha court of hood opinion, rejected by tha hearts n' mindz of men.
True they have tried yo, but they efforts done been cast up in tha pattern of a outworn tradition. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Faced by failure of credit they have proposed only tha lendin of mo' scrilla. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Stripped of tha lure of profit by which ta induce our gangstas ta follow they false leadership, they have resorted ta exhortations, pleadin tearfully fo' restored confidence. They know only tha rulez of a generation of self-seekers. They have no vision, n' when there is no vision tha gangstas perish.
Da scrilla chizzlaz have fled from they high seats up in tha temple of our civilization. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. Our thugged-out asses may now restore dat temple ta tha ancient truths. Da measure of tha restoration lies up in tha extent ta which our crazy-ass asses apply hood values mo' noble than mere monetary profit.
Happinizz lies not up in tha mere possession of scrilla; it lies up in tha joy of achievement, up in tha thrill of creatizzle effort. Da joy n' moral stimulation of work no longer must be forgotten up in tha mad chase of evanescent profits. These dark days is ghon be worth all they cost our asses if they teach our asses dat our true destiny aint ta be ministered unto but ta minista ta ourselves n' ta our fellow men.
Recognizzle of tha falsitizzle of material wealth as tha standard of success goes hand up in hand wit tha abandonment of tha false belief dat hood crib n' high polistical posizzle is ta be valued only by tha standardz of pride of place n' underground profit; n' there must be a end ta a cold-ass lil conduct up in bankin n' up in bidnizz which too often has given ta a sacred trust tha likenizz of callous n' selfish wrongbustin. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Lil Small-Ass wonder dat confidence languishes, fo' it thrives only on honesty, on honor, on tha sacrednizz of obligations, on faithful protection, on unselfish performizzle; without em it cannot live.
Restoration calls, however, not fo' chizzlez up in ethics alone. This Nation asks fo' action, n' action now, nahmeean?
Our top billin primary task is ta put gangstas ta work. This is no unsolvable problem if our crazy-ass asses grill it wisely n' courageously. It can be accomplished up in part by direct recruitin by tha Posse itself, treatin tha task as our crazy-ass asses would treat tha emergency of a war yo, but all up in tha same stupid-ass time, all up in dis employment, accomplishin pimped outly needed projects ta stimulate n' reorganize tha bust of our natural resources.
Hand up in hand wit dis our crazy-ass asses must frankly recognize tha overbalizzle of population up in our industrial centas and, by engagin on a nationistic scale up in a redistribution, endeavor ta provide a funky-ass mo' betta bust of tha land fo' em dopest fitted fo' tha land. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da task can be helped by definite efforts ta raise tha valuez of agricultural shizzle n' wit dis tha juice ta purchase tha output of our ghettos. It can be helped by preventin realistically tha tragedy of tha growin loss all up in foreclosure of our lil' small-ass cribs n' our farms. It can be helped by insistence dat tha Federal, State, n' local posses act forthwith on tha demand dat they cost be drastically reduced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! It can be helped by tha unifyin of relief activitizzles which todizzle is often scattered, uneconomical, n' unequal. It can be helped by nationistic plannin fo' n' supavision of all formz of transportation n' of communications n' other utilitizzles which gots a thugged-out definitely hood character. There is nuff ways up in which it can be helped yo, but it can never be helped merely by rappin' bout dat shit. Our thugged-out asses must act n' act doggystyle.
Finally, up in our progress toward a resumption of work our crazy-ass asses require two safeguardz against a return of tha evilz of tha oldschool order; there must be a strict supavision of all bankin n' credits n' investments; there must be a end ta speculation wit other gangstas’s scrilla, n' there must be provision fo' a adequate but sound currency.
There is tha linez of attack. I shall presently urge upon a freshly smoked up Congress up in special session detailed measures fo' they fulfillment, n' I shall seek tha immediate assistizzle of tha nuff muthafuckin States.
Through dis program of action our crazy-ass asses address ourselves ta puttin our own nationistic doggy den up in order n' bustin income balizzle outgo. Our internationistic trade relations, though vastly blingin, is up in point of time n' necessitizzle secondary ta tha establishment of a sound nationistic economizzle. I favor as a practical policy tha puttin of first thangs first. I shall spare no effort ta restore ghetto trade by internationistic economic readjustment yo, but tha emergency up in da crib cannot wait on dat accomplishment.
