Germz True Hollywood Stories

[The question]

You know whats kinda funny, Its always been something I remembered, but writing it as a story and looking at the images, it just hit me. That night at her apartment complex..

I think that bitch was tryna line me


Its crazy I just now realized that. Still tho, one of my favorite ex's

 

[The question]

Oh, and that part where I said, I thought I was the badest nigga walking the street. I was completely delusional. I don’t know why them niggaz ain’t shoot me

 

[The question]

more of the grandmother series

Another story I have about my grandmother is from a time I lived in Baltimore for a brief time. My grandmother is a Hebrew Israelite, and it's also the kind of church she goes to. This was long before I was into any religion or spirituality, and I was just a young and dumb knucklehead. My grandmother sought to bring me along on the path that she was on. She invited me to her church on Saturday, which is the Sabbath for them. When I was very young and still lived with my mother in New York, as a kid. I remembered observing the Sabbath. I didn't understand it and just found it very boring. We couldn't watch TV, play with toys or games, and all we could do was nothing or read books. My grandmother's current church had service, from 10 am until sundown on the Sabbath and it was about to be an adventure, for a young me. When I got there, it was small, felt stuffy, and small, like a small hotel lobby. Instead of pews, it had a line of chairs, and instead of a pulpit, it just had a small stage. !0ft long, and 10 ft wide, with drums, an electric keyboard, and a mike stand for the pastor. I didnt have any suits, so I work a polo with a sweater vest over it, slacks, and timbs.

She introduced me to everyone there, and they seemed ok. There was this girl who looked like a female steve urkel that seems to be excited I was there as there were no other young boys there but me and another boy, who was about as out as you can be as a young gay man. Which was surprising to me because I always thought churchers were very uneasy about that. And around this time in my life I was raised in the south for the most part up to this point, and social conditioning had made me very homophobic at this time.

The service went on forever, the small area made the pastor sound extremely loud, and it didn't help that he yelled. When they placed the drums, it was so loud that it was all you could hear over everything, and my grandmother insisted on sitting up front. The Urkel girl kept trying to talk to me, but I found her unattractive, so I kept being very rudely dismissive to her, so she would leave me alone. As I mentioned, back in those days, I was really homophobic, so I guess the energy I had for the other boy got to him. So during one of the songs, he started dancing. He started dancing clear across the room, but as he danced, he got closer and closer to where we were. As he got close, I thought to myself, this dude is doing this to irritate me. And if he come right by me with that stuff, im going to rise up and snuff him in the face.I didnt say anything to my grandmother, I just sat there and thought it, looking staight ahead.

My grandmother sensed how I felt and raised her arm to grab the chair in front of his, to make a barrier between the boy and me. All while she kept cheering him on for "feeling the Holy Ghost". The whole time im getting madder and madder, cause now its obvious that the boy is try get a rise out of me. So much so that he's banging against her arm trying to get by, but she held strong. Even while supporting the boy. I was so mad, but looking back im sp glad i didnt hurt him. It wouldve been so wrong especially with how I used to think. Id feel guilty to this day.

Once it finally got to sundown. The ladies of the church and the young ladies of church went to the back, to finish preparing and getting the post-Sabbath meal. When the girl who looked like Urkel came back from changing how she was dressed. The dang girl was beautiful, absolutely astonishing. I guess in observance of the Sabbath, she was supposed to look unappealing for some reason. I dont understand it. My whole tone changed with her, of course she now played me to the right because of how I treated her when I thought she looked bad. I didnt like it, but I admired her character, if you don't want me at my worst...type shit, even before it became a popular saying, her familiy raised her right

Of course, the entire ride home from the service, my grandmother talked crap about everyone who was there. Oddly enough, she never even mentioned anything about the boy. She was like that, a little evil, a little bit of heart, duality.

 

[The question]

This is a story about my best friend, Tony, who died. We both weren’t the best people back then. Occasionally, we would snake each other or do some pretty bad things, but he still had a lot of heart and integrity. At the time, I had a job, so I could buy the things I wanted, dress well, and look nice. Tony didn't have a job, so he didn’t always look his best and didn't really keep himself up. But despite all of that, he was still my brother. One casual weekend, we were just chilling in my den playing Madden. I was wearing sweats, an old, disheveled shirt, and my hair was a complete mess.

