By Popular Demand: True Coliwood Stories - College Athletics

[lutha]

i never heard "grey hoe" but the first time i heard "pink toes" i was like

me either, never heard 'grey hoe' before....we called them 'pink toes', 'pink booties', and 'snow bunnies'

 

[Big Mel]

It's "grey girls" in NYC.

 

[Newzz]

This only the 13th page, homie. Click your username, go to the preference section and change it to 50 posts per page.

I didnt know this either.....I'm on page 43 too

Thanks breh

 

[RickyGQ]

yea, something happened with my preferences cause yesterday i was on like page 12, today i saw that there were 44 and i got scared as shyt...

 

[obarth]

HA HAAAAAAAA

Even though I know what's coming, I always tend to crack up right here when this nikka pulls this joke

 

[rantanamo]

most college profs are making about 70-90K if they aren't tenured. Tenured, your salary could be in the $100-$175K range depending on where you work. Lots of perks though. Trips to conferences, lots of time off, ability to do work that you like. My gfs father is one of those who is really caking off of it. He's pretty much the only expert in his field of economics, has textbooks and has a few books published. Most complain they are underpaid though, but I always think, damn they have perks that pretty much no one gets. Even when you aren't tenured. But damn, non-tenured profs do a lot of work though . But if you're somewhere like Texas, you can live a damn great life off of $70K. You are a king making tenured money. Think of how cheap real estate is down here. Lots of professors living in the nicest neighborhoods of Dallas/Houston/Austin.

 

[R.E.N. Spells Ren]

Is That a Gin Bottle?


We hopped in the truck, but Rome was too drunk to drive. Being from NYC, I had no idea how to operate a car. Alvin's license was suspended or some shyt, but he drove us home anyway. And yes, the bottle was still half full. And yes, Alvin still drank from that motherfukker while he was driving. And yes, I saw Crystal again at the foodcourt 3 days later, and many times after that. Sometimes she worked the register, sometimes she worked with the food at Chik-fil-A. I wanted to stop eating there, knowing how nasty she was. But those Chik-fil-A sandwiches... So I had no choice but to let ol' doodoo mouth hook my food up.

And that's yet another reason I almost always pass on drinking gin to this day. shyt, I already switched back to my Makers while I was typing this shyt.

I literally pulled a bunk after reading this....

...I got up immediately and took a lap around the office to come terms with that before finishing the story.


Now I gotta catch up on the rest of the stories

 

[Ohene]

Why you walking like that?

This isn't a happy or funny story. Be forewarned.

My first semester of college I was fukking with a chick named Shaniqua. Black semi-hood broad from Homestead, a burned out industrial town outside of Pittsburgh. She listened to a lot of Bone Thugs and was always rockin' Homestead Grays Negro League gear to rep her town. Claimed to have some kind of bamma ass bumpkin ass gang ties. I was 17 and from New York City - everything was bamma and bumpkin to me, I was afflicted by that narrow perspective that a lot of New Yorkers mistake for cool arrogance back then. Grew out of it quickly. Some New York nikkas never do.



All of what I just recounted haunts me to this day.

damn bro. Even for a misogynist that shyt was rough.

 

[Ohene]

The Married CAC JUCO Slut

I was sitting on a bed in a hotel room in Sweden when my cousin asked me if I still believed in people. You mean, that they exist? He paused for a long moment and I could hear him sorting through his thoughts on the other end, searching for what he actually meant. "Nah, nah... I guess I mean do you still have faith in motherfukkers?"

We were both on vacation then, in different ways, and encountering things foreign to our lives up to that point. It was late evening where I was, late afternoon where he was back in America. I don't remember where my girlfriend was at the time, but we'd had a long, weird 48 hours: flew into Finland, immediately hopped on a big ass boat to Sweden for 16 hours, dropped our bags at the hotel, explored the city of Stockholm. It was the first vacation I ever took, first time I'd been out of my own country.

My cousin had just left home - Brooklyn - for the first time 9 months before that. He was playing baseball at a JUCO. He was in the deep south, and his team was full of white dudes. The common term that comes to mind is culture shock. He was homesick, culturally disoriented, all that jazz. No one spoke the way he spoke, no one listened to the music he listened to, and the landscape was so alien to him it might as well had been another planet. He hung out with the basketball team because they were all black and at least seemed familiar if only in a superficial way.

