So, Rebecca asked me to write about this cause of my impeccable knowledge of the ghetto. I constantly try to remind her that just cause I grew up in the Bronx, doesn’t make me any better of an expert on what’s good in the hood. Yes, it’s true, the red haired baby that looks like the bastard child of Ronald McDonald and some hood rat named Shaniqueezie bears a striking resemblance to my incarcerated brother and it is true that I’ve seen my fair share of blinged out pacifiers on Fordham Road, but that’s no reason to give me this assignment, right?