There was a young woman who lived in her shoes....

Sooooo its not really a secret that I have been doing that Beyonce dance a lot lately....you know, the single ladies' move? not 'cause I think it's pure hotness....not 'cause i'm out here living la vida loca for delf.  that's right boys and girls...your homie is officially single.  i know....i know....cry me a river.  my attempts to knock will and jada out of the top slot for everyone's favorite black couple have been foiled. but have no fear, I will not allow any additional distractions to keep me from those who truly love and adore me....y'all mo'fos.

so, since I've been doing that damndamndamn dance, i've had to step my shoe game up a pinch.  don't get me wrong.  mami's shoe game has always been a little mean, even if on a budget.  recently, though, I've had to up it to NASTY proportions.  I'm on some Carrie Bradshaw shit these days.  I may live in the hood, but this hood bitch got her ass a shoe closet AND enough room for all my clothes so nah!!.

As I've been spending more and more time getting pedis, waxing, and buying anything that makes my long tanned and toned gams look like I should have them in somebody's coppertone ad or using them to hail a cab or a knight in shining armor or something, I've begun to realize how much I totally adore my shoes.  Like, when I was with dude, I liked shoes, but now that he's out, I LOVE my shoes and part of that comes from the fact that shoes are better than a significant other.  I came to this conclusion recently after speaking with the homie Odieceus about an outing he recently had with a pair of fresh kicks.  He compared the attention he received from his foot couture to walking down the street with a bad chick.

I'm gonna have to agree with him on that one.  The difference between walking with a bad chick/dude and wearing some hot kicks is that YOU become the bad chick or bad dude when your footwear is FLAWLESS.  Everyone is checking for you and wondering what other visusal  delicacies you may have in store for them back at the crib instead of trying to figure out how to bag your arm candy.

I have a pair  that make me feel like I am She-Diddy 'cause in them, I am unstoppable.  

I bullshit you not.  

I got another pair....when I throw them on, there is no stopping me.  Miss Jay and Tyra could take notes on the walk I serve.  and the boys looooooove them.

I keep it gully too.  I don't just give you girl.  I've upped the anty in my dunks/sneaks game a little too.  Not too much, 'cause I'm honestly not trying to be too butch, but I got a few e'sclusives hidden away. lol

It is because of this epiphany that I have decided to list the reasons that shoes are better than significant others.

Ahem.....

REASON #1: Shoes last longer than most relationships.  

Unless you're shopping hard at Family Dollar for your footwear, this is sad, but true.  I had a bf in high school who bought me a pair of boots.  It was such a big deal and I thought we were going to last forever.  It was the most expensive (and only) present a boy ever bought for me and he made me so happy every time I wore them. I still have the boots.  Him? not so much....

REASON #2: Cute shoes may increase your property value.

You ever woke up next to someone and had one of those moments like in Knocked Up where Seth Rogan looks at Katherine Hiegel and says  "You are sooo much hotter than me?"  Chances are, your gear was fly the day (or drunken night as the case may be) when you bagged your shorty.  I don't speak from experience here....(after all, I'm always the hotter one) but I have heard from some of my less hot friends that they looked dope so they felt dope.  When you feel extra fly, it ups your (I SOOOO DON'T WANNA USE THIS WORD) swagger (threw up a little...sorry) and draws other fly people to you like flies to a bug lamp.  Fix up look sharp homie.

REASON #3: If they hurt, you can take them off.

Shoes are an awesome article of clothing/accessory because they are intended to compliment whatever it is you have on.  When and if your shoes start to hurt your mootsie tootsies, you can always take them off and chuck them into the closet. Or if you're me, remove them  carefully, place them in the labeled clear shoe box where they belong and keep them sorted by color and heel height. If only there was a closet where I could have removed him from my life and stuffed him in until I felt like I could handle him again.  Seriously...anyone got one?

REASON #4:  If they hurt, you can always upgrade.

I read recently that women don't cheat, they upgrade.  Heeeeey!!! When my cheap flip flops hurt, I put on my more expensive and flier shoes.  When a bum dude starts to be too much work, throw on your fuck me pumps, hit the town, and let your shoes upgrade you to a better caliber of life.  

I was told with my new shoe game and my single status, I can start dating dudes in a higher tax bracket.  Six figures here I come!!!!! teeeheee  I kid...I kid....but actually.....

OOH OOH WAIT!!!

Public Service Announcement

Please do not shell out big $$$$ or any for that matter on some fly shoes if you are not taking care of your feet.  It's more than just getting the pedis folks.  

Get thee to a podiatrist and get the bunions, hammer toes and irregular foot issues resolved before you squeeze your fat steak foot into something meant for a little Asian lady's foot and make me throw up from watching your heel fat ooze out the back of your sling backs and your toes looking like Siamese twins connected at the brain.  

That's not gangsta.

If you can afford the shoes, afford the work that goes into making sure your feet are looking right in them.  Otherwise, don't buy them.  It's a sign of good breeding and class to take care of your feet and your teeth so pick that extra long second toe up of the ground when it hangs over the front of your platforms and go get you some Crest Whitestrips.

The Single Girl's Perfect Accessory for Summer

Hey Ladies!!
I know so many of you are clamoring searching for the next big thing. Some of you trend followers and wanna-be fashionistas are UBER thirsty to have the new hotness as the weather starts trying to act right and u wanna be out and about. U know this bitch will always come through for my girls. I.Got.You.

