Tag Archives: ellagangsta is a gangsta

Life sucks and then you die (or how I joined a sitcom and never looked back in anger)

What up mofos??? It IS most certainly UP in ma hood at this very mo – most mo’s to be fair.

Or perhaps not so UP at this particular very mo. Have to admit it has indeed been a thoroughly painful eve fo this lil’ gangsta. Holy crap (YES. Let’s bring holy religion to the table at this latish hour. Or not.). NO RELIGION. I agree to agree with yo scheweet-ass-self on this one.
Yep. NO religion. It’s no fun. (unless it’s Bad Religion – neva get sick of that ultra-special-high-quality-shit. Epic fiesta-FUN material all day every day).

Kinda sucks how ma beloved boyzzz lost (quite fairly) tonite. NOT a fan of that, honestly speaking.

Ima ’bout this impressed…

Gah gah gah gah gah gah. GAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.

Gah gah gah gah gah gah.
GAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH.

So let’s not speak honestly anymore, kinda boring shit. And not very gangsta. Let’s get excited, let’s have FUN. So what’s FUN? I reckon being a gangsta moviestar is fun.

And what do gangstas do when they wanna have fun and be gangsta-moviestars? And make some sorta statement ’bout da riddicko title-obsessed world we live in? Correct answer would be they create their own dreamish gangsta-fun-title-criticizin’ reality… (or they just smoke shit, but hey – why not do both?).

So ya, that’s what ellagangsta did (apart from referring to herself in 3rd person (which could be considered lame… but not if yo is ellaGANGSTA) ).

YO is indeed a very lucky lil’ wannabe-fun-ass-lovin’-criminal-gangsta… one could say it’s yo lucky day! You get to check this shit OUT.

Check it OUT.

Pretty please lemme know if yo didn’t laugh yo lazy ass OFF – and I’ll refer yo to some sorta lame ass helpline. Back to da honest track again; hope it won’t come to that. And if it does – DO ASK SOMEONE ELSE FO SOME SORTA ASSISTANCE.

Cannot save yo lame ass soul on this one. Not today. So fo everyone’s best well-beingish state of mind, let’s just hope yo enjoy this fine piece of A(ss)rt.

Gonna head back to ma ultra-exciting life now, pinky promise it won’t be too long till ima back. Stay tuned beloved mofos.

 

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Ma girl crush/Oranges + men = 1 (or how ima sharing the secret to eternal youth with ya’ll)

ellagangstaextensions

ellagangstaextensions

So, still cold in ma hood it appears – no surprises there. Harsh reality galore. Luckily enough I’ve got a new crush to keep me warm these days…. Her name is Yvonne and she is pretty and lovely and inspiring and just… hmmm, what’s the word I’m lookin’ fo here?

A M A Z I N G.

Kinda funny story actually, I first met her in da elevator at work, and she’s always lookin’ so fresh, so clean (as ma bros in Outkast would word it), and she is always supa-lovely and happy. So yep, become one of ma lil’ highlights of ma days, to see- and interact with this broad in da elevators… so naturally a crush developed. Images of her constantly Flickers in ma head-kinda-thang. Which is un ultra-nice aspect of ma ultra-exciting life. Anyhoo, was tellin’ ma boss-crush, (which happens to be ma boss, who I still have no chance in hell with… but hey, still coolio to have two crushes in the one building I spend most of ma days in FTWWW), about this amazing woman. I described both her-, and ma feelings towards her, and he goes, “C’MON lil’ gangsta – don’t you know who that is?” I responded, a bit perplexed, I must add, “NO.” I mean, sure she looked familiar in some ways, but just thought it’s cause she’s so lovely and beautiful and I felt as if we had some sort of connection, and that is why da good ol’ familiar feeling came creepin’ on unda ma wanna-be-in-da-sun-all-da-time-and-therefore-black-skin… Anyhoo, turns out she is Miss fucking Universe…!!!! In Sweden-town we only ever had three Miss Universes:

1955 – Hillevi Rombin

1966 – Margareta Arvidsson

1984 – Yvonne Ryding

So guess who ma Misses U is? Lucky #3 muttafukkas! And I belive there is an explanation to her ultra-supa-extraordinare-freshness – the secret to eternal youth perhaps perhaps – she now works with her own skincare line. What can I say, CLEARLY IT WORKS.

