Telegram Tuesday 09.30 - Calling Card

Telegram Tuesday 09.30

Well good day, it is great to be here to answer your dilemma’s yet again. I am going to dive right into it, because I am not feeling pleasantries today, here goes.

Dear Ms. Dragatha,

I love my man; he is good to me in every way, even in the bedroom. He gives me money for my needs and he has a wonderful head on his shoulders with a good job. Lately though, he has been acting strange, we get phone calls at the house (he moved in with me 2 months ago) and when I answer the person just hangs up, but when he answers he carries on a conversation in a low whisper and then says “I will call you later”. Now, I never thought anything of it until I looked through his cell phone and his cell bill and saw all these calls to the same number and some texts to a female coworker. I don’t think he is cheating on me, but how do I find out, I have met this girl and she was really cool with me and knows this is my man.

What do I do?

Lil’ Shorty

Dear Lil’,

Let me begin by saying thank you for the respect, “Ms. Dragatha” yes ma’am.

See you don’t think your man is doing what everyone knows he is doing. Let me save you a trip to NY so you don’t have to go on Maury to take a polygraph. You need to set a precedent, if not for him, for that brazen ho he works with. See I am going to tell you to go about this in a Hood Way. You need to put some fear in both of them. I think you should do this in a few easy stages.

Stage One:

You need a calling card. Not like an AT&T WorldConnect kinda shit you need to have your own signature you put on your deeds. Let me suggest one for you: a step stool. Since you call yourself Lil’ Shorty I will assume you are just a bit challenged in the height department. I think a step stool would be great for you.

Stage Two:

Leave that calling card in conspicuous places. Wait until your man goes to sleep and put it next to his side of the bed. Then when he wakes up and trips over it, and says “What is this?” you say “just a sign.” Now he may walk off thinking you are crazy, but at least you have planted a seed.

Stage Three:

Sow the seed. Girl, you need to go up to his job and perform a stakeout. You need to sit out and see what the two of them do when they leave the office. You will not need Cheaters for this, just sit and watch. When you see what car she drives you come back and what? Leave a step stool next to her driver’s side door.

At this point connections will begin to be made and you can exploit it all the way. If he is smart he will stop the foolishness and you will not need to catch a case, but if not you need to go move on to the next two stages.

Stage Four:

Feed the seed. Now I am sure you cook for your man. So the next time you cook for him you need to pull up a stool to the stove and stand on it while you are cooking. He should get that message loud and clear. If not the heavy metal poisoning will give him a signal.

Now here is a note to all you men out there:

- If you value your life you will not keep cheating on these women and eating the food they cook for you. Because if it was the Lady D I would Dixie Chick your ass and say “Goodbye Earl”. When you are ‘stepping out’ on your woman and you come home and she is cooking (in this case on a step stool) for you with a big ass smile, you had better suggest going out to eat, I mean I am just saying.

Now, if all the soft signals and the calling card fail, you need to just take it straight to some on-the-job training.

Stage Five:

Harvest the crop. You need to go pluck what has grown from your seed. You need to go up to the workplace and wait (stool in hand) and camp out on a bitch. When she pulls up you need to walk up put your stool on the ground, and when she says “hey girl what you doing?” you don’t answer you just step up on that stool. Now that you will be a good 5-6 inches taller than her you take your left hand, stretch it to the right across your body, and raise it above your head. Now this is the tricky part you have to make your arm stretch across your body far enough that when you raise your right hand you can pull that left hand even further up. Then you slap down on that bitch so hard you knock her earrings off. Then you calmly step down, pick up your stool, and go home. I bet you the calls stop, and I bet you she quits too.

Well I hope that helps.

Stay blessed and don’t forget to write in with more questions, I am here to help.

- Dragatha

SoYouThinkIamMean@gmail.com

Sneaky Bitches vol.2 (The Shoe and Pizza)

Ok, so let me begin by apologizing for being away so long. I have had plenty to write about, I just hath not the time to write it I guess. But, as I am on plane not (and not asleep (SURPRISE)) I thought it necessary to write a bit. I know it is Memory Monday and I might get to that a little later, right now I need to talk about pain.

What pain, Scooter?

I am writhing with pain right now. Can I tell you this will be crass and nasty, but my bowels are a MESS!!! I blame the shit on this drink called ‘Alive’ that I drank while at my cousins house this morning. He instructed me to only mix about a table spoon with my orange juice as it is “full of vitamins”, I tell you what I put about 4 table sppons in there, and my bowels will not be full of anything by the time I land.

