What Kind of Fxckery?

So it’s like this:
I had intended to shoot and upload a video of my own tonight but I couldn’t calm down enough to do so, so I give you the shxt that you’ll see below

What in the name of unlimited nationwide calling is this shit?

Better question:

Why is this shxt?

 

I will be damned if some stupid ass teenager twerks on my gravesite. My soul will come back from loungin’ pool side wit’ Tupac at Thugz Mansion and haunt them quicker than you can ask “where the eff are their parents at?”

Am I the only one that wished that the midnight hour was close at hand as darkness fell across the land and that creatures crawling in search of blood came to terrorize these heffas instead of your neighborhood? Sure, they got the soul for gettin’ down, but they’re doin’ it on peoples graves. Send the hounds of Hell after ‘em or the foulest stench of the funk of 40,000 years, some zombies and werewolf in a red patent leather jacket or somethin’ somebody. These bxtches got me tight smh.

I won’t even talk about the Twerkage that’s occuring outside of what looks to be a McDonalds in whatever city they’re in but I will touch on this because seein’ this ish irks the eff outta me:
I hate when bxtches mix seasons. Either you’re gonna be hot enough to wear shorts or your cold enough to need boots and a winter-type jacket. Don’t wear that shxt at the same time. That’s not cute.

Yung…was that a dude twerkin’ wit’ ‘em? A’ight, I see you Sissy Nobby 1.8

These folx have upset my soul enough on this night. I’m goin’ to bed to dream a dream of a land in which shxt like this doesn’t happen, get filmed and one in which this fxckery doesn’t end up on these interwebnets.

—LauRenxExCarter

 

♥