Whoa, whoa, whoa.. What in the hell does Brad Miller think he’s doing?
This is crazy. First homey comes out with the cornrows like it’s no big deal (It is). Then he scraps with some brothers to make sure that his reality corresponds with his haircare? What, the dax hair grease, Schlitz Malt Liquor and sportin’ waves cocktail you put in that joint before game time wasn’t good enough to ensure a proper hold on the rows, so you had to take it to the streets to make sure cats were feeling you?
Hey, take it from a certified white boy who is down with black culture, there are just certain lines you don’t cross not just for your own good, but for the good of all of us.
Let’s face it, if you’re gonna go cross over, you go to the do-rag that you don’t need for waves you don’t have up under the hat piece, a generic FUBU/Enyce throwback and a look on your face that says you have mean intentions (but not too mean) before you take it Chernobyl level with the white cornrows with all the fixin’s.
Sheyut, we just done gotten to a place where we feel like we can just chill out and be cool, and you’re f*ckin the game up for the rest of us. You don’t see other certified members of the White Chocolate Family breaking the rules… They know. Eminem and Justin Timberlake never say the “N-Word” in public (though you just know they use it with ridiculous regularity in private thanks to some low end free pass their getting from their flunkies errr boys) and they don’t rock cornrows!
It’s just a part of the unwritten Nilla rules of engagement. It’s right up there with a complete prohibition on all black people/food related jokes and references, a life-long pledge to NEVER refer to any black woman, no matter how trifling she is, as a “B-Word” (though it’s open season on all white women, no matter how well respected they are) and a promise not to get too comfortable, freaky or disrespectful to a black chick we’re dating, hitting, marrying, hell, looking at… This is just what a solid Nilla knows.
(Well…sheeyut, King Nilla don’t have to follow the rules, he makes em)
Brad, you’re in the NBA, you should know all of this. Live by the code. Sure, you’re nearly 7 feet and 270, but it’s no coincidence that you immediately got into a fight after you rocked that unsanctioned wigpiece.
Brad, because of your reckless actions the cosmos were all off. You thought you were hard, brothers in the league didn’t know what to do so they just attacked your silly ass and somewhere Kanye is putting on another skin tight Italian label meant for this cat and blogging about it:
See this sh*t is all related and all terrible. Not to mention it leads to foolishness like this:
And worst of all, DIS:
Awwww, my people. It’s just all fucked up. Out.