I tried to evacuate (that is what old people call it) at the airport, but I could barely make it happen as my extensive toilet preparation (toilet paper on the bowl, covered by one sani-guard, covered by toilet paper, covered by another sani-guard, covered by more toilet paper)and the deed itself were going to take up too much time, but alas I was able to at least assume the position. The Rule #17 was broken. Not by me but by some fools in the stalls down the row. I am “bladder (and apparently bowel) shy” so as I sat in my stall, in the position, Rule #17 was broken and I locked up like a set of cheap brakes on a Kia, I mean nothing was happening.

What is Rule #17?

Rule #17 (dont ask me the other 16) is the rule that just should not have to be discussed. It is don’t talk to people in the bathroom stalls. End of Subject.

You would that is easy enough, but not to these fools. Two West Texans (I could tell by the accent) were taking a trip to Schittsville but were chatting, rather loudly betwixt the stall to one another. I cannot really get you to visualize this so I am going to write it out as I heard it.

“Hey Dan, when you going to Mineral Wells?” (followed by loud flatulence)

“I dunno, then need to send me those numbers so I can get out there and place these caps (oil talk)” (followed by toilets flushing and more flatulence)

All the while I am sitting in my stall trying to move the Rock of Gibraltar also know as my bowels. As soon I they start talking i am done. Nothing happens. Nothing. It is like an Ass Midget has taken a key and locked up my asshole. The same ass midget who know is trying to open the flood gates. But I refused to defile a Southwest Airlines restroom in that way, it would (I am sure) get me put on a “Do not Fly” list or some shit.

Thanks for your understanding, and pray for me and well my bowels.

Memory Monday 9.29 -- Sneaky Bitches 2.0 (The Shoe and Pizza)

I have spent the last 10 days in Texas, The Lone Star State, a little slice of Heaven if you will. In my travels here I was with a group of 70 folks for a retreat at Barton Creek Resort and Spa. I wined, I dined, I sang, I danced, I golfed, and I was forced to go to a University of Texas football game in full UT regalia.

It’s all about the shoe

None of this matches what happened on our 3rd night in Austin. When we left 6th Street to head back to the resort I had explained to everyone, he let’s leave early so there is no Taxi drama. No one listened to the only person (out of about 35) who had been to Austin. So, I of course feel responsible for these people and I do not want anyone getting left behind so of course when we do not leave early I explain we need to walk away from the strip and only allow the women to hail cabs. So my theory works and people get into cabs and our group dwindles down to 6. Just enough for a packed van taxi. So we keep walking and I hear sweet music to my ears, a girl fight. You bitches know I will stop anything to see a good fight. I can be on my way to the emergency room and I will stop and watch a fight, I could be in a funeral procession and stop that shit just to watch a fight, so needless to say I walked over to be close, but just close enough.

In my on sight investigation I notice these women are like street walkers fighting over something. So I stand and I watch my last crew hail and taxi right as the fight breaks up. So of course I begin to walk towards the cab, as I do one of the women in the fight darts past me, I was “ooh bitch this shit is moving to a new venue”... so I thought. Next thing I know a shoe hits me in the back of my head.

Now, let me clear some shit up. This was not a FLIP FLOP this shoe had a real heel on it. Besides I told you all it was a street walker fight, any self-respecting ho is not wearing a flip flop while try to make trade. So the long and the short of it, this bitch took off her nice black chunky heel and was throwing at the other ho, but my big ass head, well it got in the way. Now, I have never been known to hit a bitch, but I tore after that bitch like I was Pac-Man Jones, if not for one of the group tackling my ass I would be writing you a manifesto from the Ausitn Jail.

Note to the ladies: Always classy never trashy.

Throwing your shoe at a bitch is some tired ass syndicated talk show bullshit, and last I checked 6th Street is not Maury Povich and the DNA test had not come back.

What did I do with the shoe? I picked that shit up and threw it into the street where it was run over continuously.

A Gay mouth set straight...

As I always do I made my usual trip to Dallas, as I do whenever I am in Texas and as I always do, I made a trip to “the strip” to see the boys and to have a funky good time. It is common knowledge that I don’t have much to say until I am about 2 -3 drinks down and my motor is lubed. Now, on the other hand, there are those in the group who need little if anything to provoke some sort of mess. So it all really started when this blow-fart, who I later learn was named, Harley, Hunter, Gatherer, or some sort of mess, start some shit with KC’s roommate Kevin (of course after Kevin threw some drink on him). The sneaky bitch (refer to previous Sneaky Bitch blog for reference) Hunter (I think) came over and did what a Sneaky Bitch will do (break out a pen and paper)

he surveyed the group to see who he could “likely” intimidate

he started off with “let’s not let that happen again”, to which we retorted “what?”

