My mom told me that this title was sacrilegious. Seeing as I haven’t been hit by a lighting bolt from On High as of press time I’m gonna have to say that God didn’t agree with mom’s judgment. However, if God should “Tell Me When to Go” and call me home after I push the publish button on Windows Live Writer, I’m gonna ask that you make sure I’m buried wit’ stunna shades on and a grill gleamin’ in my mouth. Also, on the way to the cemetery the hearse should have the doors open so my funeral procession can watch ‘em swang. It’s only right mayne.
I swear fo’ BOB people stay on my gotdang nerves. Ugh. Anyway…
Hey y’all, what it is, what it look like and/or be like and what’s good with all of you non-blog commenting blog readers? How be thee knaves, paupers, princes, princesses who look like princes, the wish you could be royalty and all others
I’m far too lazy to name I forgot to mention? Hope all is good in your respective hoods.
How am I?
I’m type “Eh…” right now. Ya girl is currently sittin’ at the bus station with a sharp object—a needle sharp pocket knife that I keep in the pocket of my jacket—in close range, my Skull Candy Lowrider headphones around my neck blastin’ Darren Hanible's “Mite Not Be” off of his [ stellar and better than a lot of ish out right now ]
I know you see the 36 point underlined Scriptina font y’all. It is honestly that deep right now. Bliss has been in rotation in my main mp3 player—like I said before, I’m ballin’ enough to have two. Gon’ head and hate, it’ll make you feel better about yourself—since I unzipped the files after lil bro insisted that I download this tape. Lil one stays givin’ me good music, just don’t tell him I said that or else he’ll get all cocky and shxt. If he get’s cocky I’ll have no choice but to be the one to bring his punk ass back down to earth with a few well aimed and oh so very insulting barbs aimed at his overly inflated ego. That’s just the kind of big sis I am.
Other than that, there’s this guy all in my ear tryin’ to spit his game but there are a few problems wit’ this:
1) I don’t date Lansing boys, reason being I know exactly how these niggas operate and while I’m a master of the juvenile games that they play, I don’t have the time nor the patience to do so.The last time that I was seriously involved wit’ a Lansing boy, he hit me and I ended up Chris Brown-ing him, resulting in a broken nose and bruised pride for him and charges almost being pressed on me.
I’m far too cute for jail.
2) He’s cute but…damn, if I had a tic-tac I’d forcefully offer it to him. And when I say forcefully, I mean grab him by the throat, pour in the whole box of tic-tacs, half a bottle of Listerine and a quarter tube of Crest Whitening toothpaste in his mouth and make him swallow not once, not twice but three times.
3) He also smells like gym socks, Axe body-spray (and FYI Intelligent *side eye* Marketing Company People Persons Dudes Sirs and/or Madams that work for Axe and it’s parent company idontwearthatshxtsoidontcarewhoitsownedby—1 word—this shxt does not drive the ladies crazy. Stop wit’ the false advertising already) week old celery and peas porridge in the pot nine days old. Ew.
4) Did I forget to mention that he slept with three of my associates and these bxtches—I call them that because we ain’t cool like that. Just sayin’.—were fighting over him? Oh. I did? Well then, now ya know.
Anyway, I’m done wit this one, I’m about to throw up my tracks of the day and be out. The first one is that Darren Hanible joint
and then my new theme song from one of my other industry husbands
“Miss Mad at the World”
Deep inside, underneath it’s a front I can see, you’re just a different kind of girl…
Miss Mad at the World