This summer's fly shit to have to ensure you will have a ball all the time and be fawned upon by people near and far is.....drumroll please....

A Gay Boyfriend.

For those of you who may scoff, allow me to elaborate.
Picture this...Chocolate City....early 1990's.

A young fly chick with style, panache and flavor for days, but not the courage to let the whole world know her full flyness. This little girl had big dreams of becoming a famous writer and theater practitioner...Brave though she was, she longed for a partner in crime whose fabulosity could help awaken her inner fierceness.She had Donna Summer's #1 Fan, and the two of them did well at supporting and encouraging each other, but something was missing.


Fast forward a bit to the mid 1990s..1997 to be precise. This fly shorty found herself in ATL. More of a grown up, but still a little timid, until she met a man who would change her life eternally. She met Kunty Kenny, from that point until forever to be known as her fairy godmother.
The two of them commenced a relationship that would stand the test of time....surviving the good and the bad boyfriends, bad fiances, bad booty calls, and most of all the bad hair days. They had a marriage of sorts because they were there for each other through real life and managed to push through major events with perfect poise and accessories.

I totally heart Kunty Kenny.

Make no mistake, in saying that the Gay Boyfriend is the perfect summer accessory, I do not want to underscore how important he is to me and how important yours can be to you. GBF's are like the Voltron of BFFS.

They can roll with you and have do nothing hang out sessions like with your chick friends. They are the BEST to shop with or play dressup with because they understand the performance elements of everyday life. They can do all this and still go out for a meal with you, gaze @ you lovingly, be a shoulder for you to cry on or arms for you to sob in and they will always reaffirm any frazzled feelings left from the ex-asshole as only a man can.When you've cried enough, he'll make u lipsynch for your life to cheer you up!

And honey, NOBODY does brunch like your GBF can do brunch.

I guess I wanted to write this today because I owe a lot to Kenny and realized that I may not tell him as often as I'd like to how happy I am to have a friend and big sister like him. So in honor of mother's day, this post is dedicated to my fairy godmother. LOVE THOSE!! Snaps for the kids!!!

Brand New

(Before I begin, I should preface this post with the following disclaimer: this is not all me. I have compiled this post from several convos. Don't shoot the messenger. Lol)

What the eff is it abt Posh shit that just makes a bitch feel so effin' fly? I don't drop labels, I drop niggas, but I have to say, there is something extra sexy about wanting something hot with a pricetag comparable to my rent and knowing I can swing it on my own. Not that I would, everytime...but....

I remember when I first started out on my hustle and I was a levis girl. It wasn't because I couldn't afford better, but because I hadn't learned the value of retail therapy, even if I was only going to be a window shopper like Lily Allen's Nan. (Not a diss. She has a whole song about it and I totally Stan for Lily Allen.)

I've been listening to the music of the yout' a lot lately and between hearing about Soldier Boy putting his swag on and Jamie Foxx skeeting on himself 'cause his chick "got her own," I started to examine my flyness.

(Sidebar:I refuse to speak on "swag" unless I'm copping free shit from an event. The phrase is sooooo November 2008. PS according to Donna Summer's #1 Fan's GBF, if u have to put it on, then you have no swag. You're just a lame in nice gear.)

I digress...

Upon examining my flyness under closer scrutiny, and realizing that I'm not doing all that bad by my damnself, I consider the import of actually being able to have one's own. I must admit, I am mildly confused as I had just gotten used to hearing T.I. croon that I, or whomever he's really singing to, could have "whatever I like." Now I'm celebrated 'cause I got my own? Which is it fellas? Do u want a sugar momma who can buy you a short set, (hey bey!) or are you looking to be someone's cake daddy?

And what happens when having your own goes wrong?

What is the ettiquite for a boss bitch like yours truly who has her own and is venturing out into a world of delectable summer weather suitors?

I only ask this because I've never been entirely comfortable having a dude cake for me. I'd like for him to have his own, but the notion of being "taken care of" has always made me wildly uncomfortable. Probably 'cause I'm a turned out tomboy and hanging with the brothers and cousins and fellas for most of my yout' has given me painful insight to how niggas think. Not all of y'all, but still...

The deeper and realer reason is I am not just a boss bitch. I'm also a bossy bitch and I like to be in charge. This can definitely be a problem. I don't mean to try and run things....whatever.

Is it still polite to assume I can have whatever I want?

What if what I want is uber posh and reasonable by my standards, but not by someone else's?

Is it a deal breaker if a dude can't afford my drink?

What do you do when you have champagne tastes on a beer bottle wallet? LMAO!!!

Thoughts?

what's the difference between a coach and a cheerleader?

first off...

