Monday, August 20, 2012

Lingerie and DUSH (@#$% da Club, We Goin' Ta Wal-Mart Part 2)

Welcome back to part 2 of the Humble Narcissist's "scholarly" analysis of Mr. Ghetto's magnum opus, "Wal Mart."  Should you need a refresher, here's the video:

Ah yes, now that I have had my daily dose of ass-shaking, I can commence with the rest of my analysis.

When last I left Mr. Ghetto, he was tenderly stashing his potential lady's Louisiana Purchase card in his pocket.  And now that he has has announced his intentions to financially support his future-boo, he takes her to the best place to show the seriousness of his intentions--the lingerie section.

Often mistaken for the home furnishings section. Source

It is convenient that Mr. Ghetto and his lady-friend(s) are now shopping together, as a girl does need a gentleman to courteously push the cart so that she might continue her backside jiggling.  (Yet another strong visual representation of how Mr.Ghetto's new lady can rely upon him and his chivalric nature.)

I will steady mine horse, m'lady, should you desire to jump upon't and bounce that ass. Source

We must also remember that Mr. Ghetto will indeed be paying for any lacy and lusty purchases from this section as such items are not covered under the terms of a damsel's Lousiana Purchase Card--not that she possesses her card anymore anyway.  Here Mr. Ghetto shows that he can provide, and intends to provide, for the lucky lady who gets his crisp, white undershirt in a twist.

Never missing an opportunity to encourage other men of his ilk to maintain standards, Mr. Ghetto reveals his lady trying on panties in a most hygienic--albeit public--manner.  No one wants nasty bitches.  (There will be further mention of feminine hygiene in a moment, so still your anticipation.)  His keeping her company during this impromptu try-on session not only allows him to serve as a lookout (Oh shit,  here comes THA' MANAGER--and his shit looks pissed), but enables him to enact (and therefore encourage in any urban gentlemen viewing this handy how-to guide) further courteous behavior.

The eyes are a dead giveaway for just how pissed his shit it. Source

Mr. Ghetto, thoughtful soul that he has proven to be, wants to spare his beloved the hassle of those claustrophobic little dressing rooms with "motion-activated" lights. (Okay, I don't know if all Wal-marts have those, but mine does and I write "motion-activated" because to keep the damn things on I have to make large swooping gestures in that horrid little cubby-hole that looks about as stable as those handy "portable" carnival rides you see at fun fairs. BECAUSE NOTHING IS MORE FUN THAN STALE FUNNEL CAKE AND BRIGHTLY COLORED DEATHTRAPS CLAD IN LIGHTS, ALL PARKED IN THE KROGER PARKING LOT.)

This was the only shot he could take that didn't show blood stains.  Source.

Still strolling through the lingerie section with his lady, Mr. Ghetto continues his serenade. (If you haven't figured it out, the two primary females in this avant-garde production are essentially interchangeable when not interacting with each other, but ONLY because this fine example of New Orleans Bounce would have lacked a sufficient amount of physical bounce with only one voluptuous video vixen; anyone who might suggest anything less, such as women being objectified as possessions that can easily be swapped out for one another, deserves to be slapped with a well-starched dueling glove.)

Well I SUPPOSE one of those would suffice as well. Source

He now states his repetitive approval of his precious pearl's choice of "boy shorts."  This obviously serves as yet another one of Mr. Ghetto's standards.  Being an ass-man (a safe assumption, I think), Mr. Ghetto could very easily have chosen a much more flimsy undergarment (such as a thong or g-string), but instead he chose the classy road of leaving something to the imagination, and desiring a woman who would choose the same road.

But lest we forget that this dapper fellow is still very faithful to the cultural heritage he is proud to possess, Mr. Ghetto ends his visit to the lingerie section proclaiming his adoration for "pantay hoes."  The choice to utilize the name of a typical lingerie, which is simultaneously a combination of his standards (panties, while not boy shorts, are still much classier than the shit some of those stripper bitches wear) and cultural slang, helps only to illuminate further his creative brilliance and subtle nods to the depth of his masterpiece.

The question of where to take her after she's put on her "pantays" has been answered. Source

Mr. Ghetto's sole failing, I would argue, is his applauding his lady's buying of feminine cleansing products.  I choose to give Mr. Ghetto the benefit of the doubt concerning his not having read up on the more harmful effects of douching as far as a female's genital chemistry is concerned, YET. His encouragement for women to keep themselves clean--indeed, to respect themselves-- is laudable, if a bit misguided in the method. (The ladies in the video cannot seem to help smiling and chuckling at this part because they no doubt are discussing Silly Mr. Ghetto's lack of knowledge about the true effects of Summer's Eve and Massengill on a woman's most sensitive parts.  Plus, the man pronounces it "dush."  How much can he really know about it if he's not even familiar with the pronunciation?)

Oh come on, everybody knows about THEM. Source

Finally, all of Mr. Ghetto's wooing and peacock-ish displays pay off as "she gave me her number in the check out line."  The lesson here is that persistent courting and attentiveness will indeed win a gentleman the day . . . and a hot bitch's digits.

"Ring it up" is the final (and oft' repeated) line of this classic tune--a final line that does not disappoint in including layers of meaning.  Not only does the phrase coincide with the consumerism theme of Mr. Ghetto's song in general (everything does take place in a Wal-mart and revolve around various products--both in the song and the video), but it also refers to his intentions to utilize that fine bitch's telephone number she so willingly proffered to him in the check out line. (Here the video, itself, falls short of the mark as there appears to be no line; also, her "basket" seems to be rather sparsely populated aside from what is possibly a package of marshmallows--it's difficult to tell).  I cannot accurately predict how long Mr. Ghetto might wait to "ring up" his future misses, since he is very likely a playa' with a lot of game, but his intentions to use that particular manner of communication are clear.  The deepest, and most romantic, meaning for this line, however, concerns the end to a quest.  Mr. Ghetto he has found the love of his life at Wal-mart and is planning to "ring it up" in a matrimonial manner.  Like a Shakespearean comedy, all's well that ends in marriage.

Mr. Ghetto is an admitted Tolkien-hater, so considering this as a
potential "ring it up" meaning was not necessary.

This video makes me wonder why we all flock to clubs, bars, bookstores (a few do still exist), malls, and online dating sites to seek out significant others, when the local Wal-mart is really the only place we need look.


[N.B. I freely admit that as someone fairly lacking in the posterior department I will be eternally jealous of the seemingly cultural/racial ability to both grow and seductively maneuver such posteriors.  Keeping this in mine, there is no need to accuse me of drinking the "Hater-ade" as if my choice of beverage is some sort of secret to be spilled.   I also possess great amounts, or "mad" amounts if you like, of respect for the athletic abilities these ladies exhibit.  Booty-shaking to this degree and for the lengths of time exhibited in the video (to say nothing of the actual duration of filming--who knows how many takes had to be shot) requires a muscle strength and endurance I certainly don't have.  Seriously, my quads and core ached just looking a them bouncing over and over again.]


  1. "I will steady mine horse, m'lady, should you desire to jump upon't and bounce that ass."

    Well played, madam. Well played.

  2. Why thank you. Such praise from fellow scholars is always held in highest regard. WE BE SMART BITCHES, YO.