I called him that night because I was bugging out off Sweden and wanted to tell him about it. One of the first things you realize when you finally leave America is that our country is young as shyt, and our culture is relatively immature. Everywhere I went in Scandanavia - shyt, most of Europe - felt like it had a depth and authenticity that only comes with a long and rich history. And it was pleasant as fukk - the streets were clean, the people didn't stare at me and make me feel weird (which happened to me all the time in different American cities), there was hardly a noticeable police presence, no homeless people on the streets, and the fukking subway was completely clean and ran on time. I can't stress enough how that last detail blew my mind: there was a little clock on the platform that told you the train was going to arrive in 3 minutes, and in 3 minutes the train came. For a nikka who grew up taking the 4,6, C, and E on a daily basis, that shyt was revolutionary.

I had called my cousin because he was my nikka, he had grown up like I had in fukked up circumstances with limited means, without exposure to culture and diversity of experience, and the world can start to seem small and terrible and claustrophobic when you grow up that way. I wanted to tell that nikka to keep grinding, remember that he was an ill dude with a unique personality and that the world was a big place and he owed it to himself to expand his horizons and really engage that shyt. I wanted to remind him of the time our uncle Kenyon, out of his mind from his crack addiction, tried to sell us a half-drunk snapple on a street corner, unaware of who we were. (I flashed back to that recently, and tried to imagine how it can be that a person can come so unglued from the world. He took to selling his own mothers' possessions at one point - bedding, dishes, photographs of her children and grandchildren. I'm as bemused now as I was back then, trying to imagine the thought process of the person who purchased the photo of my then 11-year-old cousin swinging a baseball bat). I wanted to tell him that yeah, the world was a horrible, horrible place but there's much more to it than we grew up experiencing and it's a beautiful place too, and you only find that out by getting out of your comfort zone.

But when he picked up the phone I got weirdly choked up and felt awkward about being emotional with my nikka, so I just stammered Yo... son... the train out here comes on time.

That's when he asked me if I believed in people. A week earlier he had been chilling in the apartment complex where the JUCO housed the basketball team, when one cat knocked on the apartment he was in and was like, hurry up, come to Lonnie's room, Leann is back! The cat my cousin was chilling with got excited and was like, come on nikka, let's go. The two dudes rushed out of the apartment and down a little ways to another joint in the complex, my cousin following behind. When he got into the apartment there was a dirty, bare mattress on the floor with an older white broad spread out, getting dikked down by one nikka while sucking another nikka off, and 7 other dudes stood on the periphery watching, waiting for their turn. My cuzzo was not that type of dude at all. He had his own code, some class. He was mad disgusted - partially because the older white broad was busted, partially because all these nikkas were standing around watching each other fukk her out on a dirty, bare mattress in the living room of a little apartment, partially because of the weird racial dynamic to the situation, and partially because everyone was going raw and dropping nut in her. He walked out.

Later on he talked to one of the cats on the team about it, and found out Leann had been swinging by the apartment complex for like 5 years, every 3-6 months - it was like some kind of team tradition, passed on year after year to the new nikkas. She was in her mid-30s. She really liked fukking basketball nikkas. She liked getting banged out by several at a time. She liked it when they nutted in and on her. Then she would take a shower, get her clothes on, and break out.

That was fukked up enough, but the shyt that really threw my cuzzo's shyt off was that the day before I called him he was in Kmart looking for a new box fan and saw Leann walking in one of the aisles, holding hands with her husband while their two little kids walked beside them. This funky bytch was married and had kids!

So after he told me all that shyt, and asked me if I still had faith in people, I flashed back to some shyt that this black professor had said to me once: "Our culture is sex-obsessed but it hates love; our culture is obsessed with the concept of youth but doesn't care about children." I told my cousin that my answer was complicated, and some days the answer was simultaneously yes and no.

We got off the phone and I thought about our uncle Kenyon some more. He lost his struggle with addiction and eventually died of AIDS. I remember my aunt Pearl sitting by his hospital bed for hours, bathing her little brother when even the nurses didn’t want to come near him. This was back in the day when AIDS was still some wild, mysterious shyt that people didn't quite understand the risks and details of.