THANK G-D FOR THE WARM WEATHER!!!! a chick was straight 'bout to bust waiting for the sun to decide to be out for more than 15 minutes a day.

but on to the real topic of today's post:

what is the difference between a coach and a cheerleader? i recognize that a bunch of my sports fans will take offense to comparing the two, but since most sports metaphors are offered from a male perspective, i felt like this was a topic that deserved further exploration.

i have been going THROUGH dear reader, and this is why i have been MIA for such an extended period of time. by no means did i intend to abandon all four of my fans like that. lmao. but shit has been real in the battlefield for your girl. life is all about growth and changes and sometimes, those changes happen a little bit faster than we'd like them to. my life over the past month is a prime example of this.

among some of the realizations that i've made as of late was that one man's cheerleader is another man's coach. through the course of interactions with someone, i felt like i was being encouraging, supportive and rah rah shish boom bah-ish like a cheerleader. i was promptly corrected and told that i was actually not a cheerleader, but rather i was always scratching and clawing for the coach position. assumedly, i was labeled as this because my encouragement often came in the form of directive suggestions on how an individual could improve their attempts and have more positive outcomes.

now, i have been a cheerleader and i have been a cheerleading coach. in looking at some of the cheers, i can't understand what really separates the two other than uniform and a whistle. here's an example of a cheer my girls do:

dribble it
shoot shoot
just put that ball through the
hoop hoop
put it up and in
put it up and in
score two
come on let's win!!!

if anyone ever sat and actually listened to the words of cheers, they would discover that there is absolutely NO difference between what the cheerleaders say and the pep talk the team gets in the locker room. i know dudes may take issue with being ordered around by a squad of scantily clad chicks, but at the end of the day, it really is the same fucking thing.

some may argue that the cheerleaders aren't there to encourage the team, but rather they are there to keep the crowd motivated and energized because that in turn will keep the team crunk. doesn't that essentially make them passive coaches then? if the coach's job is to direct and motivate the team, then how are they so different?

ultimately, what the fuck is wrong with being someone's coach anyway? if life isn't panning out for them as they see fit, why is it such a big deal to try to help them by either cheering or being a coach? i'd love my own personal pep squad or coach when life started to bring me down.... thoughts?

ummm....yeah

so, I have been avoiding addressing this for quite some time because when I first saw it, it pissed me off and upset me so much I didn't quite know what to do with myself.

when I was on vacay, moms and I pulled up next to a bus that had one of the most obnoxious ads I've ever seen. in my own defense, ordinarily, I have a real sick sense of humor and will laugh at some of the strangest things.  I try not to laugh at the sick, wounded, or physically broken, except for fat fuckers, but I am that bitch that'll laugh when a kid busts his ass, or when someone trips on the bus.  

ordinarily, the tongue in cheek, the ignorant and the stupid is amusing to me.  like the Western Union ad beloved and I saw yesterday. it had one of the blackest mo'fo's you've ever seen in your life looking like everyone's stereotypical African sambo with the words "can I send money to Africa for cheap....YES!" scrawled across the  picture. if i'd really felt like jumping up on my NAACP soapbox and protesting this shit, ('cause my president is black you know?) I prolly could've....but I just don't really care that much anymore about racial ignorance and cruelty.

the ad I saw with moms, really fucked with me.  it read:

Some of the NICEST people die of lung cancer.  We hope you won't be one of them. www.demandacatscan.org

there was no picture. no fancy layout. just a bullshit few lines of text that really irked the fuck out of me. I found myself wishing that whoever the dickhead was who made this ignorance up was struck with every kind of cancer imaginable.

I know it is a bad thing to wish cancer on someone.  I've lost a few family members to cancer so for me, for someone to be so flippant about it is really stupid and insensitive.  One of my grandmothers, who never smoked a day in her life, wasn't exposed to toxic chemicals or any of the other shit they say can cause lung cancer and who went to the dr.'s office once a month at least, died of lung cancer that no one found until it was too late and she was the nicest old lady anyone could've met.

fuck demandacatscan.org and fuck Keiser Permanente

I had an epiphany on the train today.  I realized why so many couples are miserable and unhappy with their relationship. 

Technology, that cold hearted bitch, pulled an arrow from his quiver and sliced Cupid's throat open.  

Romance is on life support and I blame electricity. 

There are far too fucking many ways to be in constant contact with the rest of the world.  Cell phone, house phone, email, text message, instant message, blackberry instant message, pagers, two way radios, facebook, myspace, twitter, blogs, skywriting.....

Everyone of these intended to keep people in constant contact and giving updates to everyone about everything that happens in your day. But what really happens is each one of these media of the heartless equates to one more way for someone to feel neglected or forgotten.   

With all these avenues of communication, it is hard to believe that someone may ever actually be in a drop zone or legitimately be busy and unable to answer the infinite ways you are cyber stalking them.

It is impossible to feel romantic or spontaneous or eager to be near someone when you know their every move throughout the course of the day.

"Bobby Lynn is eating a bagel and not caring about carbs."

Who gives a fuck?!

The people on those dumb ass networking sites are not your friends. 

They don't honestly give a fuck about your stupid ass 'cause if they did, they would meet with you in person and share a face to face conversation with you over coffee or a meal instead of instant messaging you random observations from their daily activities. 

Does anyone remember when it was a big deal to call your parents at work?  I used to have to be bleeding from the head to interrupt my father at work.  He would get soooooo tight with me if I called him at work.  

I don't think my grandmother ever called my grandfather at work unless it was a complete and dire emergency, of the burning-house-aliens-landing-and-snatching-our-children variety.  

That form of distance probably sounds bizarre in this day and age, but when he got home from work, they did something most of us NEVER do....

They would kiss and hug and share dinner with their children with the TV off. They would act like a family. Laughing and talking and sharing conversation with each other.

Why don't we have anything really to talk about over our meals? 

Why is it easier to congregate in front of the TV and chew with our mouths open instead of sharing delightful anecdotes about what we've been through?