Again, back with the surveying and figuring out he should only talk to one person in the group, so he continued with Kevin

he moved on to a “you know what..”

Note: Sneaky bitches love a pronoun, they will “you” you and “lets” you until the cows come home, but the bitches are not about shit.

Note: Let it be noted that the bitch did not say anything to me because I looked at him like I was ready to send him home. Hurt.

So that all passes and we continue to drink, and then drink some more, and witness some whoring, and drink some more. Once we shut the bar down we decided we wanted pizza, so we went to the pizza place across the street “Zini’s”. When we approach the line to Zini’s I hear again the sweet music of a raised voice and what seems to be seedlings of a fight tree. We all in unison realize it is Hunter (Gatherer or whatever the fuck his name is) but this time is has caught a case of the fool he is getting “into it” with an african american lesbian. He might as well be staring down a double barrel shotgun because this bitch is going to lose.

With a bit of instigation Sneaky Bitch hauls off and calls this girl a bitch. Now up until this point she was pretty damn composed, much more composed than I would have been. But before he even got to the “-itch” she had her finger on his face which in blesbian (black lesbian) means, “look I don’t want to fuck you up in here in front of these people”. Well you would have thought Hunter (Gatherer) had gotten clocked by Ali, this bitch flailed all over the window to the restaurant in a very Alexis vs. Crystal Carrington sorta drama, except this bitch was Linda Gray and blesbian was Shirley from What’s Happening.

When Hunter(Gatherer) came to he jumped up at ‘ol girl’. When I say she damn near snatched his ass out the sky, she did it. She put him in a headlock and was punching his punk ass in the face like she was straight up in the UFC. What people do not realize is you do not fuck with a lesbian who has a man’s haircut. That is to say that you do not mess with a manlian, that is just a lesbian that goes to the barber. Let me be real and state, there are plenty of straight sistahs that get a barber cut, I am not talking about you. I am talking about that bitch who is a mechanic, or a plumber, the female electricians of it all. That is who I am talking about.

Throughout the pummeling he took, he never hit her back. Instead when he broke lose he went after the gay who was trying to break it up. Again, showing his sneaky bitch colors. A sneaky bitch knows when they cannot win a fight so they progress to a new fight that they think they can win. Well, the fight got to be a mess, when the gay he was fighting went and tried to run this bitch over. I mean in his 1997 Lexus trying to Goodyear a bitch, that, my friends is a mess. But I still got in line, got my pizza, was harassed by an evacuee, then went on with my night.

As an aside, let me make one point. I am not a punk. I will say what I need to say to you, in your face and I will likely respect you more when you do the same. So don’t try to punk me out, or I might write you a prescription for some ‘ass whoop’ I hear it cures ‘skin conditions’.

Holla.

Memory Monday 9.15

Originally Aired Monday May 27, 2002

Hey Folks.

how the hell have all of you been? i hope that you all have been well and keeping yourselves out of trouble, because i have been well but you know if there is mess to be found I will find it. So here is a brief update of the latest goins on in my life...

Bar Brawl

Now we all know that i am one to talk plenty of mess, and when it comes down to it I am not gonna fight unless i really really have to. Well my mouth finally caught up with me last week at a bar in Dallas. We all know I am a few good times down and I have made it from one Bar(JR's) to the another bar (Lime) across the street. I had some friends with me from out of town so I was trying to be a good kid and not get in any mess. So some context is needed so you all need to know this is a Sunday night and I had never been to Lime on a Sunday night. Well Sunday is “black” night I would say hip hop night, but that would not do it justice; there were 5 non-black people there and three are with me. Imagine if you will uppity black folk (mainly gay males) dancing to hip hop, with a few thugs in between. Let it be known that I do not enjoy a thug. I do not understand the whole mystique about the subculture. All I need you to do is pull your pants up and speak correctly. Most thugs are bitches in urban clothing, you slap one hard enough and a fake Louis Vuitton handbag will fall out of their cornrows.

Knowing there will be a “thug nation” here I try to convince myself that I will be fine. But, we all knew better. Well we get to the door and I begin to think, this is gonna be messy, real messy, real real messy. Me, a hispanic guy, and 2 white guys going into this bar, MESS!! Well I know just about everyone who works in this place so we head in get a drink and settle in. Well the music is BUMPIN, I mean straight from the Hip-Hop/Dance charts. It was moving.

