Monday, December 7, 2009

I'ma Tell You What It Ain't If You Ain't Know What It Is

There’s a ho in this house, when you see her point ‘er out

*points at your girlfriend*

Hey there, ho there—*points at that girl I don’t like*—how do ya do? What’s goin’ on folks, how is everything? Y’all good? If not, let me know and I’ll help you come up with a fun and quite possibly illegal solution to your problem. It’s the least I could do for y’all; it is the Season for Giving after all. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t try to help you out in your time of need?
The correct answer is a terrible one.

At the most, I’m dreadful, perhaps appalling, but never terrible. Don’t get it twisted, I don’t play that shxt. Shoot.

As for me, ya girl is currently sittin’ at the bus station, gettin’ more than a little bit annoyed with my surroundings and the people surrounding me.

There’s a gaggle of goons fifteen feet away that are watching my chest move up and down as I inhale and exhale while making crude remarks that would get them maced and cut from east to west if they were to act on them. As it is, I’m contemplating the rearrangement of their facial landscape. These niggas are outta line smh.

To the right of me is one of the guys that’s been tryin’ to holla on MySpace—I know, we been off that—for the longest. Thankfully, son doesn’t recognize me. Last time that I bothered to answer one of his messages, I told him that I was moving to Jackson to live with The Sperm Donor and El Jefe. If he were to realize who this caramel complexioned bit of thickness that is me is, he’d get up and walk over here in his Obama J’s—I’m far from a sneaker-head, but  uh…I know that those bxtches are as official as these are—and make an attempt at verbal communication.

Because of the bad ass children that are running around and the scent of industrial strength Pine-Sol that’s hanging in the air like a noxious cloud, I am not in a good mood. The rather loud females behind me that should be slapped by an AKA for the abuse of the colors green and pink in their kinky twists are also fueling the flames of my aggravation and when you add it to the fact that I’m at the fxcking bus station, I’m in one of those moods where I could shut a nigga down and not give a damn about it.

Luckily for him, he still doesn’t know who I am, and luckily for me, my bus is here.

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