🚨 The REAL OG Behind Snowfall’s Uncle Jerome — The Brutal Truth About Compton’s Most Feared Gangster! 🔫🔥

Before Hollywood dramatized it, the streets of Compton were already soaked in the kind of bloodshed and betrayal that no screenwriter could invent.

And at the center of it all was a man named OG Pudding.

Born Sylvester Scott in 1954, Pudding didn’t just grow up around violence—he weaponized it.

His transformation from a skinny kid on 115th Street to one of Compton’s most feared gangsters wasn’t just fast, it was explosive.

It all started on Piru Street—a modest block in Compton that would soon become ground zero for one of the deadliest gang rivalries in American history.

Back in the early ’70s, the city was fractured by a bloody feud between the West Side and East Side Crips.

Young men were forced to pick sides, and when one of Pudding’s friends was brutally jumped by Crips, the retaliation was swift and organized.

Thus, the Piru Boys were born—local kids uniting under a new flag, soon to be recognized as part of the Bloods.

But don’t get it twisted—Piru wasn’t just another Bloods set.

As locals say, “All Pirus are Bloods, but not all Bloods are Pirus.

” The distinction mattered on the streets, and no one embodied that unique brand of Piru violence more than Pudding.

While the Crips were growing in numbers, Pudding’s crew countered with savagery.

Severely outnumbered, they turned up the brutality.

And Pudding? He thrived in the chaos.

By the time he was in his early twenties, Pudding had developed a notorious reputation.

He was known for being a sharpshooter who didn’t just shoot to kill—but to cripple.

Legs, arms, kneecaps—he aimed for maximum pain.

In one infamous act, he played Russian roulette with a group of Crips he had cornered, spinning the chamber with a single bullet as if daring fate to join the massacre.

He reportedly shot legendary gang figure Tookie Williams—not to kill, but for target practice.

It was all psychological warfare, and Pudding was a master.

He didn’t just want his enemies dead.

He wanted them paralyzed, humiliated, and haunted.

He was the kind of gangster who would pistol-whip you instead of shoot you—just to send a message.

People in Compton started to dread the sight of his signature green ’69 Riviera.

Anytime it rolled through the neighborhood, people ran for cover.

And when the Crips figured out what he was driving? He sold the car, got another, and kept moving.

His unpredictability made him untouchable for a long time.

But the violence wasn’t without cause.

Pudding was on a mission to avenge the death of his best friend Tam, who was killed by Crips.

It pushed him deeper into darkness, and the body count rose.

His style of vengeance was so savage that even rival gangs started uniting just to take him down.

Multiple sets put out hits.

They knew the green car.

They recognized the figure.

And yet, no one could stop him.

Pudding wasn’t just a shooter—he was a businessman too.

As the crack epidemic swallowed L.A.

, he jumped headfirst into the drug trade.

The profits helped fund more firepower, and the violence became even more extreme.

At one point, he even worked with law enforcement—yes, dirty cops—to maintain his dominance and keep the Panthers out of Compton.

It was a strategic alliance born of corruption, but it wouldn’t last.

Those same officers later betrayed him, planting drugs in his car and setting him up for a major bust.

But in a shocking twist, Pudding flipped.

Alongside Freeway Ricky Ross, he testified against six corrupt narcotics officers in a case that exposed the darkest corners of L.A.’s war on drugs.

These cops weren’t just dirty—they were orchestrating entire drug rings, robbing dealers, and planting evidence.

Pudding claimed they planted 118 grams of coke on him to frame him.

He was deep in the game, and now, he was trapped in it.

Outside of his gang legacy, Pudding’s personal life was equally disturbing.

One of his relationships—most notably with the legendary Death Row singer Jewell—was marked by extreme violence.

Jewell, known for her iconic vocals on The Chronic and All Eyez on Me, described Pudding as jealous, possessive, and physically abusive.

At one point, after a violent attack where he broke her wrist and threatened her life, she shot him in self-defense.

The bullet hit his chest.

She called the police.

And even then, Pudding told them it was an accident—to protect her from jail.

Jewell ended up doing four years behind bars for the shooting, only to be bailed out by Suge Knight himself so she could finish her work for Death Row.

Despite the chaos, Pudding’s legend grew.

In Compton, his name still carries a legacy that blends fear, respect, and infamy.

He was the kind of gangster who changed the rules—so much so that Snowfall’s Uncle Jerome character is widely believed to have been inspired by him.

The show’s writers never confirmed it outright, but the similarities are impossible to ignore.

The muscle.

The charisma.

The short temper.

The street loyalty.

The refusal to play by anyone’s rules.

Uncle Jerome was television.

OG Pudding was real.

He died in 2006, but his shadow still looms over Compton.

Not because he was a hero—he wasn’t.

But because he was a symbol of what happens when rage, trauma, and power collide on the unforgiving streets of South Central L.A.

He was violent, manipulative, dangerous—but he was also the product of a system that created monsters to survive.

So the next time you watch Snowfall, and you see Uncle Jerome stand tall in the face of chaos, remember—there was once a man named OG Pudding who did the same… but with real bullets, real bodies, and a

level of madness that no script could ever truly capture.