Name:Dan Country:United States State:California Metro:Pimp Masta Sues Vagina Birthday:11/20/1982 Gender:Male
Interests:bangin asian hoes, drugs, sleeping Expertise:slangin' rocks, ballin, hittin the chronic, beatin up homeless shits, beatin up pozer azn ass, dressin up as ninjaz, and of course...bubble tea Occupation:Sales Industry:Business
As I rolled up to the curb around 7:30 in my solid platinum BMW 745 (to
match my solid platinum grille), I noticed a lineup of mid-90s Honda Civics and
riced out Acuras parked along the street. Must be an Asian party, I thought to
myself, so this had to be the right place. It was going to be a peaceful, fun,
wholesome night - much different than what I'm normally used to - so I told my
entourage to leave their glocks in the car and to detach the rocket launchers
that were bolted on top of my 745. We'll need them tomorrow for all those
annoying school kids that keep trampling on my lawn - but not tonight. Tonight
was 'her' night. My nigz and I limped towards the front door and made our way
upstairs...
The company consisted of a couple dozen of the Xanga elite - ballas and
ballettes who brushed eprops off their shoulders like it was going out of
fashion. For the sake of their privacy, I won't mention any names, but Xanga
whores - past and present - arrived for the special occasion. Lifestyles of the
rich and famous? More like lifestyles of those who spend way too much damn time
on their computers. Murmurs of conversation topics ranging from the number of
subscribers to comment whoring resonated throughout the dimly lit room. I
eavesdropped a little on two gals talking besides me:
"OMG is that HIM? That's Dan Chang, he's sooo cute, and check out that
BULGE! lolz!"
"I slept with him a while back and that fucker gave me the clap: stay AWAY,
girlfriend."
"Awww, that's a shame! Anyways, I finally made it to featured content on
Xanga's front page!"
"Big deal... it's just because you spam comments..."
"Well at least I have some actual content instead of posting half-nekkid
pics of myself up."
"Makeup tutorials?! You call that horseshit 'content?!' " "Oh no you
didn't, bitch!"
Before the ensuing cat fight could escalate, 'she' stepped into the room,
and for a brief second, it seemed as if the world stopped. With all due respect
to the late Tupac Amaru Shakur, all eyes were on her. Her magnetic radiance was
undeniable, and it seemed to cause people to gravitate towards her against their
will. A beacon of luminence that
when shined on me, caused me to forget about the irritating rash that had
developed in my pelvic region, if only for a moment. She was the center of
attention, the life of the party. And why not? We were all gathered in her
chic, metropolitan apartment for 'her' birthday after all.
I stood in the back, watching the whole situation - all the birthday
wishes, all the presents, hugs, laughter... It all made me realize what a
dumbass I was: I had forgotten her gift at home. Aww shit, playa, you done
fucked up now. What to do...what to do... Ah hah! Clever is as clever does: I
had the perfect gift for her. It was so ingenius, and the inspiration so
spontaneous, that I felt like Isaac Newton when that famous apple fell on top of
his head. But instead of spawning the origins of classical Physics, it
spawned some nasty-ass gas that I was holding in. That shit wreaked, but
anyways, I knew what I had to do.
She was in mid-conversation, surrounded by a circle jerk of some B-level
Xanga celebs, when I gently grabbed her arm and whispered into her ear, "Elle, I
need to show you something. Come outside with me." She abruptly ended the
chit-chat and followed me to the balcony.
I put my arm around her as we looked up into the breathtaking night sky,
which was as clear as one of my fake urine samples right before a drug test.
"Look, Elle." I pointed to the various stars speckled across the deep, rich, blackness. I think I impressed her with my vast knowledge of constellations:
"See, there's the big nigga, and right across from it is the little nigga."
"Uh, don't you mean the big dipper and little dipper?" Yep, she
was DEFINTELY impressed.
"Elle, I didn't want to give you just any old birthday gift that you'd just
forget about the following week. I wanted my gift to be memorable...and that's
why I contacted the International Star Registry ( http://www.starregistry.com/) and named a star after
you."
At first she was speechless, "Dan...I'm so touched. You shouldn't have...
which star is it?"
I think she sensed it a little when a sly grin began to show on my face. I
quickly turned around, unbuckled my belt, and pulled down my oversized FUBU
jeans (and along with it, my matching oversized boxer-briefs), bent over, and
spread my butt cheeks. "I named my brown star after you. Say allo to my stinky
brown friend."