Da basic thought dat guides these specific meanz of nationistic recovery aint narrowly nationalistic. It be tha insistence, as a gangbangin' first consideration, upon tha interdependence of tha various elements up in all partz of tha United Hoods—a recognizzle of tha oldschool n' permanently blingin manifestation of tha American spirit of tha pioneer. It be tha way ta recovery. It be tha immediate way. It be tha strongest assurizzle dat tha recovery will endure.
In tha field of ghetto policy I would dedicate dis Nation ta tha policy of tha phat neighbor—the neighbor whoz ass resolutely respects his dirty ass and, cuz he do so, respects tha muthafuckin rightz of others—the neighbor whoz ass respects his obligations n' respects tha sanctitizzle of his thugged-out agreements up in n' wit a ghetto of neighbors.
If I read tha temper of our gangstas erectly, our crazy-ass asses now realize as our crazy-ass asses have never realized before our interdependence on each other; dat our crazy-ass asses can not merely take but our crazy-ass asses must give as well; dat if our crazy-ass asses is ta go forward, our crazy-ass asses must move as a trained n' loyal army willin ta sacrifice fo' tha phat of a cold-ass lil common discipline, cuz without such discipline no progress is made, no leadershizzle becomes effective. Our thugged-out asses are, I know, locked n loaded n' willin ta submit our lives n' property ta such discipline, cuz it makes possible a leadershizzle which aims at a larger phat. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! This I propose ta offer, pledgin dat tha larger purposes will bind upon our asses all as a sacred obligation wit a unitizzle of duty hitherto evoked only up in time of armed strife.
With dis pledge taken, I assume unhesitatinly tha leadershizzle of dis pimped out army of our gangstas dedicated ta a thugged-out disciplined battle upon our common problems.
Action up in dis image n' ta dis end is feasible under tha form of posse which our crazy-ass asses have inherited from our izzlestors. Our Constipation is so simple n' practical dat it is possible always ta hook up extraordinary needz by chizzlez up in emphasis n' arrangement without losz of essential form. That is why our constipationizzle system has proved itself da most thugged-out supably endurin polistical mechanizzle tha modern ghetto has produced. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! It has kicked it wit every last muthafuckin stresz of vast expansion of territory, of foreign wars, of bitter internal strife, of ghetto relations.
It be ta be hoped dat tha normal balizzle of executizzle n' legislatizzle authoritizzle may be wholly adequate ta hook up tha unprecedented task before us. But it may be dat a unprecedented demand n' need fo' undelayed action may call fo' temporary departure from dat normal balizzle of hood procedure.
I be prepared under mah constipationizzle duty ta recommend tha measures dat a stricken hood up in tha midst of a stricken ghetto may require. These measures, and such other measures as tha Congress may build outta its experience n' wisdom, I shall seek, within mah constipationizzle authority, ta brang ta speedy adoption.
But up in tha event dat tha Congress shall fail ta take one of these two courses, n' up in tha event dat tha nationistic emergency is still critical, I shall not evade tha clear course of duty dat will then confront mah dirty ass. I shall ask tha Congress fo' tha one remainin instrument ta hook up tha crisis—broad Executizzle juice ta wage a war against tha emergency, as pimped out as tha juice dat would be given ta mah crazy ass if our crazy-ass asses was up in fact invaded by a gangbangin' foreign foe.
For tha trust reposed up in mah crazy ass I will return tha courage n' tha devotion dat befit tha time. I can do no less.
Our thugged-out asses grill tha arduous days dat lie before our asses up in tha warm courage of tha nationistic unity; wit tha clear consciousnizz of seekin oldschool n' precious moral values; wit tha clean satisfaction dat be reppin tha stern performizzle of duty by oldschool n' lil' alike. Our thugged-out asses aim all up in tha assurizzle of a rounded n' permanent nationistic life.