I don't think it has anything to do with that ridiculous book and movie about ________ just not being into ___________.  I think it has more to do with the fact that we're all far too fucking into each other and in constant contact with one another.  

Doesn't absence make the heart grow fonder?

How can we be absent from one another when we are only ever physically apart but still completely around each other technologically?

I mean, its all good to be able to holla at your homegirls about whatever random foolishness that crosses your mind, and to keep up with your children when they are away from home or traveling without you, but is it absolutely necessary to call your honey as much as you do?

Is it because of distrust, or because you genuinely have that much to share with whomever?

I know a gang of you tried to say it's cause you wanted to let your lover know everything that crosses your mind every time it crosses your mind.  The truth or the matter is you're doing it because you don't trust that when they don't pick up their phone, it's cause they can't so you call again and again and again. 

You call to the point that you become a pest and when they finally answer, the conversation becomes more about "Why the fuck didn't you answer the phone?" instead of whatever it was that you originally wanted to share.  

When did it stop being ok to not want to talk on the phone?  

I mean, just because you can get in constant contact with someone, does that alleviate them from the right not to want to be in constant contact?

What happens when you start updating your facebook status less and less and everyone gets worried about you 'cause it's been 2 days since you last logged in?  

When people start policing how long it has been since you last instant messaged them, claiming to be worries about you instead of calling you to check on you, then you know you have a technology problem.

Everyone needs to get over themselves and stop fucking being so much in each other's space and face. Take a breath and just live life in the moment and in your own skin and not worry so damn much about what everyone around you is doing.

Hang up the phone, close all of your networking sites, and the next time you feel like paging or texting someone you care about, write those thoughts into a  letter, and save it, along with all of your bullshit stories about your day to share over a hot meal with the tv off.

Or you could just buy one of these for his ass and never have to wonder what he's up to:

www.roameoforpets.com

If I only lost my brain...

RADAR, one of my favorite magazines folded, again, and since i had already paid up my subscription, their publisher felt like a good substitute was to send me STAR magazine for the remainder of my subscription.

have ya'll ever read STAR? 

it has become a glossy magazine in recent years, but once upon a time, it was a big oversized color newspaper-like publication with some of those stories about alien babies and watermelons that look like the virgin mary. 

but have y'all read it lately.  when it comes in, i feel like i should hide it because just reading it makes my vocabulary suddenly feel stunted. like, for real....looking at the pages of that magazine, 'cause you can't really read something that has everything in title font, makes me feel like I should be riding on the short bus. 

in spite of this, it seems like the photos splashed across the pages are all anyone can seem to talk about.  I found myself today trying to discuss Obama's stance on educational reform, and someone felt like it was more interesting to chat about the surprise season finale of the bachelor where Jason proposed to one girl but really loves the other girl.... "and OMG, we were gonna find out on the top secret reunion special, but they totally leaked the info before hand..." 

I realized then that I was too smart for much of the world.  Soooooo, I have decided to actively lobotomize myself through reality tv and tabloid magazines.

I need to expand my reality tv horizons!

Donna Summer's #1 Fan told me that on the season opener of Keeping Up w/the Kardashians, Kim was taking pictures of herself en route to taking her sister, Khloe, to jail. 

(insert confused Scooby Doo sound here)

see...I had no idea it was going down like that on E! i miss out on all the good shit.  thank g-d for my dvr.  i will never miss another glorious moment of the Jenner-Kardashian clan's tomfoolery.

back to STAR magazine.....

why is everyone still so concerned about lindsay lohan?  what's the big effin' deal about her 

anyway?  honestly, who cares? 

so what she's back on drugs and drinking again... apparently, she's been photographed with traces of a white substance lining the rim of her nostrils and she tried to say it was lint.  shorty, just be real and admit what you're up to....or at the very least come up with a better cover story.  

boogers, maybe? everybody's had one of those lone boogers that has dangled embarrassingly and drawn the attention of someone you really didn't want to see it.  

don't front for me, you know it's happened to you.

who gives a shit that she's gay for play and letting saMAN..that...ronson slobber on her pink taco?

why does any of this matter in the face of all that is going wrong in our society?

why is everyone acting surprised that LiLo is out of control again?

what else could she do to stay relevant? star in another movie that she slows up the production on before it tanks? get bent in a club with her mom? 

(I swear I'd make a killing if I created the Gypsy Rose School of Momagers: How to Stagemom With Style, Finesse, Class, and an Iron Fist. Some of the bitches really forget that to be a Momager, you have to first be a Mom, and not your lil'shawty's bff....)

shouldn't she be in vh1's charm school or some shit?

whatever happened to that reality show that The Donald was supposed to be putting together with LaLohan, Amy Crackhouse and pre-comeback-Britney?  Can we put forth a motion for Lily Allen to take her place? ooooh no....Kate Motherfucking Moss!

I'd love to watch them go at it over who gets the last 8ball or figure out who's turn it is to take out all the liquor bottles in the trash. Chile, the trashy ass bar scum they'd bring home after banging in the alley would so be like outtakes of the HBO biopic GIA (Loved Angelina in that before she became the white incarnation of Josephine Baker.)

PS Samantha Ronson is not fucking hot.  