"You FUCKING jerk!!! Get your ass out of my apartment and take your
low-life highschool buddies that you call your 'niggas' with you, you fucking
ASSHOLE!!!"
I pulled up my drawers and ran out of there like I was being chased by the
cops. I looked back at her one last time. "Happy Birthday, Elle." I think
deep inside, a part of her appreciated it. It truly was a gift that wouldn't be
forgotten the next week.
As my entourage and I stormed out of the apartment, the rest of the guests
started throwing beer bottles and half-filled wine glasses at me. We got our
asses out of there quickly, but still made time to bolt the Rocket Launchers
back on the 745 before we peeled out. Damn, it ain't easy being a gangsta.
I'm sure you've all heard the lovely hit duet "Same Girl" featuing R. Kelly and Usher (and if you haven't, just watch the music video above). Now I'm not the biggest Usher or Kells fan, but I gotta admit: it's kinda catchy, and I find myself humming its tune in the oddest of places (while taking a shit or jerking off in the shower, for example).
Now for those of you unfamiliar with the song and its lyrics, the basic premise is that "Ush" and "Kells" are "messin' with the same girl" without knowing it and from talking to each other, they discover that this beyotch has been two-timing both of them. Now the casual passerby might think to himself, "Hmm...what a novel concept for a song," However, if you happen to be an evil genius like me, you'd be thinking "Hmm...how would the song sound if instead of messin' around with the same girl, they were actually fucking the same guy. Hell, not only that: they were also fucking each other."
Since I know both Kells and Ush personally (I helped mentor them when they were young niggaz in Chicago and Atlanta, respectively), I ran my idea by them for a remix. To no one's surprise, they both loved the idea, but would do the remix only if I produced it on my label Nigga Chang records, and if I, myself, wrote the lyrics. Between you and me, I think they wanted to fuck each other anyways and this remix was just a way to not be so "gay" about it - since it was someone else's suggestion to do the song. Anyways, here's the preliminary draft I came up with. Lemme know what ya'll think:
Verse 1
Kells: Yo Ush Usher: What up Kells Kells: Wanna introduce you to this boy, think I
really love this boy
Usher: Yeah Kells: Man, he so fine Usher: Straight up dawg Kells: He stand about 6'4" with a 9 inch boner Usher: Damn Kells: He drives a black Pinto license plate say "Homo"
tattoo on his ankle Plus he's making pay so he got a crib on Peach Tree right
on 17th street And I call him "TT"
Usher: Wait a minute, hold on dawg, do he got a lisp? Kells: Yep Usher:.... he love some
bukkake house? Kells: Yep Usher: Do he got a herpes zit on the left side of his mouth?
Went to RimJob Tech? Kells: Yep Usher:Works for CVS Kells: Yep Usher: Man I can't believe this dick… damn Kells: Tell me what's wrong dawg. What the hell you talkin about? I'm your lover so just say whats on your mind
Usher: Man I didn't know that you were talking bout him Kells: So man you're telling
me you know him? Usher: Do I know him? like Dan Chang knows his turds
Chorus: We messing with the same boy same boy He's the apple of
my eye, and your potential guy Same boy same boy I can't believe that
we've been messing with the same boy Same boy same boy
Verse 2
Usher: See I met him at this lambda party in Atlanta Kells: Well I met him at this
lambda party in Chicago Usher: He came right to my crotch and gave me oral stimulation I said, "Do you got a man?" He sad "no," with a giant erection Kells: Well
it must be a gay thing cause he said the same to me, had his grundle all in
my face, when I'm laughin and buyin him drinks Usher: He whispered in my
ear and said, "Can you drink my cum?" Kells: Me too, man, he was in the Chi stickin
his finger in my bum! Usher: Is that true? and i thought it was a true confession
when he said "I'd do you" Kells: Man I thought his nutsack was calling when he said, "I'd buttfuck you" Usher: Look I even got some pictures on my phone Kells: Look here, there he is with his man-thong on
[Chorus]
Verse 3
Usher: He said he wants me on his scrotum Kells: are you talking about the left
one? Usher:Unh-huh, the right one Kells: Man he told me that one was too small Usher: It's
obvious that he been fistin us, fistin us Kells: and constantly he's been lyin to us,
lyin to us Usher: Don't like the way that he's been goin bout it, goin bout it
What do you think we should do about it, do about it? Kells: Call him up at
his home, he won't know that I'm on your bone! Usher: Yeah man that's a plan. Homie
we about to bust his nut! Kells: Man just ask him to meet up with you and I'll be
fucking you. And then he won't know what to do. We'll be standing there
singing this...