Out of nowhere, I got a call from my girlfriend Shalonda saying she was on her way to my house—and she was already almost there. I didn’t really feel like getting completely fixed up, so I just threw on a cleaner shirt, sat back down, and waited. When she pulled up to the back door, she brought a friend with her. Tony could see them through the window and noticed right away that they were looking fine. As I got up to go answer the door, Tony stopped me. "Hold up, man," he said. He ran into my living room, grabbed a hat, and handed it to me so I could cover up my messy hair. I remember looking at him, confused.

Why was he so worried about me looking good in front of these girls when he wasn't even looking right himself? Still, I put the hat on and opened the door. The girls came in, and it wasn’t long before they started clowning Tony and making fun of his appearance. Out of respect for me and my house, Tony didn't say a word back, but I could see the anger in his eyes. Even though my girlfriend was already irritated with me, and even though kicking them out would make me look bad, I couldn't just sit there. I looked at them and said, "You can't come into my house and disrespect my friend.

Ayo..pause, bro didn't rest his hand on my back like that. lol


Y'all need to leave."The girls cursed me out, furious, and stormed out the door. After they left, I sat back down, unpaused the Madden game, and we started playing again in total silence. I looked over, and Tony was staring at me with pure appreciation and adoration. He was genuinely shocked that I had stood up for him like that. Even though I stayed quiet, his look actually made me a little mad. I felt terrible that he was so surprised, because to me, that is exactly what a true friend is supposed to do. Sadly, outside of our friendship, Tony didn't have the best people in his corner.

The funny thing about it, though, is that I don't even remember how we became friends. I just remember a time back in the day when I started dating a girl who used to date Tony's brother. His brother was furious about it. One day, that girl was over at my house. Tony saw her walk in, and he went right back to her father and brother to tell them a lie—that she was trapped in a house with a whole bunch of boys trying to take advantage of her. Furious, the father and brother rushed over to my place and started violently banging on the front door. Now, you have to understand, my uncle lived with me, and he was built exactly like Mike Tyson. My uncle snatched the door open aggressively and demanded to know what they wanted. The second they saw him, their tough acts completely vanished.

They got terrified, stuttered out, "I'm sorry, sir, we just heard my daughter was over here," and completely backed down. My uncle marched downstairs to the basement where the girl was hiding, told her she had to leave immediately, and then walked past me. He gave me a look of pure disgust, clearly wondering why I was bringing this kind of drama to his doorstep. After that, Tony and I became friends somehow. I don't even remember why

 

[The question]

I’m just now putting together that, the shit that happen with Tony was right before she tried to line me at the apartment


Da fuck can I know shit and not know shit like that

 

[The question]

My father and Uncle series

When I was a kid, my uncles and their friends would always be outside my bedroom window at night, getting high and drunk, popping shit to the AM. I became so normal that the sound of it was what I needed to sleep.

Being used to noise helped me when I got my second apartment, and my neighbors partied all night and did coke. I was their best neighbor because I didn't care. I used to help me sleep. They loved it so much that they would ask me if I wanted to party with them.

One of my uncles, whom we called Pigeon because he could always catch Pigeons with ease, used to show me how, but I could never get it.

Years later, when I was 17, after I dropped out of school, I was struggling to find a job without a degree. Pigeon stepped up and got me hired alongside him, doing heavy demolition work for a construction company. My uncle was a boastful, braggadocious guy who was always itching for a fight. One morning, we were riding in the crew cab truck, and Pigeon kept relentlessly badgering a coworker in the front seat. The guy kept warning him, "You'd better go on, Pigeon. Leave me alone, or I’m gonna fight you." Pigeon just laughed and egged him on.

Later that afternoon, that same coworker went to run an errand in the company truck. Four hours passed. Suddenly, the foreman showed up on site, looking furious. "Where the hell is my truck?" he demanded.Pigeon said, "The other guy took it. "Now, the only reason the foreman kept my uncle around was that we renovated houses deep in the hood, and Pigeon knew the streets. The foreman looked him dead in the eye and said, "Go find my truck"

An hour and a half later, Pigeon walked back onto the job site. Half his face was caked in dirt, his nose was bleeding heavily, but he was holding the truck keys."What happened to you?" the foreman asked, stunned

"I had to fight the guy for the truck," He said. Then, he turned to me. "Come on, nephew. Pack up. We gotta go fight him again."I stared at him. "Why do I need to go fight him?"Pigeon said, "'Cause the guy thinks shit is sweet!"Told him, "Pigeon, you picked on him all day, and he told you he was going to fight you! What did you think was going to happen?"" Come on, nephew, I don't want to hear all that," he barked. "We gotta go."Listen, man," I said, shaking my head. "I'm going home. You are way too old to be out here fighting people like a kid on the street."

