Straightening Out Pittsburgh


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North America » United States » Pennsylvania » Pittsburgh
September 16th 2009
Published: December 27th 2009
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Ask me for a private invite...otherwise you'll understand nothing. On to the entry:


Pittsburgh sucks.

Like the home team Pirates, my stats are god awful. I have no chance with any girls. My competition is creatine enhanced blonde haired Brody types with magical backwards caps that double as chick magnets. I feel like some Single-A high schooler getting called up to the bigs only to discover everyone can run faster, hit farther and throw harder.

Adding to my dejection is that every girl in Pittsburgh is fat. When I say fat, I don’t mean “she needs to weigh less than her IQ score” (probably around 80 for Pittsburghers) in the vein of the Asian world. I don’t mean “she could lose a few pounds” in the vein of most of the civilized world. What I mean is American fat. As in, “how the fuck does she get into her pickup truck without an elevator?”, “how fucking industrial would that elevator have to be?” and “how are the shocks in the pickup truck still functional?”.

When every girl you see can type “asdf” with one press of a finger, you get dejected. You lose all drive, all motivation. You jog out any contact with the ball, you dumbly stare at third strikes and walk back to the dugout with a clean conscience. Fat bitches are the empty stadium effect on your game.

It doesn’t help my case when my program is 20% female. Consider I’m studying Computer Science so this 20% can be whittled down to 0% when you try to affix the label “fuckable” to any of these women.

My depression also isn’t helped by the rest of the people in my program. Besides myself, there are 5 Americans. 5. The rest of the 80 are either straight from China or India. So for us Americans who are used to drinking a few nights a week, or kicking it from time to time, or going after girls, or having a fucking life…are fucking failing. Because the rest of the immigrant motherfuckers are spending 24 hours a day in front of a CRT monitor studying, taking only a 5 minute break every three days to masturbate to some eight-armed god (the Indians) or some Mao pictures.

But as such, I’ve become really tight with my friends here. We need to stick together. My crew here is composed of two other Americans:

Missle

I can’t even describe the ridiculousness of Missle. For starters, the stats are half Hong Kong Chinese, half Russian Jew, born and raised an hour outside of Pennsylvania. He parties insanely hard. He’s ridiculously buff. He rocks the most ridiculous shit to class (an LV bookbag, a blazer…Prada shoes…). He fucking balls out…which is ridiculously humorous when the setting is seedy bars in Pittsburgh. Just the self-confident douchebag the rest of the world hates but Americans easily identify with.

Vams

Laid-back Indian from the Bay Area, he’s insanely chill but when alcohol hits, he’s the one leading us on our insanely hyperkinetic drunken adventures. We got along from the get-go since we quickly saw we were the only degenerates in our school. Our first conversation went something like this:

“Yo…how the fuck did you get in here?”

“I don’t know son. The rest of these kids look hella smart…”

“Word, my GPA was lower than 3.”

“Me too.”



“Hey. You smoke weed?”

“…Hell yeaaaaaa son!”




It was one Friday in the term, around early October when we finally caught a break from our murderous work. 7 days a week, we spent cooped up in the library, and after a month and a half of this shit, we finally made some time.

What to do with our newfound freedom?

Get fucked up.

Vams sauntered over to my house around 8 and we started pouring out Solo cups of Jim Beam. Our chaser? Ice…and air.

Then some people in our program called and told to meet us near campus…but we weren’t done killing our bottle of whiskey…

Note that both Vams and I are extreme lightweights. I get pretty drunk after a few shots…crazy after 8 or so. Vams is not that far away from me. We had both chugged back a few Solo cups of whiskey…

We filled up one of those hipster Nalgene bottles with whiskey and some ice and started passing it back and forth on the bus ride there…then finally wised up and bought a can of Coke from a vending machine and mixed it up. We were beyond drunk…we were using our minority status to call every white kid we saw “nigger” to watch them become awkward. We
MeMeMe

Solo cupping through the streets
were crip-walking down streets…stupid shit we would never do if there was a single black kid around.