A few of you faithful readers may have remembered a startup company I founded a couple years back by the name of HoTech (read about the company history here)
Well, mid-year reviews came up and as the President and CEO (Chief Erection Officer) of HoTech, it was my job to brief our stockholders of the present state of company affairs (while at the same time informing the cockholders of the present state of sluts). I'll be honest: HoTech has been in a downward spiral lately Our research has been stagnant; after a couple of long, arduous years, we have yet to streamline the process of picking corn out of one's own shit; our fisting facility had to be sold since it was losing money; and our Collaborative Laboratory of Ingested Testicles division (CLIT) was hit by Hurricane Katrina (which was then moved to Thailand; a blessing in disguise, really, due to all the lady-boys, but I digress). Overall, it was a shitty year and the drop in our stock price reflected this. I had to do some damage control before things got even more out of hand - starting with the company-wide speech at the mid-year convention.
Admittedly, I'm not the greatest of speakers: I slur my R's, don't annunciate nearly enough, and absolutely butcher the concept of subject-verb conjugation. Blame it on growing up as a po' Negro on the streets of Compton, forced to communicate by way of Ebonics. My speech impediment, combined with the gloomy forecast of the company's status made me less than confident in addressing HoTech's stakeholders.
But you already know I'm a pimp that don't give a fuck: I do what any responsible leader of a Fortune 500 company would do. I party hard the night before at the club, not getting any sleep, and start pre-drinking and smoking weed before my speech. I show up to the company convention and stumble my way towards the podium drunk and high as hell... you know I be ballin around the world, mang. You know that boy be in the club almost about to hurl, mang. Even though I'm Changs, and I got all these chicks chasin' me. See I only want you, though life is so perfect for me.... uhh, anyways back to the matter at hand. I cleared my throat and addressed the congregation:
"Ya'll niggaz must be here to listen to yo boy preach on about the status of HoTech. Well how about I give you the status of my dick instead? Last time I recall, it's still about 9 and a quarter without the foreskin. With the hoodie, it'd be like 18 inches long, ya huuuurd? It'd be expanding to different markets on a monthly basis, too! Last night I outsourced it in some bitchez ass which effectively increased HoTech's jizz to fixed nut ratio by a phat 69% hahaha Uh, well th-th-that's all, folks!"
At that point, I was so fuckin high and drunk, I puked over the podium, the projectile vomit splashing the first 3 rows of the crowd. I tripped over myself and fell off stage. The crowd gasped and tangible franticness filled the auditorium. I think I passed out and they had to call 911 or some wack shit like that. It certainly was an embarrassment to HoTech that their revered and respected President behaved in such a manner, but I didn't give a shit. I had skillfully avoided giving anyone the bad news by creating a massive diversion. I care about all of you, the stakeholders of HoTech, and therefore, I'm willing to look like an ass, rather than dissappoint you. Hey it worked: the company's health hadn't even crossed anybody's mind, and the water-cooler talk was all about my brilliant speech. This gave me enough time to turn the company around, behind-the-scenes, without much intervention or press coverage. In the business world, any sign of weakness attracts the vultures.... and shit, owning a company that wasn't at the top of its game would be so unballer of me.
I reached an epiphany this morning in one of the most unlikely places you would expect: the gym. And just in case any wise-ass was inquiring, it wasn't the old guy walking around naked in the locker room with his shrivelled up balls flopping around that caused it. No, 'twas not an elderly man's nut sack that caused such a revelation; rather, it was the influx of college-aged men and women that crowded an already packed fitness center. It had to mean one thing: it was the week before spring break.
As a young college lad growing up, I distinctly remember the mad rush to the gym the week before... the height of superficiality, where image and physicality were everything... guys looking to get that ever coveted peak on their biceps, chicks hoping to work that extra junk in the trunk off, and everyone rushing to tone up their wannabe 6-packs, remorseful of the 6 previous months of drinking responsible for their half-ass abs to begin with.