 

[The question]

My other uncle

When I bought that very first car, an Izuzu pickup in Dayton. It cost me $800. There was only one massive problem: it was a stick shift, and I had passed my driving test in an automatic. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Through a brutal process of trial and error, I ground the gears and violently jerked that car across town until I completely tore up the driveshaft. Because the car was ancient, local mechanic shops wouldn't even look at it. If I wanted it fixed, I had to do the grunt work. I spent days trekking through dusty local junkyards, hunting for an identical '87 model. When I finally found one, I had to crawl under the wreck, wrench the driveshaft off myself, and arrange to get the part and the car over to my uncle’s house. He was the family mechanic, living on the opposite side of town. I dropped off the car, caught a cab home, and waited.

Two weeks later, my phone rang."Hey man," my uncle said, his voice entirely too casual. "Your car is downtown in the projects. Over at Gadsden Green."Locals affectionately called that place "Back to Green," and it was not the kind of neighborhood where you left valuables sitting around."What?" I asked. "You live on the opposite side of town! Why is my car even at the projects?""Don't even worry about that," he snapped. "You'd better just go get it before they break into it and bust it up.""But with all the cars sitting out there, why would they target mine?" I pressed. he said, "I said don't worry about that! Just go get your car."

I caught a cab downtown immediately. When we pulled up to Back to Green, my heart sank. The windows were shattered into spiderwebs of glass, the tires were slashed flat to the pavement, and the stereo had been ripped straight out of the dashboard.I later pieced together what actually happened. Knowing my uncle, he had successfully fixed my car, decided to take it on a high-stakes joyride, and drove it straight to the projects. He likely got drunk, picked a fight with the wrong crew, and had to run for his life. The locals, thinking the '87 clunker belonged to him, took their revenge out on my metal. I looked at the wreckage and realized I just didn't have the heart to deal with it. I walked away and left the car sitting right there in the dirt.

A few weeks later, the guy who originally sold me the car called. "Hey man, why is that car I sold you sitting abandoned downtown?"I told him the whole story. Hearing the disappointment in his voice crushed me. He confessed that the car had originally belonged to his son who had passed away, and it held deep sentimental value for him. I felt terrible. Fortunately, a second cousin of mine noticed the car sitting in the projects and asked if I wanted to sell it."Sure," I said. "If you can go haul it out and fix it, it’s yours for $600."I handed over the deed. I had paid $800, so a $200 loss felt like a bargain just to wash my hands of the entire ordeal.

 

[The question]

My other uncle

My other uncle, Sherman, was even harder to love. He suffered from a severe drinking problem, and alcohol turned him incredibly hostile. The moment he got drunk, he would target me and try to instigate a fistfight. My grandmother would try to intervene, but she was always so soft about it, gently pleading, "Stop it... leave him alone." I used to get so angry, wondering why she wouldn't be more forceful with him. I absolutely hated him for the anxiety he caused me.

During my high school years, I suffered a severe injury that required surgery, leaving me with a heavy cast that went all the way up my leg. One afternoon, while I was resting in my room, this uncle stumbled in. He immediately began mocking me, calling me lazy for sitting around with my leg propped up."What am I supposed to do?" I yelled back, fighting the anger stinging my eyes. "I'm hurt!"

But everything changed the day I had to return to school. I had never used crutches before, and I drastically underestimated the physical toll. My high school bus stop was a half-mile away. I dressed, grabbed the crutches, and began swinging myself down the pavement. By the time I made it only halfway, my arms were shaking, I was drenched in sweat, and my body was completely exhausted. Overwhelmed by frustration and shame, I broke down, turned around, and dragged myself back home.When I hobbled back up to the house, my drinking uncle was sitting outside. "Why aren't you in school?" he asked.For some reason, the dam broke. I unleashed all my pent-up frustration, crying about how hard it was, how much pain I was in, and why everything always had to be a struggle for me. I didn't expect a shred of empathy from him. But he looked at me, and for the first time in his life, his face softened."Look, I know life is hard right now," he said quietly, his voice remarkably steady. "But don't worry. You're going to get through it. Just be patient with yourself. You'll get it one day."In that exact moment, despite all the hatred I had harbored for him, his words were exactly what I needed to hear. He showed me a sliver of humanity when I needed it most.