Our thugged-out asses do not distrust tha future of essential democracy. Da gangstaz of tha United Hoodz have not failed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! In they need they have registered a mandate dat they want direct, vigorous action. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. They have axed fo' discipline n' direction under leadership. They have done cooked up mah crazy ass tha present instrument of they wishes. In tha spirit of tha gift I take dat shit.
In dis dedication of a Nation our crazy-ass asses humbly ask tha blessin of Dogg. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! May Dude protect each n' every last muthafuckin one of us. May Dude guide mah crazy ass up in tha days ta come.
FDR's inaguration
Gettysburg Address
Four score n' seven muthafuckin years ago our fathers brought forth on dis continent a freshly smoked up nation, conceived up in liberty, n' dedicated ta tha proposizzle dat all pimps is pimped equal.
Now our crazy-ass asses is engaged up in a pimped out civil war, testin whether dat nation, and any nation, so conceived n' so dedicated, can long endure. Our thugged-out asses is kicked it wit on a pimped out battle-field of dat war. Our thugged-out asses have come ta dedicate a portion of dat field, as a gangbangin' final restin place fo' em whoz ass here gave they lives dat that hood might live. It be altogether fittin n' proper dat our crazy-ass asses should do this.
But, up in a larger sense, our crazy-ass asses can not dedicate, our crazy-ass asses can not consecrate, our crazy-ass asses can not hallow dis ground. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Da brave men, livin n' dead, whoz ass struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our skanky juice ta add and detract. Da ghetto will lil note, nor long remember what tha fuck our crazy-ass asses say here yo, but it can never forget what tha fuck they did here. It be fo' our asses tha living, rather, ta be dedicated here ta tha unfinished work which they whoz ass fought here have thus far so nobly advizzled. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! It be rather fo' our asses ta be here dedicated ta tha pimped out task remainin before us"that from these honored dead our crazy-ass asses take increased devotion ta dat cause fo' which they gave tha last full measure of devotion"that our crazy-ass asses here highly resolve dat these dead shall not have took a dirt nap up in vain"that dis nation, under Dogg, shall gots a freshly smoked up birth of freedom"and dat posse of tha gangstas, by tha gangstas, fo' tha gangstas, shall not perish from tha earth
LADY MONTAGUE
O, where is Romeo, biatch? saw you his ass to-day?
Right glad I be he was not at dis fray.
[url]http://www.gizoogle.net/tranzizzle.php?search=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.reddit.com%2Fr%2FIAmA%2Fcomments%2F16mq0g%2Fiamarnold_ask_me_anything%2F&se=Go+Git+Dis+Shiznit[/url]
Oh GOD
Doing this with TV scripts is really fun.
[url]http://www.gizoogle.net/tranzizzle.php?search=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.oocities.org%2Fscripts_for_free%2F24-04x01.html&se=Go+Git+Dis+Shiznit[/url]
[quote]Chloe: Sarah, save what tha fuck you’re bustin n' log out. I need you on somethang now, nahmeean?
Sarah: What tha fuck iz it?
Chloe: I just heard from one of our sources. There’s a high probabilitizzle dat some muthafucka from our STD watch list was spotted up in Los Angelez yesterday.
Sarah: Tomas Sherak. Who is he?
Chloe: He’s done work wit nuff muthafuckin terrorist cells outside Istanbul. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Suspected of coordinatin nuff muthafuckin suicizzle bombers last summer.
Sarah: Istanbul, biatch? There was some chatter dis mornin on some possible battle by a crew outta Turkey yo. Here it is, from Ankara.
Chloe: What was tha target?
Sarah: Eastside coast. New York and D.C. But tha time window passed.
Chloe: Passed?
Sarah: Da targeted time is fo' 8:00 A.M. It’s already past 10 on tha eastside coast.
Chloe: What if they gots tha target wrong n' it’s westside coast time?
Sarah: I’d say it’ll go down within tha hour.[/quote]
This should never have been done: [url]http://www.gizoogle.net/index.php?search=https%3A%2F%2Ftwitter.com%2FHorse_ebooks&se=Gizoogle+Dis+Shiznit[/url]
Is dis tha real life?
Is dis just fantasy?