I couldn't help but smile. I was in the same situation when I was their age, and back then, without another care in the world, that's all that mattered at that moment. It was a time of getting high off 8 mile chronic, figuring out which bitches my homeboys and I wanted to holla at in the clubs, whether to cruise in my 64' Impala or my nigga's Escalade...and it was a time to refine our chiseled physiques aided by our God-given Negro genes in the hopes of impressing fly shorties on Spring Break.
Reminiscing on those good ol' times was bittersweet, and the incredible stories (which I'll save for another time) created the man that stands (and writes) before you today. It just makes me wonder sometimes... where did my youthful exuberance go? What has changed and why do I feel the prime of my life has passed me by? I was becoming an old man before my very eyes... an old, senile man with disdain and regret at what he couldn't accomplish in his younger years... disgruntled enough to walk around with his limp wiener exposed to the public in all its flopping and flaccid glory. I was becoming what I mocked. We truly are reflections of what we see in others and unfortunately, the mirror image I saw was that of a crab-infested uncircumcised cock, worn and battered from the penetration of many women and animals.
"Fuck it," I told myself. I decided to do it again for old time's sake. I'm taking the week off and going on Spring Break. College hoes, here I come. The thought almost made old-man balls bearable. Almost.
Ok, here's a cheap repost of Valentine's day 2 years ago... but everytime I read this story, it just breaks my heart. You never forget your first true love.
It happened so long ago, but I still remember it like it was yesterday... my first Valentine's Day crush.
It was during recess in gradeschool when I finally worked up the courage to ask the hottest bitch in the 2nd grade to be my Valentine. Amanda Wang was her name, and she was the finest 9-year-old slut that the Tupac. A. Shakur GradeSchool for the Mentally-Impaired ever saw. Shit, did I say mentally-impaired? I meant "mentally-gifted" ......and um, "extraordinarily-endowed." Anyways, I digress.
This bitch was fine...standing at a model-like 3 foot 11, her long, illustrious, flowing black hair reflected the sunlight beautifully in my direction as she was playing by the swingset. I think she was even beginning to grow some titties. Even as a young lad, Dan Chang had game overflowing out of his rectum. Shit, I had fuckin 4th graders all over deez nuts and one time even the substitute teacher wanted to ride the cock... but like a virgin waiting until she got married, I held out for Ms.Wang.
I was at the monkeybars when I decided to limp over in her direction. I told my posse of 6th and 7th graders to stay back. "Dis is strictly 2nd grade business, my niggaz. I gotta roll like dat. Dun hate." I put away my AK and my fat sack of chronic because I figured a little bitch-girl might be afraid of such manly-gangsta things. I headed on over.
"Yo slut. You's obviously da finest thing walkin around here without a dick. And Im obviously the finest thing walking around here with a dick. So how about you be my Valentine and we make our way to the slide and maybe make some babies?"
She was confused..."Ummm....what's a dick?"
I responded accordingly. "Bitch, what you say?! THIS is a dick!" I yelled angrily as I unzipped my Sean John's and whipped out mini-Chang. I thought I heard some white kids in the background making fun of the fact that I was uncircumsized. "Ewwww... it's hooded."
"Hey honkeys, quiet the fuck down while I make my move on the ladies, capiche?" I retorted, loading up my 12-gauge shotgun. The white kids got the point and quickly dispersed amongst themselves. Anyways, back to the matter at hand.
Amanda thought for a moment and replied. "So you want me to be your Valentine? Aren't you supposed to bring me chocolates? Yummy, I like chocolates!" Her face was glowing with happiness, and she looked like she was definitely ready to take it up the ass.
I grinned slyly. "Yeah, bitch...I gots your chocolate." I quickly dug my hand down my pants, in the back by my ass. I slid my hand between my crack (I never wiped), and pulled it out to reveal a set of sticky, brown fingers. I quickly rubbed the shit in her eyes and backed away.
Amanda stood there for a moment. Her face contorted, and she started crying uncontrollably. She bawled..... I balled.
There's nothing that gets me more upset than seeing a pretty girl in distress and being so helpess trying to comfort her. So many things I wanted to share with her, so many things I wanted to say...but I was at a loss for words. I would have given up the world for her at the moment, to get her to stop crying, to see her radiant smile and to hear her charming laugh.. "Please...don't cry." I whispered.
She ran back to homeroom and got the Principal to come out to berate me. Needless to say I served like a month in detention. Stupid bitch ratted me out
