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About Los Angeles

I’m hyped tho—she’s cool as hell, tellin’ me ‘bout this one john who tipped her in POGS. POGS, yo! I’m screamin’, “Who’s this ‘90s-ass motherfucker?!” She’s cacklin’, and I’m losin’ it, ‘cause life’s a fever dream. But then—BOOM—some dude rolls by, yellin’ at her, and I’m PISSED. “Yo, leave her alone, you crusty-ass gremlin!” I’m ready to ram his bumper, but she’s like, “Chill, he’s a regular.” A REGULAR? I’m shook—capitalism’s wild, y’all.

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When I moved to Seattle for school, I started seeing a guy in Tacoma. I told my local friends. They told me to beware the 'aroma of Tacoma'.

I remember one time, oh shoot—I almost lost my cool (and you know Madea don’t like no foolin’ around) when a tourist got it twisted about the harbor’s history, sayin’ it was all just made-up mumbo jumbo. I exploded like a shaken soda can! "Child, I ain’t got time for no mockery! The harbor, these streets, they're real, baby!" Even if I might be exaggeratin’ a lil bit.

‘Unbelievable’ defense, elite pitching power Gig Harbor’s 19-1 season