Memory Monday... Continuation of the Roommate Story ... Originally Aired 30-October 2001 ...Part 2 of 3... The Car

The Car:

Now if you all were thinking that that was all I had to say about this guy no, no, no, no. Two more things the car and the man.

First, the car. You all know that I love my great piece of German engineering that I call my car. Even though it has crossed my mind to get rid of it since I live in a city where I do not need it, the “silver bullet” still appeals to all my senses. It’s soft leather, its great pick up, and its sexy looks all the reasons I bought the damn thing. Well you all know that I will let anyone drive my car I really don’t care that much, after all when it all is said and done it is just a car. Take heed though, I will LET anyone drive it. Which means if I do not say you can, you cannot. Reasonable I would think. I was walking home the other day from being out and I noticed my car had been moved. I was just thinking well maybe I parked there last night and did not remember. So I did not think anything of it. So then again I notice that my car is in a different spot, but same general location a few days later. So I got to Jim, “Jim, did you move my car?”, “No, why?” …by this time I knew it was Ali and I was already pissed so I said, “why, what the hell you mean why, because the muthafucka has been moved that is why, would I asked you if you moved my car if it was in the same damn spot?” So Jim, quickly assessed that I was pissed at the fact the fact the car had been moved and even moreso that is was by Ali. Granted I do not even know if Yasser (Ali’s nickname) has a green card let alone a driver’s license so I am just waiting for him to get in the door. Jim, who is trying to be the mediator keeps saying to me, “now you have to give him due process you have to evaluate why he used your car, and first assess whether or not he did.” I said, “all I am going to do is evaluate how I am gonna break my foot in his ass and then assess why he used my car.” Jim then went on to say, “well you are not sure he even did it” Now you all know how when you are mad the last thing you want is for someone to try and reason with you, so I told Jim this “if you did not drive it, and I did not drive it, then he drove it… unless the damn rats around here know how to drive or something.” Jim nodded in agreement and we sat and waited.

As soon as the door swung open and Ali arrived in the living room I lit into him, first in a rather subtle way, I said “hey uh Ali let me talk to you (waving him over to me with my index and middle fingers), have you uh moved my car or anything like that?” Thinking that he would say ‘no’, it took me by surprise when he said, ‘Oh yeah I forgot to tell you that I used it a FEW times to go to the store and run some errands.” I was taken by surprise, so much so that I could not say anything at first. I just stood there. All I can remember is seeing Jim running down the stairs like Shug Avery in the Color Purple to keep Cealie from killing Mister, and he packed up all the things in the room that could be used as weapons, the hammer, the spoon, the matches. Then he just sat down to watch, like a damn school kid. Then for what seemed like minutes but was only a few seconds I thought, ‘I know this summamabitch did not just tell me that he not only used my shit, but used my shit a FEW times.’ It was so funny to me I had to ask him again and again he answered in the affirmative with the word ‘few’. So I said, “Why?”, he said “I told you, to GO TO THE STORE AND TO RUN SOME ERRANDS” with emphasis just like that. I was pissed, so I said it again, “no, muthafucka why?, as in why in the hell did you go get my key, start my car, and drive like you own the shit” he again answers as though he has done nothing wrong, saying “I had things to do” I said, “you know what, you’s a crazy summamabitch, driving a black man’s car without permission, that is like cussing out my momma.” As I looked into his brown eyes I realized I should have been looking out of a window. He flippantly said “I am sorry, never thought it would be a big deal” I was like, “shit yeah it is a big deal you stupid bastard, this aint no damn horse and carriage like you have in Iran this is a car, with an engine and shit. The best advice I can give you to keep me from kicking your ass, is to never even look at my shit again, or I will fuck you up” He kinda waved his hand in my face and I went Jerry Springer on his ass catching his hand mid air, and kinda leaning my head to the side and raising my eyebrows in that mother kinda way, and said “I wish you would drive my car again, I invite your ass too, in fact I am going to leave my keys right here everyday, but you better have your arrangements set because I will call the police before your ass even gets home to tell them there will be a murder at 1741.” Jim then got up and played lawyer and I told him he could kiss my ass too. Well needless to say I have not opened any letters I get at the house for fear his ass is going to plant some anthrax or hemmoraghic fever spores in there.

