And we hand over the blog to Aunt Louise
Shame on a nigga who try to run game on a nigga
Yo, so we're all fuckin' around in shit up in Bulgaria, and these little white pussies showed me their honky website. So I done gone beat the SHIZIT out of them and now fucking #1 AUNT LOUISE IS IN FUCKING CHARGE. Bitch. Lukashenko is no more.
So we rode in my '64 down to PLOVDIV, where I heard I could score some blackmarket guns and white girls. But then these white ass pussies had ride up with me and and FUCK EVERYTHING UP. Fuck. Shit, if they ever set foot in the rough ass ghetto of GALESBURG ILLINOIS they'd be dead before I'd have time to sell a 2$ vial of crack.
AUNT LOUISE REPRESENNNTTTT.
So little honkeys said they knew where we could stay, but we wandered our sorry asses around for like an hour. Stupid shits. We finally found some little shithole, but honkeys was all complaining because it had a nasty bathroom. Clearly they've never done time like me. I can handle that shit because I grew up like a real nigga, wiping my own ass with barbed wire and shooting up a nigga like shit was video game.
Drunk ass honkey is all like WHAHRHASHREAH. Check out me and some homemade crunk.
Shit yes. But patience on the sweet crunk, my niggas. I was drinking harsher shit back when me and Steakknife were in lock up, drinking rotting vegetables we left in trash bags under our prison mattresses.
So yo--my guide book be telling me that Plovdiv is an ancient Roman city, full of exposed ruins and other whack ass shit that would probably be stolen if it was in my hood. So I set out to take this Bulgarian shee-it by storm, motherfuckers. Check it, niggas:
That's like me on this path, wondering where all the crack dealaz is at. Look at those bloodshot eyes. Eyes don't lie. Shit melts a niggas brains. Tell my PO and I'll slice you up like you was that shit behind the deli counter.
This is in the old town, which is like the ancient center where the Romans set up shop, not where the old people hang out. All I'm thinking is where are the fuckin fried chicken stands and 3 card monte, and the bodegas where I can buy the new Capone dis track.
Check it. Those steps are older than YO MAMA.
So check the city. It's all misty and shit, like I get when I think of my dead homies.
Here is an old church. I burned it down.
And this is like a market or some shit, but they don't sell stolen goods. No wonder these people are starving.
And that's the ancient ampitheater, where the fags used to go when they weren't too busy beating up on my enslaved brothers from Carthage.
Yo, that fag is running away from the stage because he sees my black ass! GALESBURG IN THE HOUSE!
So here are some pics from my prags, Mike and Steve.
And more of the honkeys, in the old town:
Check it: the barrio is everywhere. Motherfuckers open up shop and be all like "me no comprende" when I try to score some orange soda from their bodega and start flipping around like some hopped-up luchadore.
Fucked up pussy. Fucked up by my huge black cock.
So this be the ruins of some ancient Thracian. Fuckers were here like 10000 years ago or something. Not that I care - I'm just here to rape white women, because THAT IS HOW AUNT LOUISE ROLLS.
These wannabe slav punks be stealing the black man's culture with their shitty graffiti. Any nigga knows to never throw up on shit like this. Tears.
More ruined stuff.
Yo, and this is the ancient Roman stadium. It's right in the middle of the town. It's like instead of the Park with the bums we have in G-Burg, where those scum trying to steal anhydrous ammonia from geriatric farmers, these Bulgarians have the ruins of a sweet ass stadium. Supposedly Spartacus did the chariot racing shit here. That's pretty street, but not as awesome as basketball would have been.
Yo, and built into the stadium ruinz is a fuckin internet cafe.
Sometimes a Nigga gets tired of the big city and needs to go out to where niggaz granddaddy used to pick cotton, out in the villages and shit. So to Bachkovo Monastery.
Here I am, thinking of the best way to hold up the joint.
This Michael brother would be a grade-A prize in lock-up. Look at those babyish cheeks. I'm gonna call him "Buttercup" from now on, and save him for Steakknife (DON'T THINK I FORGET MY BRUTHAZ UP IN STATE. ONE LUV).