In fact, she is the complete antithesis of hot.  She is sooo unhot, I wouldn't let her eat me with YOUR pussy, a tongue vibrator while stoned and drunk out of my skull and if her saliva had the antibodies I needed to live forever and cure AIDS and cancer.

we're supposed to take solace in the fact that this lesbo's coat rack of a "lover" (wink wink) is not wasting her$$$ on drugs, but rather that people are gifting her the cocaine. 'cause that's what real friends do.  

friends don't let friends pay for drugs.  

who the fuck can afford to sponsor someone else's habit in this fucked up ass economy we're living in? can they hook a sister up? 

NO FOOL!

I do not toot that powder...I'm always trying to get my side hustle on.  I'd take all that free coke and flip that shit so quick, you'd swear I was a gymnast!

Donna Summer's #1 Fan claims that a)"that mess is pricey" and times are too hard for anyone to buy coke so I wouldn't make much from it and b) that's why people smoke crack.

to that I say: I've got baking powder, what's good?

FAT FATTIES

PS

because Donna Summer's #1 fan tells me that i should be kinder to the Plus sized Patties i feel the need to share with you something i just recently learned about the obese:

overeating is reaching for one's mother, or looking to be mothered and nurtured

undereating is reaching for one's father, or looking to push mother away

it is not always about being gluttonous just for the sake of salivating over one more slice of pie, sometimes, there are some deeper issues at hand that force the unhappy to soothe however possible.

there. i offered something positive about the undisciplined slobs that surround me in the workplace, in society, everywhere.  that does not negate the fact that the two barrels who were on the treadmills in front of me at the gym this morning as i tried to get my sweat on should not have been going much faster than they were...i'm saying....your ass is not going to work itself out.  i'm sorry you've got mommy issues, but if you're gonna get the super sack at white castle to make yourself feel better, really work on that by really WORKING on that with som super sit ups too.

RuPaul is more of a lady than you.

i have a question for you, my darlings.....

why has no one shared with me the fagtastic mess that is RuPaul's Drag Race?

someone is going to yank my hag card for being so late on the take with this one.  

i...am...soooooo......addicted.....to....this.

i watch it on logo.  

i watch the repeats on vh 1.  

i tivo the episodes to steal new homoslang to drop on those around me. 

i watch the behind the scenes stuff on the logo website.

honey........I want an excuse to lip sync for my life and tell someone "shante, you stay," and to tell someone else "sashay, away..."

i am soooo glad to live in an era of history in which a big, bold, Drag Queen like RuPaul can hold a contest on television for whomever will take over as the next big bold man in a dress.

these divas are FIERCE!!!!!! truly, truly FIERCE....i want them all to be my aunties.

the skanks of top model have NOTHING on these dragons.  

while Ru honestly is trying to shape these shemales into being the most polished cross dressing performer and gives them true pointers and lessons to become better, ty baby's show serves only as a platform to keep what she used to do in the 90's relevant.....and she's soooo not.

maybe it's 'cause Lady Ru looks better in couture than the former model.   his body is GORGEOUS!!! i can't get over how fly he is in his gowns and in his ultra slim european suits.  I LIVE!!!

i deeply appreciate that he discovered that you can use that cybil shepard-moonlighting soft focus on regular tv which helps him....excuse me, her look so much more flawless than tyty does with all her baby hair and lace fronts. i wonder if they sell that soft focus the same place where Mariah Carey buys her traveling photoshop kit. hmmmmmm......

let's play a drinking game the next time top model is on.  every time that hefty hottie corrects the girls aspiring to her level of greatness by demonstrating how to smile with her eyes or the level at which to tilt one's chin to look sexy and not like a hoochie, you must imbibe.  

Ru can take 10 years off from performing and still come back and have my rapt attention. Tyra's chunky chest can be all over the tabloids for months proclaiming how content she is with her curves and i could care less.  she's got those turkey wing auntie arms people!!! 

perhaps i hold her in such disdain because it seems as though all of her programs are intended only to tout her own abilities while she pretends to create careers for the young ladies she exploits for network gain. Ru takes a marginalized group and empowers them through his tutelage and sass. the newfound popularity with another generation is a byproduct of the greater good he is creating.

skinny bitches have never been a marginalized group, except when at bar-b-ques and eating contests.

if Ms. Banks really wanted to make a difference in this world, beyond the ever important task of interviewing the "cast" of the 3rd season of the bad girls' club, she could begin to design her own line of clothing for women with real curves.  not fat bitches like the one in my last post, just women whose sizes range beyond that which can be counted on one hand.

maybe she doesn't want to run into her bff Kimora's lane, but honestly, is anyone really checking for baby phat in 2009?  i read in the paper that she was scaling back her fashion week show and inviting only buyers as opposed to all of her friends and celebs that usually come to the show. according to the article, ms. lee simmons decided that her show was not going to be the extravaganza that is has been in the past due to the economic crisis our country is facing...

really?  the baby phat show is an extravaganza? someone REALLY needs to get out more.

she should embrace the body she's been fighting for so long and help others to do the same. THAT would be an act worthy me ceasing to compare her legs to Beyonce's fat knees.

or,  she could just date Ray J....it kept Whitney interesting for a while.

fat chance on a saturday night

i had nothing to do yesterday after my session with my headshrinker, so i called up my homie, mona, the journalism chick,  to see what she was getting into on saturday night.  don't know why i wasn't too keen on being home alone.  