I play that moment back in my mind all the time, and I always wonder if I have the capacity for that sort of kindness, that sort of love. If I could go back to that conversation with my cuzzo I would remind him of Pearl making sure her baby brother maintained some semblance of dignity, even at his lowest moments. I would tell the nikka that the capacity to love keeps us human. And that as foul and repellent as individuals seem, sometimes staying human in the face of it all is a legitimate triumph.

I would tell my nikka that no matter what you do and no matter where you go, the ugliness of the world always finds you. That the contradictions within the human heart that make so many people do vile things don't make me lose faith, it sustains my faith in the complexity of the human condition. I would remind him that there are places where the trains come on time, and women who genuinely love their husbands, and sex that doesn't serve as punishment, degradation, racist fetishism. And I would ask him: was that ass fat, and were them titties big? Because I never did ask him that.

The subway ran on time though. As a Toronto nikka I feel you on that

 

[TrillaMonsoon]

Great last two stories @Walt

I had the interracial relationship conversation with one of my friends a while back and its crazy how both sides feel so differently about it.

We saw a black, bummy loooking dude walking with a good looking white girl and my friend, who is black, said "I don't trust black dudes who date white women. I just feel like they're using them." I, who am white, said to him "what if she is just using him to get back at her racist dad or mom or brother or some shyt?"

We talked it out for a bit but it's sad that even in the right circumstances, people from the outside will judge an interracial relationship and try and figure out "why it's not pure" and that comes from both sides. I have a white friend who is scared to date a black girl because he thinks the power difference in the relationship would be hard to deal with. Not because he is overbearing or controlling, but because he thinks it would be too tough to deal with societally.

shyt is really sad. Thankfully I grew up in the city so black people were never a surprise to me. Before I learned about stereotypes I already was friends with kids who proved them wrong. So I never had a fascination with black people, their dikks and who they were fukking. So sorry to anyone who had a white person probe them like a science experiment.

Unfortunately, a lot of the girls I'm attracted to only fukk with black guys, so fukk y'all for that

 

[Ohene]

Is That a Gin Bottle?

I'm sitting at my homegirl's living room table right now, sipping Bombay Sapphire and tonic. I figured if I was going to tell a story about gin, I might as well drink some. Also, shorty was telling me earlier that it's the perfect summer drink. For some reason when people talk about gin and tonics in the summer it makes me picture rich goofball white dudes in seersucker suits or plaid shorts, the same way I can't drink mint juleps because the drink conjures images of slave masters sitting on a porch and cooling off with a pitcher of that shyt, watching slaves toil in the hot ass sun all day. Odd how the mind works.

Anyway, gin never tastes right to me. It's not the botanical flavor or anything, because I can drink shyt like Chartreuse and Ouzo all night. I guess I've always been wary of gin. I suspected my grandmother compromised some aspect of her virtue over gin - her saying was "gin is nature's drink." She'd say that shyt with a weird tone in her voice and fix you with an intense stare, like she had just delivered a grave warning. She drank a lot of different things - her favorite twist was Peach Schnapps - but never gin.

So I never so much as tasted gin until my homie Alvin got me fukked up off that shyt in college. Him, my nikka Rome and I were kickin' it in Alvin's room, swapping stories about life. We were all between 18 and 19, so inevitably the conversation shifted to women, and we traded war stories. Among other things, I was telling them about the time I saw this Puerto Rican chick suck my cousin off in a project staircase in exchange for a loosey. We were 14, on our way to play ball in the park, ran into the chick at the corner store, and my cousin Skoob brokered the deal with her. Rome had a couple wild stories from high school he shared. When it was Alvin's turn, he took a swig from the bottle, grinned, and was like "y'all boys ain't seen no wild shyt." He told us a few stories that had us like :sayword: Then he was like "you know what, I could show you some wild shyt tonight. They doing this thing for the recruits at this nikka E's. Y'all wit it?"