Memory Monday ... Blast from the Past ... originally aired Friday Sept 21,2001

The Retarded Cousin & Bad Ass Kids -

I will finish with a kind report from my babysitting activities on Thursday September 21. I volunteered to help with the babysitting ministry at the church I belong to here in DC (Mount Pleasant Baptist -- now you know if it has Mount in the name it is a down home, shouting and dancing church -- YOU RIGHT -- and I just laugh and "breathe" my way through service). So anyway I get there yesterday and I am told that I will have 9 kids from ages 2-8 to take care of --- no bigee I think. The church has veggie tales and other videos so I should be set. SHI'D !!!(say it like you mean it) I was dead wrong. My first task is to go pick up Jamal, with the head Deacon, Deacon Barksdale. This man is old; I do not know how old, but he has seen a lot and seems very cool. So as he is telling me about when King came to town with all the people (Martin Luther King for those of you who need help), he pauses and goes "Jamal, oh yeah, Jamal is ignorant." I go "oh ok, no problem." I personally am thinking ignorant in the sense that the boy is hard headed, a bad seed, or whatever, so I am like ok no big deal, not knowing ignorant is code for "you a damn fool for volunteering for this one". Then I see Jamal. Jamal would be more aptly described as SLOW, retarded if you will. Now I do not want to offend anyone as I believe we all have the retarded cousin of friend that we know, but this is just funny to me (I mean judging by the size of my head I should not talk about anyone’s faults but I do, but I love everyone) so if you don’t like it I will send you an invitation to kiss my ass. Anyway, Jamal walks out the house with yellow soccer shorts, a Tupac t-shirt, A (A as in ONE) church sock, sandals, and a Redskin’s hat. So what do I do, I "breathe" I "breathe" so damn hard I start coughing. I look at the Deacon, then Jamal, The Deacon, then Jamal, the Deacon, and then... you get it. Until I realize that the Deacon sees no problem in this boy’s attire and all I can do is shake my head. So we pack up Jamal and we get back to church. Jamal is silent the whole trip, all I notice is that he is looking at me in the rear view and he does not blink much.

At the church I meet my other crew -- between 2-5 all of them (except for Jamal) actually the breakdown is four 2 year olds, three 3 year olds, and three and one 4 and 5 year old respectively, and Jamal 8. So I get into the room see my kids and I am ecstatic b/c they are napping. Great!!! Then the volunteer coordinator comes in accesses the situation sees that all is well and says she will check back in an hour or TWO (operative part or TWO). I did not see that heffa until I had to go. Now my group is a unique all black and one Asian (we will call her little Van) her parents run the store next to the church (go figure), Amy is her name. She is five. Sorry, I digress again. About 10 minutes after the coordinator leaves and Deacon Barksdale is gone all hell breaks loose. As I am reading and Jamal (I wanted to put a mirror under his nose to make sure he was breathing) is just standing there mute, one of the 2 year olds (shit boxes I shall call them) wakes up and come over to me and goes PEE PEE. I Go, OK!! Thinking at first it is an alphabet game and then I quickly realize that the foul odor means change me. In the course of the next 35 minutes I change 4 shitty diapers and get pissed on 2 times, clean shit off the floor, and one kid takes off his diaper and just hands it to me WET . "No problem", I think.