It’s all a blur from then on. We met Missle and a few others, went to a club, hopped to a bar, went to another club, went to a bar…

In one of the clubs I was dancing with one of the girls from my program…some chick from South America (let’s call her Bot) and then realized I was dancing exponentially better than her Hispanic self. In true New York steez, I started popping off as rap music blared:

“DO YOU HAVE A MECHANICAL HIP?!”

“WHAT?!”

“DO YOU HAVE A MECHANICAL HIP?!”

“NO! WHY?!”

“HOW COME I CAN GET LOWER THAN YOU?!”

“FUCK YOU!”

“YOU’RE NOT FUCKING HISPANIC! I KNOW WHITE GIRLS WHO CAN SHAKE BETTER THAN YOU! FUCK, I’M AN ASIAN NERD AND I CAN OUTDANCE YOUR SPIC ASS!”

She promptly left me to dance with Vams but apparently he started ragging on her as well. In my inebriated state, I started grinding a hot girl.

Vams told me it was a speaker.

Missle told both of us it was a fat black girl.

She told us she was standing right next to all three of us and could hear every word of our conversation.

We left empty handed. Fuck, my first Negro League Homerun was thwarted!




We somehow ended up in a bar near my house at a standing table with a few Caucasian randoms: two girls and a guy.

The conversation flowed through random topics white people like to talk about at bars: random music no one has heard of, semi-famous people they’re connected to in the most slimmest of ways (“I was once in an elevator with Wolfgang Puck!” “Who the fuck is Wolfgang Puck?” “Oh you don’t know Wolfgang Puck?? OMG!!! He’s the guy…”) and the one other time they were drunk and did something crazzzzzyyyy.

I’m adept at these kinds of social interactions because I top everyone in these categories. When someone brings up some random band, I just start talking about battling some local NYC mixtape rappers and I’ve one-upped random white guy’s independent label band. When someone mentions elevator riding with some Z-list celebrity I just calmly ask them if they know Uma Thurman. You do? Good! My dad fucked her (true story, by the way). And for crazy drunk stories, pick any of 20 from this blog. I quickly become the center of hipster circle jerks and this was no different, with the white girls labeling me as “one of those fun, cool Asians…maybe he can assume token status in our social network”.

But I spent the last four years of my university life engaging myself in this pointless activity of increasing my status amongst hipsters and I’ve realized it leads nowhere. Hipster girls don’t put out unless you drape yourself in American Apparel and eat organic food.

I left the conversation and walked around to a few other tables hoping I could find something stimulating. Nope.

I walked back and the white guy, now in control because the Asian kid with unbelievable stories left, was talking about his trip to Asia. And then he ended with this conclusion:

“I fucking hate Japanese people.”

I raised an eyebrow. I also hate Japanese people, but I’m allowed to say this because I’m a fucking minority. I also had over half a bottle of whiskey and countless shots at the club in my system. Oh boyyyy….I opened my mouth to tear this guy a new asshole…

Vams joined the table and quickly cut me off, “Yo, Gen is Japanese…”

White guy looked at me semi-awkwardly but then noticed my size. He smirked. He hated the fact I had stolen the whole night with my crazy stories. He felt in control now. “Well, yea. I hate Japanese people.”

I smiled back.

I grabbed a waitress. “One Sapporo.”

She looked at me like I was insane. “This is Pittsburgh.”

“Ok…a Budlight then.”

“We’re out, how about a Corona?”

“Whatever, fine.”

I started chugging the Corona, and I heard the white guy whisper loudly. “What a bitch drink.”

I stared at his cranberry vodka as I slowly chugged, reveling in him squirm as I eyefucked his pink drink. I finally finished, slammed the bottle on the table and deliberately wiped my mouth with my sleeve, milking the scene.

And then I grabbed the Corona by its neck and smashed it across his fucking face.

“Who’s the bitch now, motherfucker?”

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31st December 2009

Gen you should be proud. This is easily the most racist thing you've ever written. I'm glad to see you're integrating with the local culture.

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