As I surveyed the crowd I quickly realized I was far under-dressed, normally I would not care, but I was feeling froggy so I decided to jump. "Hey who wants to go change?", I asked. They all kinda looked and were like, "ok, Miss Diana Ross". So we ran back and i quickly decided that my good Italian friends (Dolce and Gabbana) would be my clothing escorts for the evening. SO, we get back to the club and the mess ensues. Granted we look like we belong in a Puff Daddy video all the designer mess we were wearing but it was all good. At any rate, we dance and we dance, we dance and we dance some more. Apparently I pissed this fool off because I was dancing too close to his man and he thought it necessary to have words with me, I was like it is crowded I am sorry. I thought that would suffice, well apparently not. He and his retinue wanted me to go outside and talk to them, I was like, "muthaF*cka fuh what? Why? I didn’t do shit to you so you need move on". Now that would have solved the problem if not for the fact that I am foolish. So as the music is bumpin' and everybody is jumpin' and i take my shirt off and spin it 'round my head like a helicopter (I was feeling cocky -- and I am a little more muscular than days gone by), so I was like I can take these fools. So I got to the restroom and when I come out I 'round the corner and the song starts ... "... move bitch, get out the way, get out the way bitch, get out the way, I said move...." any way I walk right through this little group as the chorus blared over the speakers. They were all like I know he didn't. So the ring leader goes, "look bitch we need to go outside." I said, "WE don’t need to do shit (those of you who know me know I love to stress a “WE”), but you need to go outside and b/c the stop light out front is broken (bitch had on red, yellow, and green)". This messy fool went and raised his hand up and pointed at me and before he spoke I said, "touch me and you won't last long, don't let the outfit fool you I will kick yo ass". Fool touched me and I took out the baguettes (aint nobody messing up the diamonds) and popped his bitch ass right in the eye. Now all his boys who were talking shit just stepped back and I gave them the 'what now?, what now ?', they just walked out, fucked up face in hand and I was like ya'll ready to go because they are gonna come back and shoot us. Needless to say we left and I have never been back.

Happy Birthday to Me!!!!

Telegram Tuesay...

Dear Dragatha Christie,

I am a young lady in my late 30's. I am a big girl, and I love it. I am curvy and buxom and womanly. Skinny bitches, step aside. Now, I have been seeing a man for a few months that I met on a big, beautiful woman online dating service. It is my first serious relationship, and I really do care for him. Recently, he has been encouraging me to gain weight. He says that he likes big women, and I am not big enough. Ideally, he would like for me to weight between 350 and 400 pounds. I told him that I was not sure - that is a big person! - but he said he would probably marry me if I got to that weight.

I am torn. What do you advise? I want to keep my man, but I don't want to kill myself with a heart attack in the process.

Sincerely,

BBW

Dear BBW –

I have too much to say to you,  sort of like you have too much ass and probably everything else. You say that you are curvy and womanly, and that skinny bitches need to step aside. I read it as “I am big as a house and diabetic, and I eat food left on skinny people’s plate”. Now before I even get to this sorry ass piece of a man you have let me light in to your big ass. You need to get your ass off of BigHoes.com and get to Weight Watchers. You have let Monique warp your mind. That bitch can be fat because she is rich. You are not, you need to keep your coins all together so that you can do the things that you need to do.

As you like to say you are a big woman, no bitch… you are fat. You fat as hell. You mean to tell me this man wants you to gain 50 – 100 pounds and then he will marry you. You need to take your foot and kick your own stupid ass. Who in the hell wants you to get bigger in order to get busy. That is some kind of wild shit. I don’t know what to tell you. The Lady D is damn near at a loss. You need to take your naïve ass on to the gym and try to lose one of your asses and two of your chins. Why don’t you start there.

After you join a damn gym you need to drop this damn Hershey Squirt of a man you have. He says he likes big women and you need to gain some more weight…and you say that is a BIG PERSON!!

Who the hell do you think you are? You may think you look like Janet Jackson, but as big as you sound you look like Randy Jackson (pre-bypass).

This shit is easy. Do this self test – Stand in front of a 7 dollar full length mirror, stand with your nose on the mirror, take 2 steps back … if you cannot see your whole body in the mirror, then you are fat, if you need to take more than one step back you are big as hell.

Now back to this sorry shit of a man…girl, you need to listen to Lady DC girl, he does not love you. He wants to marry you because he wants a check, and not your paycheck. He is trying to kill you, girl, he wants some insurance money. He is going to get your stupid ass all fat and diabetic and then after you lose a foot or two you will end up 6 feet under and his ass will be riding around in a new Escalade.

What do I advise? I advise you get a damn brain and some Slim Fast, get off BigHoes.com, and drop his punk ass and slim down to a size that you will not have to wear pants with elastic on the side.