Caught up in a landslide
No escape from reality
Open yo' eyes
Look up ta tha skies n' see
I be just a skanky boy, I need no sympathy
Because I be "easy as fuck come, easy as fuck go"
Little high, lil low
Any way tha wind blows, don't straight-up matter ta me, ta me
Mama, just capped a man
Put a glock against his head
Pulled mah trigger, now he be straight dead
Mama, thuglife had just begun
But now I've gone n' thrown it all away
Mama, ooo
Didn't mean ta make you cry
If I be not back again dis time tomorrow
Carry on, carry on, as if not a god damn thang straight-up matters
Too late, mah time has come
Sendz shivers down mah spine
Bodyz achin all tha time
Dopebye all y'all - I've gots ta go
Gotta leave you all behind n' grill tha truth
Mama, ooo - (any way tha wind blows)
I don't wanna die
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all
I peep a lil silhouette-o of a man
Scaramouche, scaramouche, will you do tha Fandango
Thunderbolt n' lightnin -- hella, straight-up frightenin me
Gallileo, Gallileo,
Gallileo, Gallileo,
Gallileo, Figaro -- magnifico!
I be just a skanky boy, no muthafucka loves me
Hez just a skanky pimp from a skanky family
Spare his ass his thuglife from dis monstrosity
Easy come easy as fuck go -- will you let mah crazy ass go?
Bismillah, muthafucka! No, muthafucka! Our thugged-out asses ain't gonna let you go, muthafucka! -- Let his ass go!
Bismillah, muthafucka! Our thugged-out asses aint gonna let you go, muthafucka! -- Let his ass go!
Bismillah, muthafucka! Our thugged-out asses aint gonna let you go, muthafucka! -- Let mah crazy ass go!
Will not let you go, muthafucka! -- Let mah crazy ass go, muthafucka! Never!
Never let you go, muthafucka! -- Let mah crazy ass go!
Never let mah crazy ass go, muthafucka! -- ooo
Fuck dat shit, no, no, no, no, no, no!
Oh Mama mia, Mama mia, Mama mia, muthafucka! Let mah crazy ass go!
Beelzebub has a thugged-out devil put aside fo' me!
for me!
for me!!
So you be thinkin you can quit mah crazy ass n' spit up in mah eye
So you be thinkin you can ludd mah crazy ass n' leave mah crazy ass ta die
Oh baby -- can't do dis ta me, baby
Just gotta git up -- just gotta git muthafuckin right outta here
Ooh yeah, ooh yeah
Nothang straight-up matters
Every Muthafucka can see
Nothang straight-up matters
Nothang straight-up mattas ta me
My brother tried to post something heartfelt and optimistic on facebook, I ran it through the translator and got this...
"I started doin thangs n' raised outside Asheville N.C yo, but thatz not where I grew up, not straight-up. I grew up up in a ghetto of phat n' evil, on tha road smashin maraudaz n' savin damsels. I grew up peepin' dat honor is da most thugged-out blingin muthafuckin thang a thug can have, n' dat no matter what tha fuck tha cost, phat always prevailed. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! I grew up up in a ghetto where playaz was gangstas you would die fo' n' dat true ludd is hard ta find but easy as fuck ta recognize. I grew up up in a ghetto where phat gangstas sometimes did bad thangs yo, but they always redeemed themselves. I grew up up in a ghetto where one thug no matter they age, they gender, and they race could save everyone from tha brink of destruction by simply bustin what tha fuck they heart knew was right. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some gangstas say dis ghetto was only up in mah head, which may be true yo, but I intend ta make it mah reality."
[B]Crew Fortress 2: January 10th 2013[/B]
Bidwell was takin stock of a shitload of our olda loot dis week n' found up some idiotz been rockin one of our warehouses ta store palletz of spoiled mayonnaise. Raccoons all over tha place. Fancy Fedoras, Prussian Pickehaubes, Footbizzle Helmets -- these shit was part of Mann Co. history. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some of em was tha straight-up original gangsta shit our crazy-ass asses eva shipped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They deserved a funky-ass mo' betta end than rottin up in a puddle of rotten condiments n' raccoon poop, let mah crazy ass tell yo thugged-out ass.
