You know what really gets my goat? (old school country ass term. I am fully aware)What really spits on my windshield is when fake thugs come out to play.
By fake thugs I mean:
- Behind the Wheel Thugs–They’re gangsta, so long as they stay in their car…and everybody keeps driving.
- Pink Shirt Wearing Thugs– I shouldn’t have to explain this, but if you so hard, why pastels? Why?
- Phone/Text Thugs– So much to say, as long as folks ain’t face to face.
- And now, Introducing: Twugs (Read: Twitter Thugs.) –Same format. Different environment.
I don’t know about you, but whenever I think of a thug (which really isn’t that often) There is a vision of a long white tee somewhere, a bit of an education deficit, and a maybe a lack of social network technology in the mix. A real thug to me is kindof a hard ass without a whole lot to say because he’s too busy doing something rotten. I’m generalizing, of course. Hopefully you know where I’m going with this.
I’ve been spending some time over the last few weeks fine tuning my twitter skills. If only because it’s a solid place where filing my random thoughts is accepted as normal behavior. I haven’t quite mastered the genre yet, but I have full confidence in time I shall earn my stripes…whatever that is exactly.
During my fits and starts and stops and what not in Twitterville, I’ve been taken aback by this phenomenon, which I’ll assume isn’t that new, of the Ferocious Twitter Twug. Sounds menacing doesn’t it? Like a smurf gone all 50 Cent and what not. The Ferocious Twitter Twugs seem to be a series of male people who form twitter style gangs (read: cliques) and spit bullet-like fire at each other out of the most random and pointless of things. Which I guess is the point of twitter anyway, just more gangstaaaaaaa. * feel free to imagine jazz hands while reading the word gangstaaaaaa*
Surprisingly, none of these things is ever related to fighting over a female, per say. It’s always about ego, pride, disrespect, respect, ‘watch what you say’ kind of stuff that nearly always leaves me scratching my head.
Can it be? Twitterville is developing its own hood style blocks and turfs and such? In time, will cliques demand payment or a beatdown should one wander aimlessly on the wrong turf by way of following someone we might find interesting– but in a clique that opposes our own? Is it possible that one may take one’s twittering a touch too seriously?
Mind you, twitter as a whole is cliquey–regardless of complexion or twug status. It is in its most base form a kind of popularity contest, where one may be judged, if not entirely–not on how interesting one’s posts are– but by how many followers one has based entirely on celebrity. You can paint your own picture here. I… can’t…
I haven’t figured out completely if twitter is meant for networking, a handy marketing and promotional tool, yet another celebrity pit stop, to serve as an outer body drawer to have a place for one’s mental laundry cluttering up one’s mental closet, or if in some cases another extension of high school or the college student union where all the “cool” kids congregate in their little corner and scoff at anybody who is just random enough to befriend everybody. Until graduation. And everybody who hasn’t one already, is looking for a job or a husband and the nerds start looking real sexy because the jock you’ve spent the last four years lusting after wants to make “basket weaving” his full time source of income. Forgive me, I digress.
Okay, so I’m back to my original thought cycle about the Ferocious Twitter Twugs. Let’s be real here for a second, shall we? Every true thug I’ve ever encountered (from across the street, on the other side of town, from my safe little tree lined block in Bucks County (or seen in movies) is really not that much for talking. Truly, I imagine these facial tatt wearing folks are action seekers…doers. If it’s on their mind to do, it typically won’t make time to be twat about first.
For one, it’s incriminating evidence that can be used against them in a court of law. And two, being a twitter twug is kindof like wearing pink and blue plaid Ralph Lauren slacks with the matching polo shirt (and loafers) all through High School and Jack and Jill functions and then getting to HU and all of a sudden you ThugNigga1. Does that sound like it goes together?
Mind you, if you have to tell folks how hard you are, obviously, your true thugness needs some convincing. And aren’t we all overtired of this “thug life” phase of our existence anyway? Please… don’t shoot the messenger. (Pun, totally intended.)
The moral of this story? Uh…maybe…be yourself? But who am I to say? I wasn’t “cool” in high school or college anyway. This is just some food for thought. Thank you abundantly for reading this though. Don’t forget to subscribe to my blog, that way when new posts come up, they come effortlessly to your inbox (I think). Peace and abundant Twug free blessings. -e-
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