Dear Dragatha -

I have large breasts, and I sweat profusely. Not only do I get large sweat marks under my ample bosom, but often times odor results. This is a huge source of embarrassment for me, but I'm not of means to pay for a breast reduction. You sound like a heavily endowed woman, too. Do you have any suggestions or advice for someone in my cup size?

Many thanks -

Busty



Dear Busty,

You have problems, and I mean problems. Not the least of which is the fact that you think that I am heavily endowed, or a real woman. I am heavily endowed, but trust me that is all downstairs. Your problem is one that afflicts many women in that you have hyper-hydrosis and you have what I call “titty stank”. You need to call that Montel Williams Partnership for Prescription Assistance and get your sweaty ass some prescriptions strength deodorant then put that shit under your big ass titties. You may not be “of means” but you need to get a good wicking bra that can breathe and keep those midgets you call breasts dry.

Now where it gets tricky is if the deodorant does not work… Then there are 2 solid things you can do.

#1 – Swing your titties over your shoulder and tape a roll of paper towels under each breast.
- It sounds like your shit is big enough that no one will notice

#2 – Go out and buy some cheap dish sponges soak them in rubbing alcohol, tape one side to the underside of your breast and as the sweat pours in the sponge will expand.

That is really all I have for you… Let me know how it works..

Dragatha

Freedom Friday

Headline: July 28 2008: Canadian woman gives birth to 18th Child…

I am taking this Freedom Friday to talk about the freedom to bear children (at least in Canada)…. This is a HOT MESS!!

What the hell? She needs to close her damn legs. Now I know Canada has free health care but DAMN, do you have to do all that. 18 kids? 18 kids? You with one man and have 18 kids? (say it again to the beat of Kanye’s Gold Digger)

Who does this shit? Why does she look like that? Lord, this is too much for me to handle. 18 kids? Lord have mercy. I bet she is in the maternity ward so much she has her own damn bed. 18? I did not read the article but I want to know what the hell he does for a living because he is working her shit on the 2nd shift that is for damn sure. They need their asses WHOOPED, how the hell you going to supply the needs of 18 kids? Why are only 13 in the picture? The other 5 are ashamed of their whore ass parents. All that screwing aint necessary, I don’t care what the Pope says you better put a barrier between your swimmers and her pool.

18? Damn, she is more fertile than the Napa Valley, I would not want to be around her ass. I can imagine just breathing in her presence and that bitch end up 2 months preggers. Who has that kind of stamina, I bet she cannot even walk. This is some nast ass shit.

I know that life is beautiful, but 18 kids? That is some medieval shit like he is waiting on a boy for the throne, but that aint it because he has about 7 round head ass boys in this picture. Maybe they are mormon, I don’t think so because they were not at any Mit Romney rallies. I don’t know what the hell their problem is, but I can tell you what I do know.

• I do know that his boys swim like Michael Phelps.
• I do know that at least 8 of these kids are genetically deficient
• I do know that that little head thing she has on is a slap mess
• I do know she looks about 30 years older than her husband

Now, all you people in relationships need to take heed because this bitch is doing something right. TO be able to convince a man that 17 is not enough, and pop out number 18, her shit must be golden. Honestly, I cannot imagine it. I would think after #5 her shit would be so lose those damn kids could just walk out. I best her labia hang down to hear knees. 18 kids?!?! Shit…

T is for Tore Up...

I know that some people are never going to get it. They will never understand the importance of first impression or a proper dress code. Some may never grasp the concept of a no “suspenders and belt” theory or a “don’t wear shoes with tassels, ever” theory. Some people never get that you should not still be wearing a calculator watch or one that beeps every hour on the hour. These are simple things, simple things that I guess I have to provide guidance on from time to time. Of course when I say some people in this context I am talking about straight men….

Today I will focus on the shoe. First of all, it cannot be overstated that I love myself a shoe. I love a shoe. I love a SHOE, bitch…I mean in the past sixty days I have probably bought 5 pair of shoes, bringing my total somewhere close to 60 pair. What is important about my shoes is how I do not let them get run over. Now, one can say that I have too many to let them get run over, I disagree, some people are hard on a shoe, I am not. I treat my shoes like I would a second skin. Shoes are an outer expression of who you are (at least to me).