I wish I could upload an MP3 of my memory of Alvin's voice and let you hear how that dude sounded when he said "Y'all wit it?" Son's accent was possibly one of the 5 most offensive things to a nikka's auditory system, ever. He was Jamaican, but grew up in Mississippi. I can't do justice to how fukked up the combo of his Jamaican and country inflections were. It took me a couple months before I could understand more than 50% of any sentence he uttered.

The only accent I heard that was worse was at Thanksgiving dinner that same year. The break wasn't all that long and the ticket home wasn't all that cheap, so I linked up with one of my cousins who was stationed at a military base an hour-and-a-half away. My cousin was living on the base with the mother of his two kids, a half-white, half-Vietnamese broad. Her fam was visiting for Thanksgiving too: her pops was an old vet from West Virginia who carried a pistol everywhere he went, walked with a cane, and continually had his lower lip bulging with chewing tobacco; her mother was a Vietnamese lady who the pops had scooped during the war and flown back to America. Let me assure you that you have never heard an uglier sound than this woman's accent, which was an unholy hybrid of Vietnamese and West Virginian backwoods. She also had the foulest mouth I think I've ever heard on a woman. It was an unusual Thanksgiving to say the least.

As many fukked up dudes as there were on the football team, there were also some real cool cats, and Alvin was definitely at the top of that list. Son had a good heart, stayed in his own zone for the most part, listened to mad reggae and R&B, sat in a chair on the balcony in his wifebeater smoking weed on the regular. Real laid back dude. This nikka's closet was essentially 30 white wifebeaters. shyt was hilarious. Dude knew what he liked and stuck with it.

Oh yeah, and Alvin looked like a model, b. Son had the He-Man action figure body; dude was so cut that it looked like he had been constructed in a lab. He was mad dark - talk about being darkskinned... my nikka Alvin was coffin black. He rocked a baldy. The nikka had like 700 bytches following him around. I hate when nikkas get on that corny ass sucker shyt like "I don't know if another nikka looks good, I would be gay if I did." fukk outta here with that bullshyt. I always noticed the same nikkas who claimed that shyt would magically know which dudes not to bring their girls around. Alvin was a nikka not to bring your girl around. He had bytches wide open: white, black, hoood, uppity, all of them.

Son was also a case study in Blackleticism. When I think about Blackleticism, I actually don't think about dudes like LeBron. I think about those random nikkas from around the way who never went to the gym, never played organized athletics, ate pork rinds and lemonheads all week, had dope fiend parents so they were only eating dinner like 4 out of 7 nights, and even then it was just an order of chicken wings and french fries, but they could casually throw a perfect spiral 70 yards. I got dunked on by a nikka like that once, he was in Timbs, no front teeth, no draws, asscrack hanging out his jean shorts. Sometimes you gotta hit life with the take your L and charge it to the game.

Alvin was a natural athlete that way. I remember I asked his roommate, who was a defensive end, whether Alvin was taking supplements or some shyt. His roommate died laughing. "Al? That nikka barely be in the weightroom. Coaches be on his ass about how lazy he is." Dude was born to be a college linebacker. Genetics are wild.

I usually ain't get invited to insider shyt. I mean, I hung with individual foootball dudes,would go to parties with them, kick it with them and drink, etc. but I wasn't in the inner circle like that. So this shyt sounded like a rare opportunity. We hopped in Rome's truck and Alvin gave us directions to this two-story condo that a former player owned about 20 minutes from campus. Dude spent a couple seasons with the Jets, I think. I don't remember his name at all. To be honest, I don't think I ever heard anyone call him anything other than E. I do remember the nikka ain't look like a professional athlete in the slightest - dude had a short, squat build with the Gucci Mane get money gut. Maybe that's why he was out the league after just two seasons.


.

I wish I could triple dap this for the High Powered reference
fukk i gotta save the rest of these jawns for later

 

[The_Hillsta]

me either, never heard 'grey hoe' before....we called them 'pink toes', 'pink booties', and 'snow bunnies'

It's "grey girls" in NYC.