A funny story about Sherman was one day when I was in my 20's and working for a cable company, I was resolving a network issue in a hood apartment complex. He lived there and came outside to talk to me. While I was talking to him about how successful I had become and the money I was making. He was looking at me, but seemed to be looking past me. At some point, I felt what he was doing and looked behind me. I saw stick-up kids listening to our convo. I don't know why my uncle didn't tell me what was going on, but he went into his apartment. I couldn't leave because I still had to fix the problem. As I worked on the issue, I could feel the kids' presence lingering around, looking for an opportunity. I tried to focus on my work. I heard my uncle's voice from a window upstairs. He said, "watch you back, nephew". I thought that was funny, now you tell me.

 

[The question]

My pops

My father had a strange, undeniable rule of life: no matter what city or state he lived in, he actively chose to reside in the absolute worst, most dangerous neighborhood possible. It was like a magnet pulled him into the struggle. He was now living in Baltimore. I was completely broke and swallowed my pride to call him for help. "Yeah, just take a cab over to my place," he said. "I'll give you some money."When the cab dropped me off at his apartment, the surrounding blocks were as bleak and dangerous as I expected. I walked up to his place, and he pulled out a thick wad of cash—almost entirely one-hundred-dollar bills with a few twenties mixed in. He peeled off a crisp $100 bill and handed it to me.

Wow," I said, genuinely shocked. "I wasn't expecting a hundred. Thank you.""Oh, no, I'm not giving you a hundred," he corrected coldly. "I'm giving you twenty. You need to walk down to the gas station and go break that for me."My jaw dropped. "Man, are you serious?""Very serious."I took the bill and stepped out into the treacherous neighborhood. When I reached the gas station, the environment was so volatile that the main doors were locked shut; you could only speak to the attendant through a thick sheet of bulletproof glass in the exterior wall. The place was surrounded by drug dealers and addicts loitering under the fluorescent lights.

The attendant leaned toward the speaker. "What do you want?"I leaned in close and whispered, "I need you to break this hundred and give me a twenty."The attendant frowned. "What? Say that again?"I whispered a second time, trying to keep a low profile. "Please break this hundred and just give me a twenty."The attendant shrugged and blasted his voice through the external microphone: "YOU NEED ME TO BREAK THIS HUNDRED AND GIVE YOU TWENTY?!"The entire gas station lot went dead silent. Every single drug dealer and addict slowly turned their heads to stare directly at me. I felt a target painted on my back. When the attendant slid the change through the slot, I grabbed it, turned around, and began the longest, most terrifying walk of my life. Halfway back to the apartment, a car on the street suddenly backfired. The noise cracked through the air like a gunshot. I nearly jumped out of my skin, my heart hammering against my ribs as I fast walked the remaining distance.

I burst back into my father's apartment, threw the change on the table, and took my twenty. He looked at the cash, looked up at me, and casually said, "All right, you can go."I shook my head and headed back to my aunt’s house where I was staying. A couple of nights later, the phone rang. It was my father

"I need you to meet me down at the Baltimore pier tomorrow at six o'clock in the morning," he commanded."Why do you want me to meet you at the pier at six in the morning?" I asked, completely bewildered."Don't worry about that. Just meet me at the pier." Click.I hung up the phone, completely unnerved, and relayed the conversation to my cousin. "Why would he want me to meet him at the baltimore pier at dawn?"My cousin looked at me with dead seriousness. "Look... I think he's might try to kill you."Given that I hadn't grown up around him, knew he wasn't wrapped too tight, and had just survived his gas station stunt the night before, I took her advice. I didn't go to the pier.

 

[The question]

All and all though still.

Looking back, the common denominator among my father and my uncles was glaringly obvious: they were all severe alcoholics. Addiction was woven deeply into my family tree. But experiencing their chaos, witnessing their downfalls, and seeing the wreckage of their choices provided me with a strange kind of salvation. Their lives served as a powerful cautionary tale. They scared me straight. Watching them, I made a fierce, quiet promise to myself at a young age: I never want to end up like them. Because of that resolve, I never became an alcoholic, and I learned to be incredibly selective and deliberate with the relationships I built. Seeing their reality guided my hand through every major crossroad in life, steering me away from the decisions that would have made my path harder. In the end, their madness became my blueprint for how to survive.