Many of you have seen me unabashedly look at a bitches shoe when I first meet them. It is what I do. I look at your shoes. Why? because if your shoes are run over, you are run over. Plain and simple. If I have said it once I have said it a hundred times you can fake everything, except for a shoe. So when I see a shoe that looks a hot mess. I am forced to bring awareness to it.
Here are a 3 examples of shoes that are a hot mess:

One –

I took this photo on the AirTrain at JFK airport as I was leaving the American Airlines terminal. I say these shoes and I immediately thought of Yoshi from Super Mario fame. Now my question to the audience is, what was this bitch thinking? Even on a bad day these shoes are not good. Even on a Whitney Houston/Britney Spears drug binge these shoes are not good. Look at them, close your eyes then look at them again; now tell me what is this shit?

I don’t want to go to the right of her shoes because that is a new mess all together, the “dress sock and semi-dress shoe with short combination” easily a faux paux made by someone from the former Soviet Union or an old Rotarian, either way it is so damn wrong it is unspeakable. Now, back to Yoshi. Someone send this bitch a DSW coupon. These shoes are a MESS!! Where do you buy this shit? I wonder if there were rationed out by the government in South Ossetia…Hmmm

It really does not matter because she is beyond repair look at those socks, then move up past the cankle to the capris. This whole outfit is like Steve Santorum’s Senate Campaign a TRAIN WRECK!!!


Two-

Who told this bitch she was hot? I mean I was on the Red line heading to the suburbs one day and in walks this bitch, wearing her new shoes, apparently from the Liza Minelli Collection at Saks (there is no such collection, so the gays need not go shopping). This is the kind of bullshit I hope the next President outlaws. She needs to be in prison for multiple counts of mess. I would give her 3 -5 years, because by the looks of it that was how old her face and lips were. She was obviously recovering from a chemical face peel which I think she needed her money back because she looked like a howler monkey with a case of Progeria and rosacea. Witness this mess…

My favorite part is how in the larger photo you can see my stupid ass taking the photo like I am Ansel Adams on location. But really, where do you buy some My Little Pony Glitter Girl Bullshit like this? Chicos? Coldwater Creek? White House | Black Market? Where ever she bought them and whomever sold her this Stride Rite bullshit needs to be blown up like Fallujah, this is a hot damn shame.

Three-

Last, but certainly not least there is the work shoe. Now this one is targeted squarely betwixt the eyes of you straight men who think you do not need to dress up to get your shit right. YOU ARE WRONG. You can almost wear anything from any store as long as it is a derivative product. What is a derivative product? Well it is something that is derived from and can pass for the real. Now I am not talking about jewelry so this is not Cubic Zirconia or Diamontrique; I mean khakis, white shirts, ties, and shoes stuff like that. You can get a derivative set of any of this from Target, but I would not go lower than Target, make Target your floor for clothing. Now you cannot buy a derivative shoe. PERIOD. That shit will run out faster than a Nascar tire, you just cannot do it. Buy yourself 3 quality shoes….

• Black Funeral Shoe (leather sole) - This shoe will allow you to have a shoe for church, work, and the occasional home going service at the Baptist Church
• Brown Church Shoe (leather sole) - This shoe allows you to go to church in style, work in style, and can be worn with a pair of jeans too
• DARK Brown casual shoe (rubber sole) - Get this shoe to wear on casual Friday because those runover New Balance tennis shoes are not cutting it.

Whatever you do, do not show up in some shit like this…


This is an example of a tired, tore up, messed up, jacked up, fucked up shoe. Who wears this shit to work? I sat down next to an otherwise highly intelligent man who had these shoes on. I could not function the rest of the meeting. Take a damn look… he has had the shoe so long they have a foot signature… You know what I mean, you can see each toe with distinction…

Don’t let this happen to you, or your friends ..

Wisdom Wednesday ... Beat his ass...

I dont know how many of you know of the little boy in this video

here, but you need to know him. He is an example of what happens

in the absence of ass whoopins.


I just wonder how life will be when I have children because when I

get home I am exhausted. I am too tired to change my shoes, too

tired to return phone calls, too tired to start dinner. Hell!

Sometimes I'm too tired to brush my teeth. But when I tell you

that if Latarion Milton were my grandson, I would muster up just

enough strength to snatch his adam's apple out with my bare hands,

after I had bust his head open to the white meat.


I used work with children almost everyday. I love them dearly, but

I have never come across a 7-year-old who would drive his

grandmothers car. I mean I would not even sit on the good

furniture in my grandmother's house, let alone get in her car. I

remember being damn near 20 years old and still sitting at the

kids table and better yet having to sit on that damn hump seat in

the front of the Cadillac.


