It’s me, the D.O. double gizzle.

I’m not that good at drinking.

By that, I mean I’m not that good at drinking alcohol. Actually, I’m not that good at drinking anything, but I’m an especially bad boozer. I don’t booze well.

It’s not that I drink too often, or I get too aggressive or too emotional when I do. If anything, I’m not practiced, aggressive, or emotional enough. The real problem is… when I drink… I…

Turn into Snoop Dogg.

Two sips into a glass of Nuvo, and I’m Snoopier than Tha Doggfather himself.

Me last Friday

I start rapping. 

The first night I ever got certifiably crunked, I freestyled for my entire family and my brother-in-law’s family, who I’d never really met before. Fortunately, my sister filmed it and put it on Facebook. Unfortunately, I’m not going to share it here because 1) I don’t know how to download videos off Facebook, and 2) It’s very rather shameful. I will share my best lines, though.

“I found crap on my face. I’m like, am I in outer space? I’m confused. Where’s this dude?”

“You’z a Pokemon. You’z a fool, mon.”

I adopt a limp. 

Upon leaving the bar, I often begin walking with a gangsta lean. I suffer from a bum knee that only ever flares up after a drink or two. It’s a serious ailment, belee dat.

I become obsessed with blunts. 

Not blunts made of the marijuana! What do you think I am, a weed criminal?! I get obsessed with Phillie blunts, a perfectly legal, perfectly awful, cigar.

I became obsessed with Phillie blunts last New Year’s Eve. After getting stuck with a pack of them at a Christmas party Yankee Swap, I thought it’d be a nice gift to bring to my cousin’s New Year’s Eve party.

A few minutes before midnight, and after a few drinks, I decided it was time to get to Phillie blunting. I had no intention of smoking the cigar — I’d barely ever even seen one up close — but I thought it’d be fun to light one. The flame had yet to touch the tip of the cigar before I started dry heaving/convulsing. I thought cigars would taste like Cuban sangwiches or grape leaves or something. I was wrong; they taste like straight lung venom.

They look like hotdogs

Now, I bet you’re thinking, “Snoop is far superior to you! If drinking makes you act like him, then BITCH WHY AIN’T YOU GET SO THROWED EVERYDAY?”

I’ll tell you why I ain’t get so throwed everyday. Even though Snoop Dogg is a much better person than I am, strangers don’t seem to appreciate when I take on the persona of a 41-year-old former Crip.

Cab drivers don’t like when I accuse them of “trippin”.

My peers (other 41-year-old former Crips) don’t like when I introduce myself to them with complicated handshakes.

Bartenders of fancy nightclubs don’t like when I order a gin and juice and then don’t know what kind of juice I want.

And I don’t like the thought of me drinking enough to start acting like this:

2 thoughts on “It’s me, the D.O. double gizzle.

  1. Sara T

    I should probably stop reading your blog at work, because my co-workers are starting to wonder what that muffled snorting sound coming from my cubicle is.

    “Bartenders of fancy nightclubs don’t like when I order a gin and juice and then don’t know what kind of juice I want.” Freaking hilarious!


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