I can do this. Then it dawns on me why Jamal is in this room --- He shits himself. I think to myself. "I am a grown ass man, there is no way I am helping this boy clean himself", but I am in church what do you do. I will tell you what I did. I line those little bastards up and marched them down to the restroom and I help Jamal get clean, literally. No need to go there, except to say this. Jamal, at least by my own estimation, was up until this point, what Granny used to call DEEF and Dumb (she said it just like that), but oh was I in for a surprise. Just as we get him all clean and redressed Jamal begins to BEEP, not just ‘beep’ but beep like those damn red things on Sesame Street. I begin to freak out, the kids start crying, and so I begin to stop his beeping by beeping too (I mimic children's behavior when they begin to irritate me to get them to stop, it usually works), it does not work. So I stop beeping and step back, thinking "I am in church I cannot cuss this boy out, throw him at a wall, I cannot do shit to get him to stop beeping, my hands are tied", then he stops for no apparent damn reason as quickly as he started, he stopped. I move as swiftly as a fox to get these banshees back to classroom. We get there and we begin to play duck duck goose. No one really gets it but the 4 and 5 year olds but whatever; I think that it will keep them busy. SHIIIID I was wrong.

These little rats sit in the circle dodging one another so as not to be the goose; Jamal sits there mute (getting the shit smacked out of him every time someone calls him duck). I try really hard not to laugh, but I cannot hold it in, so I practically choke trying "breathe" and laugh. Then Amy does it, she gooses Jamal. As in she picks him to give chase. Nothing happens, she says "Goose!!" as she slaps him across his head again, he just sits there. I am chuckling, and just when I say new game, she kicks his mute ass and YELLS -- "GOOSE!!!" I quickly come to his rescue although I did want to see what would happen if I did not have to stop the violence. Then they begin to run, like roaches in the light, they scatter. At this point I have no idea what to do... I needed help like Whitney Houston needs rehab. SO, after I could not get the TV/VCR to work I turn on the radio, what is on you ask? "Family Affair", by Mary j Blige. Although I know it wrong for church I had to hear my song. So I turn it up a little, then Amy (like a thief in the night) steals the show. Think of this if you can a 5 year old Vietnamese girl, dancing and singing Mary J Blige, going "that's my song" in a room full of black kids (who are now back up dancers) and an astonished volunteer. I could have sold tickets, when I say she knew every word to the song and the every dance move in the video, SHE DID, and so did her backup. Well I am floored, laughing my ass off every time she sings a line in her little Asian accent, whew that was funny. So the Deacon and the volunteer lady return shortly after "the show", and just as I was about to kick them in their asses, I told them to give me a call the next time they needed some help with the older groups.

Well that is enough for now -- I have plenty more to write about and I will, next week sometime.

Peace out, God Bless, and Have a Good Weekend. What is up with you all?

T ... is for Television

I sat down last night and watched two shows ‘Project Runway’ and ‘Top Design’. Quite honestly they were both just full of opportunities for ’prayer’, so I wanted to take a moment and talk about them both. Now I am not one to usually talk about people, well I take that back, it is just about a full time job for me, but I think it will be easiest to go through character by character...

Mess on the Runway

Jerrell

Who is he? Is he the black fairy from black fairy land? I mean every @me I watch he is all dressed up like Peter Pan, Tinkerbelle, or some other Sprite. Where does he find that shit? He looks like he would be a backup dancer in a video of a Celtic Remix of a Missy Elliot song. His designs, ooh wee his designs, this looks like a thrift store remix. He puts a ‘this’ with a ‘that’ and a ‘that’ with a ‘this’, couple all that with his bad skin and messed up facial hair and you have what? An opportunity for prayer. He is a grown ass man that wears sequins, I mean in every episode he has on some Liza Minnelli wardrobe castoff and a damn ghetto Robin Hood hat. See Jerrell is what I like to call a delusional gay; he thinks he is the cat’s meow, when in actuality he is closer to Meow Mix.

One last thing about Jerrell (well 2) can someone send him a Safeway Club card? The boy needs to eat. He looks like one of the Lost Boys of Sudan. Then he always wants to show that damn birdcage of a chest, I mean REALLY. That shit looks like a BIRDCAGE, I can see his damn internal organs on display in there. Every time I see that chest I want to send a check to the World Wildlife Fund, he needs to free the endangered Egret living in his chest.