Now during the course of researching this little bastard I came

actross this a story that talks about how he put his hands on his

own grandmomma. Not just any ol' grandmomma either...the one whose

car he just stole the week before, and the grandmomma whom he

asked if he could take her rental for a spin, and the grandmomma

whom told him he could not have chicken wings before he ordered

them anyway, that is when he got in a PHYSICAL fight with her.

But this is obviously the grandmother who is not beating that ass.

My grandmother would whoop my ass for thinking about the wrong

shit, I cannot imagine there is anyway I would think about getting

into a fight with my grandmother vocal let alone physical. I mean

I have 12 uncles, first my grandfather would shoot me like he did

my dog that ate his chickens, then my uncles would beat my like a

runaway slave, then my great aunt would cast a Haitian spell on

me; all that is to say it would never cross my mind. Besides my

granny would have cooked me some chicken wings.


STATEMENT

You need to beat your kids.

END STATEMENT


You need to beat your kids so bad that they begin to feel that ass

whoopin whenever they think about doing wrong. See every child

needs to get to try something once. You get to talk back ONCE,

you get to curse your parents out ONCE, you get to have the school

call your parents ONCE, you get to stay out past the street lamps

coming on ONCE. Why once? Because when thety are done talking

back, cursing, skipping school, and hanging outside you take a

mallet and knock the FUCK out of them. I am convince you cannot

beat your kids like I was beat. I was beat like I was a Civil

Rights worker in Alabama. Just Beat. Today you cannot do that.

You have too many laws and shit, and phone numbers kids can call.

Also, I dont think the 25 minute ass whoopin works anymore, kids

are numb. Nintendo, PS3, Xbox all that has fucked up sensory

perception so what parents need is a weapon. Personally, I will

use a mallet. You know a good resin mallet. The kind you use in

band. I will use the same mallet all my child's life and each

child will have a mallet, until A) it has been worn to a nub B) I

have no use for it and the child sufficiently acts right or C) I

have to graduate to the pistol whipping.


Now, in the case of LaTarion you cannot tell me, from any point of

view, that this is because of the violence he's witnessed. This

has to somehow be related to the fact that no one loved him enough

to slap the shit out of him when he got out of hand. Hello

somebody! What he needs is a 'centerpoint' injury. What is that?

A 'centerpoint' injury is the kind you get that is the

'centerpoint' of every conversation that comes up after it

happens.


Example 1:

- Hoodrat Friend: "LaTarion why are your two front teeth gone?"

- LaTarion: "My grandmother hit me with a mallet in my mouth for

talking back"


Example 2:

- Hoodrat Friend: "LaTarion why are both your eyes black?"

- LaTarion: "My grandmother hit me with a mallet in my eyes

skipping school."


Example 3:

- Hoodrat Friend: "LaTarion why are both your legs broken and you

are in a wheelchair"

- LaTarion: "My grandmother ran me over for stealing her rental

car."


.... you get the point..


The point is he would never do that shit again or I would be on

death row. PERIOD. Raise your kids right....

Telegram Tuesday... vol 4

Good Morning, Good Morning. We have been on vacation a few days here and Scooter drug me back out of the closet to help with your problems. Today I am focusing on 2 gay men and one on some scary gal. We will begin wih one of the gay children.

#1 Dear Draggie C,


I am a gay man, but no one would know it. I am not a queen or a boi or whatever those types are. I don't go to pride parades, and I don't drink cosmopolitans. I am straight-acting, and that's the kind of guy I want to meet. I cannot seem to meet the right guy, though. Every guy who seems like they might be right (read: straight looking and acting), when he opens his mouth a purse falls out. I want people to think that when I walk down the street with my boyfriend that we are two buddies.

What's wrong with gay guys these days? And where do people like me go to meet the right guys?

Thanks,

Straight Acting

Uh Ms. Straight Acting (yeah I sad Ms.),

Ok this one is a joke, right? I don’t know who you think you are fooling, because it is not the Lady D. Let me begin by saying, as you pulled yourself away from America’s Next Top Model to write this you should have thought this shit through. You like so many people in this world want “forbidden fruit” you are a gay man that wants a straight man. Why? I get tired of all these “I am not a queen” types running around wondering what straight celebrity is gay and missing meals to look like some damn poster. You ain’t shit. You don’t want a “queen” or a “boi”? Why? They want the same thing you do… a penis, and not their own. You just as gay as this Drag Queen, honey so you need to stop fronting.

Let me attack this in one quick way. What the fuck is a straight acting gay? You cannot get anymore “gay acting” than sleeping with another man. PERIOD. So if you want a straight acting man you need to stop dating men. Oh, and no damn body believes that is your “buddy” or your damn roommate. You are a grown ass man and you have not dated a women sing 7th grade. Stop fooling yourself and trying to fool me. Who do you think you are Ryan Seacrest?
I know you might try to punk me out and say some shit like, “that old bitch doesn’t know” , well honey trust me like you trust Tyra, I KNOW, bitch....

