The fallout

Facebook was the first domino. After being banned for kicking some real shit to former high school classmates I really felt it. I wasn’t hurt, I was actually relieved. Like, that stupid ass pressure you put on yourself to be nice to people, when you save face just like you did in high school because you were protective of your image and perception, it was like that. This was a breaking point. I had to let people know that they didn’t give a fuck about a fellow former classmate who committed suicide. I guess they didn’t like the fact that I faked another former classmate’s death. But that RIP group had everyone fooled. I even posted a funeral address at a church in a bad part of town. Just because don’t mean shit!

When I re-entered Facebook I used an alias. Ironic as it was, this alias felt more real than any one on there. But after what I’d been through, Facebook was completely meaningless. I really could give a fuck if it was your birthday, cuz I never knew it was in the first place. I never took Facebook that seriously but I had no idea that others ate and shat Facebook. In the end all it really is, is a stuck up, although better, version of MySpace. As many friends as you do have on Facebook, all but like 8 are fake.

Now I know and knowing is half the battle.

I never liked this one friend of mine “Inder”. We’ve known each other for ten years. We hung out all through middle school and kept up a little during high school. Once we graduated in ’04, mostly because of our collective group of friends, we kicked it all the more. At times I reasoned that our friendship had merits because we are the same people; I don’t know anyone who’s half White and half Indian. But the more I learned about him, the more I was like “I ain’t his type of White or Indian.” But I’m an open motherfucker. I’ll tell you if I’m pissed off that this one chick turned me down or if I felt bad for giving the finger to an old lady on the road. Him on the other hand, I can’t say I know one thing about him. For real. Ask me how old he is. Plus he has bitch qualities. He whines. He is a princess (no lie, he does own a tiara). And I’m not alone.

I erased his “friend” label and changed it to “acquaintance”. But then my dude told me he didn’t like what I had to say about him. But he doesn’t even know the diss, what’s androgynous? What-ev.

This second homie, “Jake” is actually Inder's best friend of our group. So, he hasn’t called anyone this summer—two months. Go figure. I don’t call him because he’s the type of busy motherfucka who, if you call him to chill, is always doing something; he only does things, it seems, when he has the free time. Plus it doesn’t help that he rolls on skittles. I can see him tasting the rainbow as we speak (yes homo). He was a model citizen three years ago but now can’t wait to burn one, get shit faced or roll. It’s not brutal when I say I hope Jake hits rock bottom. Fucked up thing too is, he’s been rescued before. God can’t save you anymore, Jake!

It’s been quite a while since me and Keno been tight. The only reason I stress right now is because we never resolved shit. I just stopped talking to him—cold turkey. He was definitely a head case when I knew him. But he got himself into a whole bunch of trouble, although he’d spin the blame onto a scapegoat. Ha, he wasn’t like that but you get my drift. We didn’t talk for about a year. Then all of a sudden he hits the crew up and says he’s leaving town. Ditto with the skittles, says they were laced with heroin. Nah, motherfucka, you’re diatribes are laced with heroin! Your sob stories are laced with heroin! You, yourself are a big fat lie. He tried to demonstrate a changed man. My friends and I exchanged e-mails and cells with him. Ain’t heard of him since and it’s been three months. I really don’t care. For all we know, he’s still in Minnesota, not out East.

Even though we still cool and it was all miscommunication, my long time shit talker hit me up from London. We hadn’t spoken in four months. I was like damn, fill me in!

Liquor just fuels that fake shit. Bunch of people that I thought were cool, tight, yada, yada, yada—they’re moot. That drunk chillage only goes so far. Shit, blow them Mohamed!

I’m actually glad of these recent events occurred. It really separates the real from the fake. Gitdafuckouttahere. Do anybody act real anymore?