turns out, she was going to check out a friend of hers in some off off broadway theater in the LES.  the idea was a novel one as i do enjoy watching live performance.  something about it inspires me to go home and write either 'cause the shit is sooo fucking wack that i know i can top it, or 'cause the shit is so beautiful, that i want to aspire to top it. since i am still recovering from my BET overdose and suffering from a smidgen of writer's block, plus, i relish any excuse to kick it with my chicks, so away i went to the LES

the theater was decent sized with a tiny lobby that we were packed into like sardines as we waited for the house to open.  

as i said, we were in an off broadway theater.  a small assed lobby having off broadway theater where in spite of the fact that the play had a black playwright and a predominantly black cast. we were, quite certainly, one of a few polka dots (read: lone people of color in a sea of white.)  i'm cool vibing with the pink toes.  after all, some of my closest friends are white.  

this is to say, i am very familiar with the genus caucasious.

this particular species of white folk was a little different from what i am used to.  

mona hates the faces i make when i see something out of order, mostly 'cause it sends her into a fit of giggles and then we're both assed out with me staring at the strangeness, and her cracking up about it. these old ass weirdoes were very, very old and very, very entitled with their stuck up broke down looking selves. 

DEAR READER: one of my favorite hobbies is to people watch and invent stories for those I observe.  the more bizarre an individual, the more likely they are to turn up in some manifestation in my writing.

last night there was a whole host of people who could possibly end up in my stories. the most astounding individual, (and this is saying a lot since there was a dude there who's ear hair was so long i could'a cornrowed that shit real quick for him,) was everyone's favorite:

the fat, obnoxious older lady.

i knew she was gonna be a problem when i saw her walk into the theater with the cane she wouldn't've needed if she believed in portion size.  poor hairy ears made the mistake of standing in the aisle as fatty fat fat started to move towards the seats.  

in his defense, it wasn't his fault to be in the way.  in addition to having extraordinarily long ear hair that kept him from hearing his pushy wife tell him where to sit, he also had extraordinarily think lenses on his glasses that actually seemed to impede his vision more than it helped it. these two physical obstacles forced him, a very slight man, to stand in the lone aisle and turn in circles looking for where he was going to sit.  (it was open seating in the theater.)

fatty fat fat sighed REALLY loudly behind him, turned to say something to her hag of a friend who was with her, then turned back and said in a pitch perfect roseanne barr voice, "COME ON PEOPLE LET'S GO!"  

people was really not the appropriate noun as he was the only one in the aisle and was clearly perplexed, confused, and maybe even a little lost, even though his wife was less than 20 feet away. all fatty fat fat had to do was lean in and say,  "excuse me," to the old codger and she would have been able to get by.  this would have required that she remove 1/3 of her ass and gut to do, but it would have been a nicer option than yelling and the follicly hearing impaired.

i watched the whole exchange take place from the vantage point of my 6th row folding chair.  

did i mention that all the seats were folding chairs with meager padding? old fuzzy's wife comes to his rescue and pulls him into a seat and out of the line of fire of this obese old bitch.

you're gonna get two seconds to guess who the fat cunt decides to sit next to.

that's right. yours truly.

she proceeds to lay her cane on my chair, almost like a guardrail to keep her supersized ass from spreading into my seating area too much.  i asked mona if she thought the bitch had to buy two tickets like on the airplane and she gave me an elbow to the ribs.

fatty fat fat was not only fat, she was rude. three guys tried to get by her to sit next to the empty seats near mona.  fat bitch grumbled as they passed.  a few moments later, before the play started, one needed to go to the bathroom. 

fatty fat fat's response to the polite gentleman saying "excuse me," was, and i bullshit you not:

"you can't be serious, oh, you are serious!" and did not stand to let dude by.  

the rest of the evening continued to be a collection of her disgusted sighs and rude comments to those around her.

when the person behind her accidentally kicked the back of her chair, she turned, during the play, and said "JESUS!" very very loudly.

during intermission, she and her hateful friend complained about the man next to them and how the way he was sitting caused his ass to be hanging off of his chair.  i told mona i know how he felt and she elbowed me again.

i ask you, blognistas, is it fair for such a miserable creature to be allowed to ruin the evenings of others?  

isn't it wrong for her fat ass to be allowed to be that fucking big and nasty?  like, she has to pick one or the other.  either be fat, or be a bitch....you shouldn't be allowed to be both.  

lawd ha'mercy and please don't be a fat, mean and ugly bitch....

see, i know who i am...i am that bitch y'all love to hate.  i am not that fat bitch y'all love to hate, nor am i that fat ugly bitch y'all love to hate.  my biting social commentary would not come from the same place if i were.  if i were any of the above listed bitches, then my posts would read like a sad country song that would make y'all cry into your beers.  

i'm fat and also mean

i wish the air were clean

if i don't get a man

i guess i'll eat a ham.

being that i am as fucking fly as i am, i can get away with commenting on what a fucked up place we live in and how fucked up many people's actions are.  i can say what the fuck i want to say to whomever the fuck i want to say it because i am not a miserable old fat white bitch who terrorizes theater goers trying to support off off broadway movements.

please don't try and make me feel sorry for her about her state and her station in life.  the cunt was evil and had on them old lady jelly sandals...you know the ones i'm talking about.  they front like they are orthopoedic sandals made out of rubber and you can buy them at the walgreens or the riteaid....you know what i'm talking about.  them shits come in brown, black and white and got two non adjustable straps across them?  

whatever.  

