Please leave if [vol. 2]: Wannabe Gangstas

It's Friday, and on Fridays we exclude. Tolerance toward our readers and listeners is saved for the rest of the week. Fridays are our days to give people the boot. This week we want to say goodbye to wannabe gangsters.

I was playing basketball up at Westmont with some friends from SBCC. They had brought another guy who I'm going to call Geronimo. That's obviously not his real name, although it's equally unique.

This guy was a gem, truly a knight in shinning armor. Geronimo wore a cut-off T-shirt to show off his guns and used plenty of gel to keep his hair slick and shiny. I first raised my eyebrows when he walked off the court in the middle of the game to go talk to a girl, making the remaining nine of us wait. That is, until we got bored and started winning without him.

Later, I had to guard good old Geronimo, and let me tell you, he played dirty. Push-offs, shoulders, and no respect for 3-seconds in the key. One time I counted. One... two... three. When I got to three he shoved me. "There ain't no ref's here," he said.

He rotated the words shit, bitch, and fuck frequently through his sentences. He wanted to bring in some iPod speakers to blare music while we balled, probably to play Soulja Boy 20 times in a row.

Geronimo, and all you other wannabe gangsters of the world, go outside and take a timeout. Maybe we'll let you back in when you stop trying to prove how big your balls are.