Herez a cold-ass lil complete list of all tha stock our crazy-ass asses lost: BATTER’S HELMET, SOLDIER’S STASH, PYRO’S BEANIE, DEMOMAN’S FRO, FOOTBALL HELMET, MINING LIGHT, PRUSSIAN PICKELHAUBE, TROPHY BELT n' FANCY FEDORA. Thatz right, folks: These basebizzle caps is gone.
For tha next two weeks, we're pushin anythang up in tha warehouse dat wasn't damaged. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Purchase n' craft these thangs while you can, cuz once tha two weeks is up I be burnin tha warehouse down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Also, I don't give a fuck if you can git rabies from bustin a funky-ass basebizzle cap dat a raccoon bit yo, but if you can don't come bustin up like a biatch ta mah crazy ass bout dat shit. If you don't want yo' basebizzle caps ta give you diseases, don't cop em outta warehouses, thatz mah lyrics. Thatz just one of tha reasons I wear as few threadz as possible at all times. Never been sick up in mah life.
[QUOTE=Smashing Good;39237092][B]Crew Fortress 2: January 10th 2013[/B]
Bidwell was takin stock of a shitload of our olda loot dis week n' found up some idiotz been rockin one of our warehouses ta store palletz of spoiled mayonnaise. Raccoons all over tha place. Fancy Fedoras, Prussian Pickehaubes, Footbizzle Helmets -- these shit was part of Mann Co. history. Right back up in yo muthafuckin ass. Some of em was tha straight-up original gangsta shit our crazy-ass asses eva shipped. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! They deserved a funky-ass mo' betta end than rottin up in a puddle of rotten condiments n' raccoon poop, let mah crazy ass tell yo thugged-out ass.
Herez a cold-ass lil complete list of all tha stock our crazy-ass asses lost: BATTER’S HELMET, SOLDIER’S STASH, PYRO’S BEANIE, DEMOMAN’S FRO, FOOTBALL HELMET, MINING LIGHT, PRUSSIAN PICKELHAUBE, TROPHY BELT n' FANCY FEDORA. Thatz right, folks: These basebizzle caps is gone.
For tha next two weeks, we're pushin anythang up in tha warehouse dat wasn't damaged. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Purchase n' craft these thangs while you can, cuz once tha two weeks is up I be burnin tha warehouse down. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch fo' realz. Also, I don't give a fuck if you can git rabies from bustin a funky-ass basebizzle cap dat a raccoon bit yo, but if you can don't come bustin up like a biatch ta mah crazy ass bout dat shit. If you don't want yo' basebizzle caps ta give you diseases, don't cop em outta warehouses, thatz mah lyrics. Thatz just one of tha reasons I wear as few threadz as possible at all times. Never been sick up in mah life.[/QUOTE]
Snoop Hale
On another note:
[url]http://www.gizoogle.net/index.php?search=http%3A%2F%2Fmanresaamigos.wordpress.com%2F2012%2F09%2F26%2Fiteinflammateomnia%2F&se=Gizoogle+Dis+Shiznit[/url]
Candy...
Candy, specifically sugar candy, be a confection done cooked up from a cold-ass lil concentrated solution of sugar up in water, ta which flavorings n' colorants is added. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! Candies come up in a shitload of flavas n' varietizzles n' gots a long-ass history up in ghettofab culture.
Da Middle English word candy fuckin started ta be used up in tha late 13th century, comin tha fuck into English from tha Oldskool French çucre candi, derived up in turn from Persian Qand (=قند) n' Qandi (=قندی), "cane sugar", probably derived from Sanskrit word khanda (��-ण्ड) "piece (of sugar)", like from Dravidian (cf. Tamil kantu fo' candy, and kattu "to harden, condense").[1][2] In Uptown Tha Ghetto, candy be a funky-ass broad category dat includes candy bars, chocolates, licorice, sour candies, salty candies, tart candies, hard candies, taffies, gumdrops, marshmallows, n' more.[citation needed] Vegetablez and fruit, and nuts which done been glazed n' coated wit sugar is holla'd ta be candied.