Apart from crushing ma crushes, I’ve also been crushin’ fruit in ma kitchen of late. Tonite when I got home I went on a mission to make massive amounts of smoothies, involving a bunch of fruit (duh). Basically lotsa celery, apples, kiwis etc., (won’t go into too much detail as this is no fucking food-blog – gangsta remember…!), but I must mention that it involved nothing less than 7 blood oranges and 7 regular oranges. I do believe the regular oranges were Spanish, not sure bout the origin of da blood ones.

To think of it, I kinda treat, and think of oranges the very same way I treat, and think of men. Don’t care much bout the origin – if they taste good I’m happy to put ‘em in ma mouth. Sometimes they may look a bit off… and then I usually politely refuse… or I still go for it, but then end up in an awkward spitting-out-situation, which is not healthy for anyone’s self-confidence, neither orange, nor man… also makes me feel a bit sicklish, so in general that is not something I’d recommend to maself, or anyone else for that matter. But ya, origin is neva an issue when it comes to me. To think of it, oranges and men do have lotsa things in common:

For one, there is the issue of seed(s), and there is also the fact that both oranges and men tend to smell very good, amongst a wide range of other shared attributes and qualities. Basically, I like oranges and men a lot, for many different, mutual reasons.

But alrite alrite, bit of a classic off-the-topic-scenario happening here… As you were: Fruit. So yeah, turns out I left my smoothie bottles, I need for ma smoothie machine, at work, so now ima stuck in a serious fruit-salad-gone-wrong-massacre in ma lil’ kitchen, (this funnily enough makes me think of one of ma ex hubbies, who strangely enough isn’t *Moroccan. We used to call him Fruity. Hens the ex-factor when it comes to him in particular). (*Even though I tend to not focus on origin of ma men and/or oranges, most of ma ex-hubbies are Moroccan, since I happened to marry a bunch of ‘em in less than 24 hours… blogged bout that one –  do yo homework homie).

But yes, plenty’o fruit in ma kitchen tonite, deffo some sorta party goin’ on. I should probs not be rude, and instead go on and join it, while it’s still fresh (if ima lucky it’ll be as fresh as ma Miss U).

For those of yos who’re into ellagangstaextensions, there’s a good one today, I will no doubt fall asleep pondering bout how I’d possibly be able to reveal all ma insecurities on ma tiny amounts of skin – not so much space, and epic amounts of inc is ,indeed, a challenge I must face one of these days.

Ultra-exciting life much? da peeps ask me from time to time. “Hellz yeah, ultra-exciting galore“, is ma humble response. Stay tuned.

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How I infiltrated the Swedish police force… :

It was all very simple. I decided I was gonna sleep in a bed cupboard owned by a Swedish police officer. This is indeed a perfect, (and, might I add), very clever way of achieving Swedish police force infiltration galore. Naturally this involves receiving massive amounts of Swedish police documentation in THE mail (that’s right bitches, mail still exists – OFFLINE ). From time to time I’ll pick this documentation UP, and look at it – if that’s not infiltrating the Swedish police force, I don’t know what is?

All this Swedish-police-force-intelligence I receive in my mail, and into my brain while in my bed cupboard, is very much the opposite to the gangsta-hood I come from, and  in some ways I feel privileged, like I’ve been given a second chance – an amazing opportunity –  the opportunity to get outta da hood, to be a part of something bigger than me – bigger than all of us perhaps?

Thing is though, it’s fucking boring. Will give me a bad sleep at it’s best. So yup. I’ve decided to infiltrate less, and to just….. wait for it…. EXFILTRATE MORE!!! Also, here is an image of an amazing bonfire/firework sesh I went to tonight – good times had by all, to say the least (of course the Swedish police force showed up, no surprises there – I clearly know what they’re up to by now…). YUP, I have an ultra-exciting life. Stay tuned.

Bonfire-firework party?

A bonfire and fireworks = party.

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