 

[The question]

You know what's kinda crazy is we haven't even gotten to age 21 yet.

 

[The question]

Here is a positive post 21 one, to lighten the heaviness.

God may have given me a very difficult life, but he also gave me the will to handle it. The crazy thing is, internally, I never felt like I was handling it. I was constantly afraid, stressed, worried, moments away from falling apart. Wondering to myself all the time, why is my life like this? Was it a curse? Why does messed-up shit always happen?

I came across this site one day on the internet one day. I always thought that life was finite, that everyone lived the same life as me. When I would communicate things that were just standard things in my life, that I thought we all thought or went through. People would be shocked and call me crazy, weird, that I was trolling or making things up. I was shocked that they were shocked at the way I was. Everyone I knew was like me. It was like they were like me, but didn't live the same life as me.

The more I communicated with them over time, and the more I just stayed true to myself, the more they looked at me as odd and someone with a messed-up perspective. It oddly gave me hope that, though my life was incredibly strangely hard. Life isn't always that way for everyone. And if life isn't always that way, maybe there is a possibility that there actually are good people in the world. Who consciously and actively do the right things.

Every time I'm incredibly honest, and they respond to me like something is wrong with me. It oddly makes me feel good that life isn't just a series of unfortunate events like the one that created me. The perspective they gave me, by not being me, pulled me out of my depression. They saved my life and don't even know it. Just by them being who they are.

Id post an honest reaction, and someone would say that's a horrible thing to say or post. It'd make me think "word?" I shouldn't think like that, so what is the right way to be? Id use their distaste for my behavior as a template to be a better person, because they were better people than me.

 

[The question]

Theres ya flowers bitch ass niggaz, I couldn't find a correct way to prompt it to make it not look like I cried about shit. I never cried about it.

 

[The question]

I think this is a funny story in some ways, at least at the start

One night I was going to go to the club with my cousin and my other cousin, BD, when we got to the club, my cousin abandoned us to chase some woman. I was already drunk and in a bad mood when we got to the door. Security told me to put hats and durags in a bucket (I had a hat, the A.I. wouldn't do it). So cause I was already drunk, I was confrontational, and I asked aggressively, "How am I supposed to get my shit back?!"

.

I was really drunk at the time so I dont know exactly how it happened, but that nigga grabbed me and tossed me clear across the street, no hyperbole, when I looked up, the club was across the street. I was slim back then, but I still have no idea how he did that.

I was drunk and upset, so I immediately got up and ran across the street to fight them. Good thing my cousin BD was there and grabbed me, those dudes woulda duffed me out.

We went home, when we were at home, my cousin asked us what happened. I told her and she got upset and told us. I knew I shouldn't have left you two alone, she pointed at my cousin BD and said, you dont have no heart, and she pointed at me and said, you dont have no brains.

For as hard as she used to act, I saw that when real shit happens, she turned back into a girl, like when we were on the bus one time, and just before we got off, niggaz hopped out a car and shot up some niggaz on the block. I was trying to get to the next bus, and she kept screaming and grabbing me, I had to tell her to shut the fuck up.

Shes screaming, they got shot, they got shot, I asked her, did they shoot you, she looked at herself, I said good, we got to get to the next bus cause all we got are transfers

When we got home she was still going on about it and it was making me uneasy so I had to be cold with her about it so she would leave me alone. I was trying to enjoy Cereal and Rocko's Modern Life. This is how the exchange goes. I don't want to type it out

but

 

[The question]

sorry yall, this lowkey theraputic and I got one more thing to add this part of the story, its dark
my bad

At this point I was so low and didnt care about life, one time we were in the basement and one of our friends was swinging around his weapon, everyone would dodge when he pointed it at them, when he pointed at me it was different. I just looked at it

I imagined the bullet leaving the chamber and entering my brain, and killing me, I wasnt fond of life anymore, and would rather he accidentally fired and I die. They thought I was so hard, but it was because I didnt care. He put the gun away.

cause

 

[The question]

These I think, are age 20 or 21. Im pretty sure its at least 20

 

[The question]

I’m now realizing I should’ve done this shit in a more order like fashion. Ima try to evenly go from 20 to 30 this time, instead of bouncing around.