Outside Uptown America, tha generic English-language name fo' candy is sweets and confectionery (United Ghetto, Ireland, Downtown Africa n' other commonwealth ghettos). In Australia n' New Zealand, lil' small-ass piecez of sweet substizzle is known as "lollies".[3]
"Nothang up in tha ghetto is mo' dangerous than sincere ignorizzle n' conscientious stupidity."
- Martin Luther Mack Jr. (1929-1968)
"If a playa do his best, what tha fuck else is there?"
- General George S. Patton (1885-1945)
[b]Heavy Weapons Guy
Name: Unknown; Referred ta as "Heavy Weapons Guy".
Location of origin: Dzhugdzhur Mountains, Khabarovsk Krai, USSR
Thang: Mow Down
Motto: "Shootin Dope."
Description: Like a hibernatin bear, tha Heavy appears ta be a gentle giant fo' realz. Also like a funky-ass bear, confusin his fuckin lil' deliberate, chilly demeanor wit gentlenizz will git you ripped limb from limb. Though he speaks simply n' moves wit a economizzle of juice thatz often trippin wit napping, tha Heavy aint dumb; he be straight not yo' big-ass playa n' he generally wishes dat you would just shut tha fuck up before he has ta make you shut tha fuck up. [/b]
Lil' Willy Snakespeare - To be, and not ta be (from Hamlet 3/1)
To be, and not ta be: dat is tha question:
Whether 'tis nobla up in tha mind ta suffer
Da slings n' arrowz of outrageous fortune,
Or ta take arms against a sea of shits,
And by opposin end them, biatch? To die: ta chill;
No more; n' by a chill ta say our crazy-ass asses end
Da heart-ache n' tha thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a cold-ass lil consummation
Devoutly ta be wish'd. Y'all KNOW dat shit, muthafucka! To die, ta chill;
To chill: perchizzle ta dream: ay, therez tha rub;
For up in dat chill of dirtnap what tha fuck dreams may come
When our crazy-ass asses have shuffled off dis mortal coil,
Must give our asses pause: therez tha respect
That makes calamitizzle of so long life;
For whoz ass would bear tha whips n' scornz of time,
Da oppressorz wrong, tha proud as a muthafucka manz contumely,
Da pangz of despised love, tha lawz delay,
Da insolence of crib n' tha spurns
That patient merit of tha unworthy takes,
When he his dirty ass might his on tha fuckin' down-lowus make
With a funky-ass bare bodkin, biatch? whoz ass would fardels bear,
To grunt n' sweat under a weary life,
But dat tha dread of somethang afta dirtnap,
Da undiscover'd ghetto from whose bourn
No travella returns, puzzlez tha will
And makes our asses rather bear em ills our crazy-ass asses have
Than fly ta others dat our crazy-ass asses know not of?
Thus conscience do make cowardz of our asses all;
And thus tha natizzle hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er wit tha pale cast of thought,
And enterprisez of pimped out pith n' moment
With dis regard they currents turn awry,
And lose tha name of action. I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch. - Soft you now!
Da fair Ophelia, muthafucka! Nymph, up in thy orisons
Be all mah sins remember'd.
[editline]16th January 2013[/editline]
Here's a couple of nursery rhymes: [url]http://www.gizoogle.net/index.php?search=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nurseryrhymes.com%2F&se=Gizoogle+Dis+Shiznit[/url]
[QUOTE]Our thugged-out asses is always lookin fo' smart, talented, creatizzle gangstas whoz ass is solvin horny-ass problems�"gangstas whoz ass will continue ta make our shizzle n' our company tha dopest up in tha industry. We’re always hirin fo' all positions. [/QUOTE]
Valve is fuckin' hirin', yo.