this fat fuck had those on with no goddamned socks!! in february....in new york....this pale pink dragon had no fucking socks on and proceeded to wiggle her milky white toes with her yellowing long ass toe nails throughout the course of the play.

and i should feel sorry for her?  

i know you're thinking 'damn charlie is one mean bitch.  didn't she hear when chris rock said it wasn't nice for skinny chicks to make fun of fat bitches?'

fuck that.

you don't want me to be mean or talk about your ass, then don't be a mean old fat bitch in dollar store chanclas.

before one of you tries to call me a hypocrite 'cause i said i live a good life and then i sit here and trash talk the poor old mean fat bitch.  i still live a good life and i am still a good person.  if she were a nice old fat fart, she would have been spared from my wrath... but to be as nasty and evil as she was with no apology is ridiculous!  

donna summer's #1 fan will undoubtedly call me out for my fat people prejudice.  before she has a chance to blast me in my comment section i will say that i am not opposed to help the obese come up with other solutions for their existence from the superficial, patterns and fabrics that can mask your belly, to the emotional, "there is a good person beneath all those pounds." i can even help conquer the more difficult, "PUT THE FUCKING KRISPY KREMES DOWN!!!!"

to prove that i live a good life, i will offer any heavy harriet, any chunky chucky, and rotund ramona, my services to help improve their quality of life.  the first step in getting help is to admit that you need it.  if those beached whales on the biggest loser can take their shirts off on national television (threw up in my mouth, again) and jiggle like bags of skim milk for the whole world to see, than certainly some fat fuckers out there in the blogosphere can reach out to me for the help they so clearly need.

and because i am such a good person i offer this help free of charge. seriously.  let's make the world a skinnier, oops, i mean healthier place.

may god smite me with an extra 200 lbs if i am lying about my intentions.

PS i hope that fat bitch is employed so she doesn't have to use my tax $$$ to pay for her prescriptions for diabetes or hypertension.

just when i thought i was being original....

DEAR READER:

i regret to inform you that my social experiment has been called to a close due to lack of originality.  by no means was this lack on the part of the so-called network....come, come now... we all know that there is not one drop of originality on that "network." no my friends, the lack of originality came from yours truly.  

i know, i know.  

the horror, the horror.

you're probably thinking to yourself, 'self, how is this possible? she's such a witty girl. i've had to start wearing depends when i read this blog at my office desk.' 

i know, i know. 

believe me, i am so sorry to disappoint.  

aside from not being sure if my insurance would cover the partial lobotomy i would certainly need to purge all those awful and trite images from my mind, tragically, in conducting my social experiment with BET, i realized that Huey Freeman, from the Boondocks, had already beat me to it. 

 i totally forgot about the feud between MacGruder and the BET execs over his oh-so-accurate portrayal of the network. 

hmph and damn. 

 i guess it's all for the best.  after back to back episodes of judge hatchet, i couldn't cope anyway.  lord help me if i tuned in to the evening programming!!!

(though i must admit, frankie cole fascinates me. MAN DOWN!!)

she's like a grown up version of a Flavor of Love girl gone completely wrong. i love it.....but only in small doses.  

there is good news my darlings....

i did have an epiphany today on my way back from vacay.  as i flipped through the pages of some gossip rag i picked up at the news stand at union station, i realized how many celebs were unfaithful in 2008.  i also started to think of how many of my friends and colleagues shared similar heartache and heartbreak with me about their personal situations last year.

it made me curious....

when i got home, i looked into what year on the chinese zodiac last year was, and sure enough, it was the year of the rat!  

no wonder so much ill shit went down last year....everyone was acting like a rat bastard.  

often times, chicks will say their dude is a dog or dudes will say their chick is a bitch.  i can't remember the comedian that said it, but that isn't an insult.  dogs are loyal.  

no, it is far worse to be in a relationship with a rat, as so many people learned publicly this year.  rats, unlike dogs are not loyal.  rats are only out for self and only out to fulfill their wants and needs.  

(sidebar: i saw a rat crawling behind a trash can in the village a week or so ago and thought i was never going to stop screaming.  mice are bad enough.  at least they could pass for a pet, but rats?!)

so in addition to being selfish muthaphuckas, rats are nasty and gross looking too. but it all made sense to me that the zodiac was affecting people's moods and behaviors so severely.  i read my horoscope daily and am often found typing the zodiacs of others and sending them out via text.  i like to see how accurate them things pan out to be.  

i had no idea how much the very year could affect the planet on the whole and have people out acting a goddamned fool!

think of how many relationships crumbled publicly.  

(i'm talking to you swizz beats....damn is it really that good miss keys that you had to become a homewrecker to get it?  eeww.. personally, i can't imagine wanting to steal the bastard child of gonzo and skeletor from his wife. the thought of him making an "ohhh face" actually made me throw up in my mouth a little bit. who'd've thunk it? alicia keys as somebody's OW-Other Woman....damn!)

think of how many companies broke down and hustled each other out of everything they had.