A lotta those terms I never heard until I hit the south. One of the best things about college when I look back on the social aspects of it is all the different people and personalities that made the shyt so wild. I didn't know what the fukk a "grey hoe" was when I first heard it, I had to ask, cause all the cats on the squad used to say that shyt even one of our coaches. The dude I asked was one of our receivers from NY, cool ass nikka, all he used to fukk with was grey hoes though, would declare that shyt. NEVA seen him with a sista in no type of capacity. Fool told me that his grandaddy put him up on the term grey girl. It was code for white girl, that black men was using during the turn of the century. shyt had me

Pickin up different slang from cats from all over the US. shyt, we even had a black kicker from Quebec that spoke French. Used to cuss muthafukkas out in French cause them southern cats would always fukk with him, especially them bottom/Miami nikkaz. Ole boy used to have us dyin, used to call them "beetch neegga heebillies," I can't make this shyt up. We all would be talkin shyt, muthafukkaz would clown me cause I used the word "hella" and here I was thinkin that shyt was universal

One of my teammate ended up doing 6 years in a southern prison for some shyt he did on campus. Talked to him years later and asked him how it was up in there, this muthafukka said just like college, but with no grey hoes

We ain't making this shyt up bruh

 

[TrueEpic08]

most college profs are making about 70-90K if they aren't tenured. Tenured, your salary could be in the $100-$175K range depending on where you work. Lots of perks though. Trips to conferences, lots of time off, ability to do work that you like. My gfs father is one of those who is really caking off of it. He's pretty much the only expert in his field of economics, has textbooks and has a few books published. Most complain they are underpaid though, but I always think, damn they have perks that pretty much no one gets. Even when you aren't tenured. But damn, non-tenured profs do a lot of work though . But if you're somewhere like Texas, you can live a damn great life off of $70K. You are a king making tenured money. Think of how cheap real estate is down here. Lots of professors living in the nicest neighborhoods of Dallas/Houston/Austin.

This is part of the reason why I want to have a career in academia (though don't get me wrong, there is a lot of bullshyt to deal with in and of itself...and a lot of that time off is used to do work anyway). I just can't imagine doing the typical grind of corporate work anymore (and believe me, before I got my position I tried. Hard). I don't need to have a lot of money to be content, just a job that allows me to live comfortably and allows me to do work that I like (publish or perish stresses mitigates that somewhat. I've had professors give me to do lists and only justify them through the prhase "it's what gets published." I understand, and put the advice into use, but it still kinda ticks me off. Especially since I'm in the humanities, which is apparently "in crisis." ). Don't need a high 6 figure salary or anything to do that.

Your GF's father sounds like one of those exceptions that I mentioned. If you even write a single widely used textbook, and it goes through multiple editions, you might as well be set. Great royalty money for that.

Don't tell an adjunct that he or she isn't underpaid, though. They might choke you to death or something.

 

[Ronnie Lott]

The stories in this thread are so similiar to some of the college experiences I had its almost eerie. The precise and accurate breakdown of the black man/white woman sexual dynamic was executed to perfection. I swear yall, in college we would smutt out some of the most "goodie-too shoes" wholesome, innocent, "girl next door" type white bytches. White chicks that you would never assume that would fukk with black dudes, would be getting railed by nikkaz.

But it wouldnt just stop at sex. We would be driving these bytches brand new cars that their parents bought for them. nikkaz would be doggin the shyt out of the cars , racin em, takin these bytches cars on road trips. Gettin money from theses females, usin credit cards, stayin at white bytches houses rent free. nikkaz were certified savages. Many of these broads had never even fukked with a black dude until they came to college. They had been told their entire lives to always stay away from black guys and were told of all the "evils of black men." This I believe contributed to their curiosity to start fukkin with black dudes. (Curiosity killed the cat)

My years in college and my time on the football team was like 1 big testosterone filled frenzy, full of savages from all corners of the US. We all would try to one up the next cat in terms of who could prove to be the most masculine. Who could fukk the most bytches, who drove the fastest car, who could fight the best, who had the most savage dog to fight, who could hit the hardest on the field, who could lift the most weights, who could get bytches to get a train ran on them. I think white chicks were ultimately attracted to this huge collection of black masculinity, coupled with the curiosity of the sexual desires to be with us.

Again, shout out to @Walt for providing us with this piff

 

[beenz]

@Walt man that nikka at the end of the "I dont Kiss" story was like the opposite of