"Murdered Out:" The fall of man| Off-Topic Discussion forum |

Wowak Dork
7/20/08 1:31 a.m.

Who decided that something painted all black was to be called "Murdered Out?" And why aren't we strangling them for this affront to the language?

mad_machine GRM+ Memberand SuperDork
7/20/08 1:53 a.m.

I have been hearing that term for more than a year now on the BMW forums.. all the more reason not to own a black car

Ryan9118 HalfDork
7/20/08 4:03 a.m.

It's so the "bros" can feel cool when they tell another bro that their spotless lifted truck that they only drive in the city is "all murdered out." Extra cool points if you throw in a variation of bro or dawg in there.

If you're not sure what a "bro" is, look here. There's one that lives in my neighborhood. For a laugh, read the second link. That's how bros are.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=bro http://www.theonion.com/content/opinion/bro_youre_a_god_among_bros

stuart in mn Dork
7/20/08 8:00 a.m.

Guess I'm not reading the right BMW forums...I've never heard that term before.

Wowak Dork
7/20/08 8:17 a.m.

I'm familiar with bros, but the term has grown beyond that particular inset of idiots.

scotaku New Reader
7/20/08 8:32 a.m.

stuart in mn wrote: Guess I'm not reading the right BMW forums...I've never heard that term before.

Then you must be reading the informative and useful BMW forums. They are a rare find, so count your blessings.

DILYSI Dave SuperDork
7/20/08 8:35 a.m.

I'd never heard it until my jeep was refered to as being "murdered out". Black vehicle with black wheels.

ACarlson New Reader
7/20/08 12:36 p.m.

"Murdered out" is a new one to me, too, and it barely makes sense. But being midwestern, I'm used to the trickle-down theory of culture.

That 'Bro' term is a good one, though. I've often wondered what single word to use to describe a rich punk kid who feigns some blue-collar interests (big trucks, trucker hats, dirtbikes) yet blasts hip-hop, preens like a metrosexual and has a short fuse around his 'crew' of 'homies,'

Related story: down at Lake Ozark (the Boating Accident Capitol of the US!) this past Memorial Day (or Labor Day? whichever comes first), I was driving my good friend's lifted, primered '88 Toyota pickup on 33's, because I drew the short straw and had to haul the band's PA rig. The Toyota fit in quite well with the rest of the Bros at the Lake - and there are enough down there that I think it's where they migrate during the summer. Many upward nods of approval. I felt guilty about driving such a single purpose truck without any mud on it, so when I made a wrong turn and serendipitously stumbled upon the king of all mud holes - flat, not too deep, nice clay composition for some good color - I jumped at the opportunity.

(Me: "Roll up your window, dear. I need to do something real quick." Girlfriend: [confused look, spreading recognition when she sees look in my eyes, followed by rapid winding of window crank] ). At this point, some big hairy donuts ensued, much mud was slung, and I pulled away from the hole with a fresh coat and satisfied feeling. We then proceeded on our trip to a nice restaurant for a late steak dinner.

Our route to the restaurant took us through the stretch of road by Bagnell Dam, which, seen in the right light, is a throwback to a simpler time. It's where my grandparents honeymooned, at a time when Lake Ozark was a weekend getaway in the foothills of the Ozark mountains for some R&R around nature in a relaxed setting. Currently, it looks like a low-income version of the Wisconsin Dells. A great place if you like Skee-Ball and batting cages. And, it's like running the hoosier gauntlet - and 'hoosier' is not used as a term of endearment for Indianites around here. Everyone comes out to just walk around and look at each other, and there is rampant shirtless broronic behavior. Imagine the parking lot of that Dairy Queen on the edge of your town where the three d-bag football players who graduated from high school five years ago still hang out together to grunt at each other about each passing car: it's like that stretched out for 10 blocks. Best scene: a shirtless be-mulleted fellow reclining in his jean shorts on the hood of his late '70s Trans Am - replete with Screaming Chicken - in a prime see-and-be-seen parking spot, clutching a can of Bud Light and yelling at his incredibly skanky-looking girlfriend, who is clad in cutoff jean shorts and a tube top, and stomping around with her hands on her hips like a spoiled three year-old but with saggier funbags. No joke. Rolling down this stretch of road, you can feel the eyes of the sweaty horde as you pass, each beady eyeball silently judging you as you drive by. In a lifted import pickup, you'd better be on your game. With my fresh coat of mud, I was.

Passing through the crowd at barely more than a walking pace, as the concept of the crosswalk seems too advanced for these troglodytic shufflers, the sound of the slightly open exhaust makes heads turn about 100 feet before the truck passes. Looks of scorn at the Jap crap turn to reluctant appreciation at the thick layer of orange-red mud sprayed up the side windows of the camper shell, then to looks of plain confusion at my girlfriend and I, dressed to the nines for no particular reason, she with her hair up and looking classy, I in my tasteful summer dinner wear of light grey suit jacket, pastel shirt, fresh straw porkpie hat and vintage Ray Ban shooters, posed in a slight gangster lean on the steering wheel.

The predictable progression of these faces as we parted the crowd was like watching the Wave around the upper deck of a baseball stadium: it kept us on our toes, knowing that though the movement was predictable as the tide, the phenomenon was fragile, and we wondered how long it could last.

When the wave of redneck confusion finally crested and broke, we cruised on to dinner at an old-guard steakhouse that had leftover '70s era pretentions of being continental and classy. We parked our lifted, primered, mud-covered pickup demurely between a Cadillac DTS and a C5 Corvette. And we tried not to get clay on our legs when we hopped out.

mad_machine GRM+ Memberand SuperDork
7/20/08 12:40 p.m.

I think I'm moved....

ACarlson New Reader
7/20/08 12:47 p.m.

Meh. Don't bother.

neon4891 HalfDork
7/20/08 1:40 p.m.

nice story, but is "murdered out" a good thing or bad thing? Well, besides being just berkeleying retarded.

DirtyBird222 Reader
7/20/08 1:44 p.m.

Someone referred to my car as murdered out a few weeks back. At the time I had no idea what the f*ck he meant, and my response was "the only thing my car murders is gas."

I really don't understand it, none of my friends understand it, and we all think it's retarded. People are striving so hard to be cool and sound hard. I'm sure some "suburb gangsta" coined this term and it just caught on with all his homies.

Wowak Dork
7/20/08 1:53 p.m.

I think we should all make a gentlemens' pact to punch in the face anyone who says "murdered out" in a non sarcastic way.

neon4891 HalfDork
7/20/08 1:55 p.m.

I'm in on that pact

jezeus Reader
7/20/08 2:12 p.m.

My theory of how it was coined is that some rapper on MTV's "Cribs" was out front of his gold plated McMansion when he pointed to his Black H3 with black rims (which was next to his black H3 with chrome rims) and said "gotta have it all murdered out." Thus forth "Murdered Out" was instantly ingrained in the lexicon of popular culture.

Tim Baxter Online Editor
7/20/08 2:14 p.m.

I think should just counter with some random phrase of our own, and see how long it takes to catch on.

"yo, bro, that cars really murdered out"

"yeah, it's pretty arcane"

Wall-e GRM+ Memberand SuperDork
7/20/08 2:40 p.m.

Wowak wrote: I think we should all make a gentlemens' pact to punch in the face anyone who says "murdered out" in a non sarcastic way.

For Shizzle, good sir

ACarlson New Reader
7/20/08 2:53 p.m.

Tim Baxter wrote: I think should just counter with some random phrase of our own, and see how long it takes to catch on. "yo, bro, that cars really murdered out" "yeah, it's pretty arcane"

Totally x-peditious, y0.