Wigga Wigga

Last night, Kerry and I were walking home when we encountered a wigga...

I live on such a strange continent; there are people here who think they are vampires, emokids who thrive on the lifestyle of depression, and white people who think that they are black.

A wigga is a white guy who dresses, acts and talks like a black man in the same way that a transvestite impersonates a woman; but far less convincing. The way to usually spot one, is to look for the white man with shaved blonde hair and blue eyes sporting a very long oversized t-shirt that goes down to his knees, a baseball cap, and ridiculously baggy trousers that hang below their crotch line (hence the long shirt). They will walk as if a rusty exhaust pipe had been jammed up their rectum and gesticulate like a deaf person who's had one too many blows to the head.

So we're walking along Yonge street when a lone wigga who is standing around on the sidewalk, trying to look mean for the sake of looking mean starts harassing Kerry, 'Yo sup bitch -I can fuck you real good bitch -put my nine inch inside ya...' I suppose he was talking about the exhaust pipe up his arse. Wiggas aren't usually seen with girlfriends, their breeding partners are usually dried up and wrinkled crack whores who suck cigarettes for nourishment. We carried on walking, ignoring the ruffian who was staggering aimlessly to and fro; only that he wasn't drunk.

We were about a hundred metres away when the guy started shouting obscenities, flinging his arms all over the place as though he was trying to fly. I looked at Kerry and said, 'Bloody wiggas'.