Bachkovo Monastery. We went hiking, which was all cool, because in the ghetto of Galesburg, there are no trees.
Here's a BITCH. And there's a dog too. FRESH!
This is a bone church. Apparently back in the day they didn't have rivers, so they just put all their dead bodies in the basement of churches. But they probably didn't have paternity tests either, so those two-timing chickenheads can't go about yapping like "Louise, you my baby's daddy". Pigeons. The monks wouldn't open up the church so we could see the dead bodies and bones, probably because they knew I was hungry. AUNT LOUISE IN DA HOUSSSSSSEEEE.
A brother's outta lock up 2 months, and they already got me under surveillance. I always feel like, somebody's WAAATCCCHING Me, once sang a dead nigga.
Buttercup says goodbye to all the brothers lost in the struggle, with the Turks.
Story: Back in the day there was this dogfighting den in an abandoned switchhouse in the Galesburg Railyards. I brought in my prize pooch, this pitbull motherfucker named Slicer with thighs like hydraulic shit. He was going up against this German Shepherd raised by some Moreno Mexicano motherfucker from Monmouth. The stage was set, the ref rang the bell and some big tittied bitch pulled out the round-1 number, and Burrito Brother straight up shot Slicer through the neck with a nine. Now I, Fucking Aunt Louise, have seen some mean shit go down in my day, most of which I've been the perpretrating party. This aside, this niggaz got a doughy hard for the pooches, and I turned that beaner brother into swiss cheese with my AK. The Bulgarian bitches, though, just go at it in the streets. Pooches got gangsta hearts, but that don't stop me from wanting to do the slice and dice on their testiculars.
Here I am, shedding a tear and wishing these pussy-ass Bulgarian candies were actually crack-cocaine. Shit, why hasn't Bulgaria invented ya-yo and anti-freeze?
Quack quack, duck faggot.
This is Bachkovo or something - it was all mountains and stuff. Bulgarian powdered donut motherfuckers looking at me like I wasn't the meanest motherfucker ever to sing merry motherfucking Christmas. Streets is empty. Where the white women at?
Bulletholes and deserted streets make a gangsta like me homesick. GALESBURG REPRAZENT.
So, in the olde worlde of Bulgaria, no one's told them about crack yet, so I guess they just steam-up hooch instead, and instead of buying it from Mookie on the corner, you just find some old bitch wiping her front steps with a wart on her nose and flash some leva and an empty bottle at her, and she takes it to her basement and voila, hooch. Wine and rakiya, Bulgaria brandy. Here's buttercup with his prison-jug shit.
So that night, before I beat the living fuck out of Mike and Steve with a croquet mallet, we got CRUNK. Here I am, blacker than ever. Shit's no Courvousier, but it's still smoother than a fat booty, 50-inch hip inseam. Smoooove.
Me and the prags, with our hooch, right before I branded their asses with a big "LH".
Mike didn't take well to the branding, and since he don't like how I roll, I just had to fucking shoot a brother. Motherfucker was crying mommy while I had my glock is his mouth and BOOKEM, BOOKEM, honky brutha seeing more lights than Las Vegas. Stop snitchin'.
And since Bulgaria is no GALESBURG, ILLINOIS, WHERE THE STREETZ IS HARD AND THAT DICKZ IS HARDA, we had nothing to cut up with a credit card except this faggot ass candy.
Speaking of faggot ass, enjoy it while you can, buttercup.
AUNT LOUISE OUT. I'm back in the USA now, straight-thugging with the Greenwood Corna Wreckin' Crew, fucking up a motherfucker who says SHIT, and wholly enjoying my grandchildren.
Jimmy Z and J-Ram
All the motherfuckers bumping late-night on MLK Blvd
Burlington Northern and Santa Fe Railroads
Killa Kris in Cleveland I ain't forgetting you brutha
East Orange Shackers
James Madison Apartments, Lenox Ave, Casimir Pulaski Homes
AND ALL MY NIGGAZ IN THE STRUGGLE