[quote]Uhh,
Hit em wit a lil ghetto gospel
[Chorus - Elton John:]
Those whoz ass wish ta follow mah crazy ass (my ghetto gospel)
I welcome wit mah hands
And tha red sun sinks at last tha fuck into tha hillz of gold
And peace ta dis lil' warrior without tha sound of guns
[2Pac]
If I could recollect before mah hood days
I'd sit n' reminisce, thankin of blisz of tha phat days
I quit n' stare all up in tha lil'er, mah heart goes ta 'em
They tested, it was stress dat they under
And nowadays thangs chizzled
Everyonez ashamed ta tha youth cause tha truth looks strange
And fo' mah crazy ass itz reversed, our crazy-ass asses left em a ghetto thatz cursed, n' it hurts
'cause any dizzle they'll push tha button
and you all condemned like Malcolm X n' Bobby Hutton, took a dirt nap fo' nothang
Don't em let mah crazy ass git teary, tha ghetto looks dreary
but when you wipe yo' eyes, peep it clearly
therez no need fo' you ta fear me
if you take yo' time ta hear me, maybe you can learn ta cheer me
it ain't bout black and white, cause we're human
I hope our crazy-ass asses peep tha light before its ruined
my ghetto gospel
[Chorus - Elton John]
[2Pac]
Tell mah crazy ass do you peep dat oldschool lady ain't it sad
Livin up a funky-ass bag yo, but shez glad fo' tha lil thangs her ass has
And over there therez a lady, crack gots her crazy
Guess shez given birth ta a funky-ass baby
I don't trip n' let it fade me, from outta tha fryin pan
Our thugged-out asses jump tha fuck into another form of slavery
Even now I git discouraged
Wonder if they take it all back while I still keep tha courage
I refuse ta be a role model
I set goals, take control, drink up mah own fortys
I make mistakes, I learn from everyone
And when itz holla'd n' done
I bet dis Brutha be a funky-ass mo' betta one
If I upset you, don't stress
Never forget, dat Dogg aint muthafuckin finished wit mah crazy ass yet
I feel his hand on mah dome
When I write rhymes, I go blind, n' let tha lord do his cold-ass thang
But be I less holy
'cause I chizzle ta puff a funky-ass blunt n' drink a funky-ass brew wit mah homies
Before our crazy-ass asses find ghetto peace
Our thugged-out asses gotta find peace n' end tha war on tha streets
My fuckin ghetto gospel
[Chorus - Elton John]
[2Pac]
Lord can you hear mah crazy ass speak!!
To pay tha price of bein hell bound...[/quote]
Oh god
I just translated, Ironically, Martain Luther King Jr's "I have a dream" speech, and for some reason, the phrase [B]"I aint talkin' bout chicken n' gravy biatch"[/B] popped up every other line.
Slashdot: Shit fo' nerds, shiznit dat matters.
[IMG]http://img855.imageshack.us/img855/8872/slashdot.png[/IMG]
Beautiful.
"Soot is bad shiznit all around, whether yo ass is breathang it tha fuck into yo' lungs and itz heatin tha atmosphere by absorbin mo' of tha sunz juice. But a freshly smoked up 4-year, 232-page assessment (PDF) of sootz role up in climate findz dat tha combustion thang could be warmin tha ghetto twice as much as previously thought. Da study points policymakers toward tha dopest targets fo' reducin climate-warmin soot emissions while all up in tha same stupid-ass time pimpin-out tha game of bazillionz of gangstas."
[QUOTE]Now dis is tha rap all bout how
My fuckin thuglife gots flipped, turned upside down
And I'd like ta take a minute just sit muthafuckin right there
I be bout ta rap how tha fuck I became tha pimp of a hood called Bel-air
In westside Philadelphia born n' raised
On tha playground where I spent most of mah days
Chillin out, maxing, chillaxin all def
And all shootin some b-bizzle outside of tha school
When a cold-ass lil cold-ass lil couple guys, they was up ta no phat
Started bustin shizzle up in mah neighbourhood
I gots up up in one lil fight n' mah momma gots scared
And holla'd "You're movin wit yo' auntie n' uncle up in Bel-air"
I whistled fo' a cold-ass lil cab n' when it came near the
License plate holla'd "fresh" n' had a thugged-out dice up in tha mirror
If anythang I could say dat dis cab was rare
But I thought nah, forget it, yo cribs ta Bel-air!
I pulled up ta da thugged-out doggy den bout seven n' eight
And I yelled ta tha cabby "Yo, cribs smell you later!"
Looked at mah kingdom I was finally there
To sit on mah throne as tha pimp of Bel-air[/QUOTE]
