Am bored with my life so i decided to write the story of the less boring time of my life when i became a thuggin wigger...

Am bored with my life so i decided to write the story of the less boring time of my life when i became a thuggin wigger... feel free to join in with your story or shut your faggot cockmuncher hole.

>be born in large European city
>parents are hardworking honest people
>have normal happy childhood playing duplo, building kites with my dad
>live in decent neighbourhood but 5 minutes walking distance from home lies European equivalent of the projects
>as getting older and spending more time outside on city streets feel balls dropping
>have urge to be someone, become a man do rough and tough shit
>learn about graffiti and tagging from some kid at school
>almost all buildings in town are full of it, but child me never realised people were always writing the same name or a crews name, became kind of famous for it and got “fame”
>start tagging while skateboarding around town with my best friend
>fall in love with the idea of being part of a secret society… reading the towns walls, knowing which crew had what ethnic background and chilled in which neighbourhood/park
>form a crew with a couple of boys from my neighbourhood… graffiti becomes my life for the next couple of years. I spend nights outside, days sleeping in school, 1000s of hours of drawing.. refining the style of my letters

>while doing graffiti doing tons of illegal shit… stealing spray cans, selling weed, break-ins, tons of fights with cops and security guards.. lots of violence due to “gang” wars with other crews (no guns, just bats, chains and knives and shit but see a lot of desensitizing shit). Stuff we do gets worse the older we get…
>be 14 get caught by police for the first time. Nothing too bad… was rolling a joint and had a butterfly knife on me. Cop ignores the small amount of weed I had on me but charges me for illegal weapon
>parents are devastated… dad comes to police station to pick me up… mums crying at home
>parents try to be strict with me, but they are both working most of the time and my older sister still in her teens herself didn’t really give a fuck… so out to the streets I went again…
>start hanging out at local park with my crew… older crews have their spot in the park as well… start getting their respect through ballsy graffities at tough spots and holding up our own in fights.

>kids in the park have different ethnic backgrounds mostly whites, some africans and south east asians… whites are the minority in the neighbourhood while Turkish and Balkan kids are the majority… you could consider turks and yugos the niggers of our hood… robbing people picking on white kids etc… the park becomes a hangout for all the young foreigners which aren’t turk/yugos and white kids… approximately 70 kids hanging out there having each other’s backs protecting each other from turk- and balkan-niggers representing the same graffiti crew
>next few years our crew gets quite famous in town. All over the local graffiti magazines. Always show up at parties with 30-50 people… almost no one would fuck with us… some of the best memories I have are these parties or the block parties we did in our park… can’t even remember half the crazy stories from that time

>fun times don’t come for free… get caught doing graffiti a lot… not 18 yet so only cuddle-type lib tard justice… just have to pay fines to avoid going to juvi… roughly 16000$... my parents although hard working aren’t rich but still pay for my fuckups.. my conscience is killing me. Swear to myself to repay them every last bit…
>put my focus on selling weed… is much cheaper in my country than in countries surrounding mine. Have granny across the border which we often visit by car. Abuse my parents as mules and hide 100-500 grams of weed in my luggage on every trip we make and sell it in the red-light district near my grans house with a profit of about 500-2500$ per trip. Only get beat up and robbed once which is a miracle in hindsight considering I did not have any locals back me up besides my cousin.

lurking

>still sold weed at our park but hang out less over time since I stopped doing graffiti and was focused on making money.
>meet “D” over a mutual friend. D was 4 years older than me and once was a big-time coke-dealer with expensive clothes fast cars, fine bitches and mad cash to spend. But he was sucking the glass dick for crack. Smoked himself into a coma on a binge. While he was in hospital his crew ripped him. Took all his cash and customers.
>his family were involved in ethnic cleansing in the Balkans of the 90s with war criminal cousins and uncles. They sometimes forced him to shoot captured soldiers back in the Balkans, so you can imagine he was fucked beyond believe.
>Although he had his stuff sold in my city, he wasn’t that connected since he never lived there and was new to the city in that sense.

What city?

