The Beat Generation-Girls I Strike Out With

After a long hiatus spent attempting to assassinate Blake DeWitt and blogging at Clap Cowards, Zilla Rocca has returned. If you have yet to hear his excellent new mixtape, Bring Me the Head of Zilla...
By    October 29, 2008


After a long hiatus spent attempting to assassinate Blake DeWitt and blogging at Clap Cowards, Zilla Rocca has returned. If you have yet to hear his excellent new mixtape, Bring Me the Head of Zilla Rocca, download it here.  I can assure you that it is better than anything Charles Hamilton and Asher Roth will ever do (no XXL.)

Since releasing my mixtape Bring Me the Head of Zilla Rocca! I’ve been beseiged with anecdotes, requests, and child support payments by ladies and gentleman who want to know how Flow God Zilla really gets down.  But instead of pulling back the sheet and giving you the Wizard (no Fred Savage), I’m going to share with you the type of ladies who inspire me to write lewd sex tales because the best love stories come from rejection via girls who like Grey’s “Anatomy” a little too much.

1.  Girls who wear hoodies/sweatpants/Uggs.  Any one of those pieces by themselves, and I’m done.  If they are wearing the Holy Trinity, I am eviscerated like the vampires in “Blade.”

2.  Girls who wear those huge “movie star” sunglasses.  It makes their face look small and their persona to be overly important.  Listen sweethear, we’re both in line at the dry cleaner.  Fall back.

3.  Girls with full sleeve tattoos or massive pieces that take up more than 22% of their skin.  We always start off vibing, and then things somehow go awry.  Maybe they’re lesbians.

4.  Bartenders.  I’ve read and watched “surefire methods” on how to succesfully scoop a hot bartender, but honestly, that’s WAAAY too much effort when you can probably bump into one at a yardsale the next afternoon or something.  Also, I never wake up in time to attend yard sales.

5.  Strippers.  Again, too much work.  Sure they smell good, they definitely don’t need YOU paying for everything, and they hate their dad.  But the only stripper I’ve seen who was pretty awesome off the poll was D’angelo Barksdale’s chick (and later Lester Freamon’s main boo) on The Wire.   “Velvetina” and “Secret” don’t belong as contact names in my iPhone.  But it would help my rap catalogue.

6.  Girls I was “friends” with in the 90s.  Sometimes an impression is too strong to shake.  I give women all the credit in the world for seeing through most guys’ bullshit and alterior motives, so why can’t my female “friends” from the 90s see that I lusted after them and the only reason I didn’t make a move was because they had a boyfriend who later got them pregnant?  Your mom knew, your girlfriends knew, and your boyfriends knew.  I wasn’t on the phone with you till 1 am about why Jimmy was “an asshole” who got with your “best friend” and your “cousin” for my health.  I was a loser with an acne then, now I’m a grown man with skills!  RECOGNIZE A TRUE DON WHEN YOU SEE ONE!

7.  Girls who are in love with other guys but aren’t assertive enough to decline their number when asked for it by me.  This is the equivalent to accepting a friend request from a “hot hip hop producer with industry beatz, eight bangin’ trackz for $20!!!” on MySpace and you don’t even rap.  Get it together!

8.  Girls with dark lip hair.

9.  Professional girls aged 24-27 who want a “normal” life (i.e. me proposing after dating for a year).  I spend most of my time with other industry-type folks (read: insecure artists with minor drinking/drug problems), I am addicted to Netflix and DVR, I spend all my money on CDs and sneakers, and I have an unhealthy collection of toys, doo-dads, Chicago Bears merchandise, and Adidas track jackets. You have a 401K and a cat.  This isn’t going to work out.

10.  Girls from New Jersey.  I don’t know what it is–my deep rooted Souf Filly axcent?  The coke I don’t sniff?  The Keystone State sensibilties I wear on my sleeve like a tribal band tattoo I can’t afford to lazer remove?  The garbage I toss out of my car window onto your drive way?  You let me know–we share the same zip code, we eat the same overpriced panini’s at cafe’s on the verge of collape, and we steal the same WiFi from our older neighbors.  Girl, I’m here for you.  *turns up “End of the Road” and walks with a cane on the beach*

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