so i was tweeting the other day asking where in the hell my w2’s were.
well i’ll be a sonofabxtch ’cause they are here!
god delivered them to my job & i need to go pick them up.
i feel like putting on some naughty by nature and waving my hands in the air like i just don’t care (or give a fxck).
but i’ll just pick them up and file them. woo!
okay okay okay.
before you read any further, i must write this disclaimer:
disclaimer: if you are one of those sensitive devout christians, please do not go further because you may leave this page crying, wishing to sell me out like judas. and my feelings will remain in tact.
so…does god have a sense of humor? i sure hope so.
i’m sitting back and thinking about two relationships i had with christian women.
things began getting a little out of control as they began to find more and more pieces of jesus(hay-zoos).
so we sat down and talked.
long conversation short, they both used the words: “unequally yoked.”
and we were no longer together.
and i understood that. i understood what it meant, and why some people followed that theory.
what i did not understand was why these women said it.
i mean, get the fxck outta here with that bullshxt.
if you’re going to employ this type of thinking, it needs to be reflective in all of your life: love, friends, all relationships!!
these chicks hung around whores who thought nothing of fxcking in porta-potties. they stood beside women with esteem to match the gas tank on the 87 grand marquis i had. EMPTY.
and although i would think nothing of moving this book from the religious section to the fiction section in barnes & noble, i do respect that they follow it, however, not as much as they should.
when a woman of righteousness is the only righteous wanderer among five heathens, what should happen? do they get equally dismissed?
side note: do not be afraid to die only. be afraid to die with nothing to show for your life.
side note: brag as much as you want if you earned it. fxck those with sensitive feelings that sit on couches hoping everyone is as lazy as they are.
dear beautiful (first amongst equals):
today i will tell you you’re beautiful in case no one else ever has.
i’ve imagined you before all this. before the breakfasts i’ve cooked us and the bus trips north.
it was purely a matter of daydreaming, nothing more – so i brushed it off.
but they occur at night now – smiling in your face. they’ve become true stories.
let us trip to places most are afraid to go.
places only our fingertips and one plane can reach.
let’s turn 1000 miles into a few blocks.
i don’t want to show up at the departure door without you anymore.
poem: the housewife she became:
he turned her into a housewife
she spent hours cleaning the blood from her panties
the floors and dishes never had seconds
the rule had been set in place for reasons
they kept her eggs from being fertilized
we don’t need no mo’ immaculate conceptions
she had already pulled one dead rabbit from a hat left hanging from her knob
but couldn’t tell if it belonged to tom dick or harry – the tricks and the johns
the hats – not the rabits
and any new rabbits would need owners
he turned her into a housewife
and birthed babies who’d never love men right
daughters who’d pray sons stretched forth so they wouldn’t be raised the same
daughters who’d forgive her for not teaching them to recognize bullshit men
and one daughter who’d fogive her for not always being a housewife
she’s been a housewife so long she’s taught herself to tend to things
and every now and then she tends to forget her past life belongs to jezebel
so i keep a tablet beside my bed so i can write down the list of folks i hope are killed or removed from the business before they produce anything to further dumb down the masses.
and as many of you know, Soulja Boy Tell ‘Em is on the list.
if i ruled the world, the population would be well controlled.
it sort of began with this 2008 interview with Toure:
“Then came Soulja Boy Tell Em. I asked him, “What historical figure do you most hate?” He was stumped. I said, “Others have said Hitler, bin Laden, the slave masters…” He said, “Oh wait! Hold up! Shout out to the slave masters! Without them we’d still be in Africa.
My jaw, at this point, was on the ground. “We wouldn’t be here,” he continued, having no idea how far in it he’d stepped, “to get this ice and tattoos.”
usually i would write my thoughts here about this ignorant son-of-a-syphillitic whore…
but i won’t.
i will let you all comment on it.
you all who dance to his music.