Oh yeah, and you asked what is wrong with gay men? The same thing that is wrong with you, you need to like who you are and take what you get.. you damn Fairy Tail... (and I do mean Tail)

And lastly I need to read your punk ass like Charlotte’s Web and let you know how to address me. It is not as Draggie C, you raggedy ass Abercrombie wearing Hollister Boy chasing bitch.

You address me by the right the next time you write to me. Damn Gays!!

#2 Dear Ms. Christie,

I am in desperate need of your advice. You are a tough woman and I know that you will have great words of wisdom for me.

I have just arrived in Washington, DC and am a little bit overwhelmed, although I don't want to admit it to my friends back home in Nebraska. I am making a very small salary and have moved into a neighborhood that, well let's just say has opened my eyes quite a bit. What are those tiny Ziploc bags on the ground? They are so cute and come in great colors. They are just so small, I can't imagine what they are used for! Anyway-- The other day something happened that I just can't shake. I was walking down the street and turned the corner and ran right into a homeless man. I apologized profusely to the man, I was really scared because he seemed quite angry and had a very nasty odor to him, but he would not give me back the bag of Oreo cookies that fell out of my grocery bag I dropped when we collided. So I looooooooooove Oreos and I have very little money to spend on groceries so those cookies were VERY important to me. I really wanted them back and reasoning with the man didn't work at all. I even offered him money or some of the other food I had just bought and he just laughed and laughed. Now on my way to and from work I have to walk by the man and he takes out one cookie from the bag and starts to eat saying how good it is and how I really must want one, etc. etc. I can't stand it any more, I just can't!!

I don't want those cookies back, but I want to know how I can get him to stop tormenting me. Now the other people that see this are starting to laugh at me too, but no more! How do I put this man in his place? Of course I would never want to physically hurt him and I understand that he doesn't have any money, but my pride and future enjoyment of Oreo cookies is on the line here. What do I do?!?!!?

Thanks so much Ms. Christie, I know I can count on you.

Sincerely,

I need my Oreos

Dear Need My,

What? He took what? Okay there is term here in the “real world” called “run him up” that is what you need to do to his homeless funky ass RUN HIM UP!!

What does that mean? You need to bust his ass. He is HOMELESS. You can run home, where the fuck is he going to go? Next time you see him, you walk right up on his punk ass, I mean right on him; get so close you can feel his breath. Then you treat him lik e a school bully. When he calls you a “bitch” you hit him dead in his Adam’s Apple as hard as you can.

Once you do this he will drop down to his knees then you take a cookie and twist it apart and stick it on his damn forehead. Then you pimp slap him and walk away. That is it. You will never have trouble out of his bitch ass again. Girl you better buck up, you are not in Nebraska anymore.

Girl that was too easy.

Much love.

D.C


Oh and those little baggies, don’t touch them I think my cousin works your route ;) -- and learn to write a shorter question.. damn..

#3 Dear Dragatha-

My boyfriend is really hot, hung, and handsome. Here’s the problem: He likes to punch me while we’re getting it on. I like it rough, but not THAT rough. I’d appreciate your wisdom.

All my best,

-What to do

Dear What to Do,

You nasty as hell. You don’t go telling your business like that but let me see what I can do. First, you need to meet your friend who wrote me earlier about wanting a straight acting man, because you are both fucked up. Anyway, I think you lying. I think your man is neither hot nor handsome. I think he is just hung and likes to hit you during sex.

The real problem is Big Dick McGee likes to beat you like Ike beat Tina during sex. Your problem is you let him come back because it was good. What does that mean? Well we have all ‘tapped a monkey’. That is to say we have all have had a one night (or 2 night) stand with an ugly motherfucker, and the ONLY reason we keep going back is that shit is better than Oprah’s Favorite Things bitch. Now my readers may think, “that bitch is off her rocker I have never “tapped a monkey”’ well bitches I am here to tell you if you have never tapped a monkey, you are the monkey that is getting tapped. So believe me when I tell you that shit happens.

If you really don’t like it. You go the way of my Oreo friend, in other words to you beat his ass. You get yourself in a position to knock the fuck out of him. I am not talking about a love tap. You need to hit is ass so hard he needs to call Dr. Sanjay Gupta. Don’t fuck around with your sexual experience, you need to get what you like.

Well I hope that helped,

The Lady D

ps – if you let him go give him my number ;)