>I don’t know what he saw in me. I guess he could sense that I was as loyal as you could be if I considered someone my brother. But he took me under his wings and I became his coke-game apprentice, learning where to buy, how to test and how to cut and cook the shit. In turn I got him new customers that would take decent amounts to sell themselves and sold shit for us at parties and to the crackheads in the projects.
>I was able to pay back my parents in no time. Either they didn’t want to see or they were simply too busy with their own problems but they never really asked where the money came from.
>I idolized D. He made me feel like we were going places and didn’t give a fuck about anybody. He was almost like a father figure to me. Although he was a crackhead, he had so much charisma. If he walked into a room, he had that certain aura around him. Even if he had beef with guys twice his size he always managed to put fear in them. He also had his way with women. The most beautiful women would fall for him in an instant. Mind you we were doing all right financially but were far from owning fast cars and nice flats and all that.

id rather stay anonymoose on this one my nig

>The numbers on the scales got bigger over time and soon I had my own runners selling weed outside the city and made some real cash. I was earning more than my father did and wasn’t even 20 years old. I was also earning more than the cops that would try to bust me. The luck I was lacking while doing graffiti I had selling drugs. I was lucky so many times and could’ve gone to jail for a long time if I hadn’t been.
>I shared everything with D. He still had his troubles getting off the crack. More than once he smoked up what I had earned over the weekend. I helped him quit 3 times in total, him always relapsing not long after. He even came to live with me and my parents for some time.

>I was quite close to his mum and dad as well. They knew of his drug habit and decided the only way he could quit was sending him back to the Balkans to live with them. Before he left he organised that I could be the house dealer of a decent sized club in the city. Backed by security sharing the income with the club owner.
>I started working nights at the cub which made decent money. Things went to shit there quickly when the club owner was on a paranoid coke binge one night and thought i was ripping him off. He tried to scare me with his security to give him more coke / money. I broke a glass in the guys face and walked out there without security touching me. I later learned they hated him like hell as they had to deal with his coke fuelled tantrums all the time.

make me a tag with the letters U 4 X and ill give you some sick info

>Although I came out of the situation without a scratch I realised that I did not have D`s charisma or family backup. I never had killed anybody and knew I was too soft to acutally end someone.
>I downsized my operation to only have my runners sell weed outside of the city. Which still made decent money but nothing like before.
>Not long after the club thing one of my runners stopped picking up his phone after he was supposed to reup with our money. First think cops must have snatched him. Later learn from another runner he was talking shit that I was soft and wouldn’t do anything.
>Fucker owed me 7000 so I couldn’t let it slide. Called D and described the situation. He sent me two war criminal motherfuckers to sort that shit out.
>My runner still was living with his family. So we headed out there. I was not feeling comfortable with these guys at all.. we hardly spoke a word.

...

i lied about the info but safe as fuck bud

I was wondering because you called the one group yugos, i have never heard that outside of Vienna

>As I was standing on the stairs of the apartment complex, sweaty palms and whatnot, with these goons I was seriously thinking about life choices I made in the past.
>My runner wasn’t home and his mother, an old Italian lady in her 50s, opened the door. One of the goons completely opened the door with one hand as he walked past her inside the flat. He grabbed her by the sleeve of her dress and swung her onto her couch. The fear I could see in her eyes was like a punch in the gut. I knew this wasn’t right and I could only imagine which direction the situation could go If I just let these guys do their thing.
>I stopped the guys and told them I didn’t want her to get hurt.
>They gave me a disgusted look like I just sucked a dick or something but complied while joking what kind of pussy friends D had
>That event changed me… call it growing up… call it bad conscience… whatever… I knew I lost the respect from my runners and it would only be a matter of time when the next guy will decide to rip me off and I wouldn’t be hard enough to make an example of him
>I never got quite clean… always making a little money here and there on the side. But since then it never was a option for a “career” as it used to be to me.
>I went back to school and am currently doing my master degree in my early 30s. I also will become a dad to a daughter next year…
>I know it would be the wrong path but I still miss my times doing graffiti and selling drugs

so thats it fags... hope the lurkers were entertained... still have story how i made illegal cash game poker nights at my flat... or the story how D fucked my first girlfriend and we became enemys... but thats for another day... AMA i guess.. will be here for another 30min... peacout... love u fags...

u welcome bruv

not from vienna but my mom was born there.. sick city... also good graffiti.. used to be a bro of puber if you know him...

...

...

...

...

...

got to love that old school style...

...

...

OK...then...more Oldschool

lol seen was like our hero growing up

...

...

feeling of painting a train or tube and see it run afterwards is priceless..

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

soooo .. enough internet for today


bye