Kenley

Damn it feels good to be a gangster... That is all I have to say about this bitch. She has not done shit wrong since she was born. She thought she was wrong once, but guess what? She was right. I am not sure what the hell she was making. I was sure it was the suit Darryl Hannah wore in Splash, but alas I was wrong. Now, the assignment as to make a gown, she comes out and tells Heidi she did not want it to be glamorous.

As a side note: Why were Heidi's just play peek-a-boo the who runway portion of the show?? I mean this is not Victoria's Secret...and if it was you were not keeping the secret well.

Well what the hell did you want? Some bullshit, because that is what you got. And a word to Kenley, leave Korto alone. There is a reason that sister’s name is pronounced CUT-to. Need I say more? You will mess around and be thrown off that tugboat you were raised on. Oh yeah, and that broke down, fake ass Niecy Nash hairclip you are sporting; you need to toss that too.

LeAnn

LeAnn is on “that stuff”, she seems high every episode. Just cannot string a subject and a verb together if she had to. Honestly, I think she makes those folds in her clothes because it looks like a “joint”. Who knows...

Korto

That is my girl. THAT IS MY GIRL. Korto has more ass than a pack of mules. She may not win, but she is like Miss Celie, “She made it”. She just needs to be sure she gets some better hair for the runway show, because that synthetic shit is fraying. As for her dress, she was just off, but through it all that make up HELD UP. That bitch was crying like an old black woman during Roots, but never did that make up run. That is some good shit, probably MAC.

Top Design

Truthfully I just have one thing to say about this show. What the hell is Wizit? I thought it was a Harry Potter character. Is he just a man that sings soprano? A Geisha? Emelda Marcos? A smartly accessorize Chinese socialite? I mean I am confused. Every time he talks I want to hit him in his shaved down Adam’s Apple with a bottle of testosterone. But oh well...

Wisdom Wednesday 10.01

So I have to say this to all the people who are holding on to hope against hope. It is not going to happen. Not even in your wildest dreams. No, I am not talking about Cher retiring, or Michael Jackson having a comeback. I am not even talking about OJ being acquitted again, I am talking about that whispy shit on your dome. I am talking about your hair, that shit is not going to grow back. Let it go. Do like the Beatles, and let it be.

Trust me I know this is a sensitive subject for many people, even people who are close to me. I have to let you know I understand the sensitivity, but please understand this, we are sensitive, too. Sensitive to the foolish charade you are orchestrating, this craziness that you are putting yourself through, it is a shame. We are sensitive to this mess of tumbleweed that you call a head of hair, and frankly we are sensitive to the fact that you are selfish. You are just a selfish bastard; you have no consideration for those who have to put up with your bullshit foolishness in public. You need to salute us all for overlooking your comb over, staring past your widow’s peak, or wearing sunglasses to avoid the glare; you need to salute us. You need to help us help you. You -- the boss with the sweepup; you -- the friend with the faux hawk that ends in a bald spot; you -- with the George Jefferson . . . you owe us all.

I cannot trust a person who is losing his hair and does not cut it. It is like you are trying to fool me right to my face, and I am not easily fooled. To walk around with a combover, I mean to put a person through that is a shame, a pitiful shame. You need your ass kicked. Then you do the nasty, most horrible thing you can do. You TOUCH it and fiddle with it right in front us like you are running your fingers through some shit when you are just touching your frontal lobe like you have some shit going on up there. Apparently not enough because if you did you would not have that bullshit still on your head that you think is hair.

So friends tell your friends, children tell your parents, wives tell your husbands, and girlfriends dump that balding bastard (if he cared about you, his head would be right), tell them to cut that shit off. Now I am know you all may call me shallow, but all I have to say is, every one looks good bald. I started losing my hair when I was 20, and I never went looking for it, unlike these fools. People who try to hide their baldness probably cheated at hide and go seek, just stood there on the other side of the tree still. Dumb fools.

Cut your damn hair.

Good Day...

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.