(every single last one of you'd better check your 401K to make sure that it didn't go to pay for someone's booty call trip to aspen.)

think of how many people are losing jobs, houses, money, a basic and decent quality of life 'cause of some shit that popped off last year.

think of how pissed off you spent the bulk of 2008 'cause of something someone else did.

this year, the year of the ox, is when everybody needs to dig their heels in and say they aren't gonna take this shit anymore.  

i feel like staging my own version of that scene from the movie network.  you know the one i'm talking about, right? where that old dude stands up and says on national television 

"I'm mad as hell and I'm not gonna take it anymore."

we all should be mad as hell.  every last one of us who was somehow affected by a rat bastard should be mad as hell and channel your inner ox.  

anyone who somehow got screwed in the year of the rat, even if it is something small and petty like your barista CONSTANTLY making your nonfat tall latte wrong every single day.

open your window lean out and say 

"FUCK THIS SHIT! I'M MAD AS HELL AND I AIN'T GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!!"

or, we could just declare martial law and start beating the shit out of anyone who has been fool enough to live a wrong life.  

imagine.....that snippy bitch at the hostess stand and all snippy bitches at hostess stands around the world would get pummeled with one of those goddamned pager things that let you know when a table finally becomes available.

or better yet, store clerks at club monaco who wanna act like they're working at the fucking prada store and be bitchy for no reason other than because they work in a monochromatic environment...those mu'phuckas should get strung up by the costume jewelry and turned into hideous chandeliers.

or how about all the exes who really thought they were the shit with their wack-a-do lies that you only believed 'cause it was easier than fighting?  

how about someone give every 2008 year of the rat bastard cheater a thwack in the shins with one of those collapsable metal police batons....then make them date the hostess bitches.  

anyone who was wronged in 2008 should be able to march up to the rat that fucked them over, and launch into a screaming tirade in their face to which the rat may not respond, but must sit there and endure it.  upon finishing the screamed speech.  the rat will be given a pair of rat ears that they must wear as they walk around the world.  not like the cute shit you get at disney world.  these have to be gray and hairy and dingy and smell like piss.  something must be done to punish those who took the chinese horoscope to literally.

those donning the hats are allowed to be pummeled with no notice. they have to wear the hat for one month for every person they fucked over.  guess what big bankers,  you'll be wearing those hats FOREVER.  

i think that sounds fair.  were i a rat fuck i certainly would be motivated to live a better life after having to smell like piss for a month.  how funny would that be to see the media darlings on the red carpet with their elegant suits and gowns and their nasty, hairy rat ears? 

lisa rina and joey fatone would approach celeb x on the red carpet.  celeb x is of course thinking that they are going to be asked what they're wearing and if they're excited blahblahblah.  then joey whips out the baton and tonya harding's the celeb.  

on camera.

then they move on to the next rat bastard.

that shit would be so fucking awesome.....words can not explain.

so if you were somehow hurt or wounded by someone in 2008, let the world know that you are not going to take any shit from the son of a motherless whore ever again.  stick those ears on the fucker and let the insults rip until you don't hurt anymore.

just don't come for me. i may be an evil bitch, but i am not, nor will i ever be, a rat.

PS I hit hard.

and justice for all......

Why is it easier to follow Judge Hatchett on BWhy is is easier to watch Judge Hatchett on BET than it is to watch the televised court cases/hearings on CNN and CSPAN?

I wonder if BET has ever heard about social responsibility? In the wake of the political cartoon in the NY Post, shouldn't they curb some of their "programming?" Wouldn't an educated and televised discussion about the significance of the monkey cartoon be a better use of the airwaves than 35 commercials for Harlem Heights and commercials for the BET car show (during the recession?)

And why can't I change the channel?

Damn vacay @ home with nothing to do!!! I feel like I'm back in high school and am just vegging out and letting my brain turn into mush.

Which inspires me to conduct a social experiment. I am going to pull a Morgan Spurlock and test the effects of too much BET on the brain. For 30 days, my lone source of entertainment will come ONLY from watching BET.

My hypothesis is I will only be able to make it through maybe 3 hours before I feel like smashing the TV or climbing up a clock tower and taking out anyone wearing those damn dress length tee shirts, pants with writing across the ass, and oversized fitted hats.

I will use this blogsite like Octomom and set up an online charity to support my detox/re-education post experiment.

If anyone would like to sponsor my endeavor, hit me back in about a half. I gotta find out what these DNA test results are on Judge Hatchett.

Reality???

So I had an idea:
If TI is really serious about his community service, as advertised on MTV, why doesn't he pull a captain-save-em and swoop in to create Whore Job Corps?

He could scoop up all them chicks from the I heart whomever or whatever shows and get them a mentor, some career training, and therapy...a lot of it.

Maybe he could set up a partnership with a nursing home, so them broads could have an old dude in their lives that they can't trick on, can't bone them and who has knowledge and wisdom to drop on their silly asses. Not to mention do all those Daddy-esque things like tell them they are precious and valuable and too good to spread their snatch on a reality tv show for shortlived love.

(Other than the Bachelor, does anyone have a happily ever after off of these shits?)

Have you watched the trainwreck that is "For the love of Ray J?" When the fuck did he go platinum, as he advertised in his opening credits? And when was he an actor? Dude, appearing on Moesha does NOT make you an actor.

DEAR READER: I am a reality tv junkie. Mostly 'cause I need brain big macs now and then. But mostly its 'cause I want to have a front row seat at the decline of society so that the philanthropist in me can try my hardest to fix it before it completely dies.

So umm.... Yeah. Ray J's show is particularly disturbing because he's really a regular dude, but doesn't realize it. Like he really thinks he a celebrity. Dude, the only reason anyone was checking for you is 'cause no one believed you'd really fucked Kim Kardashian.

"Hey wait a minute...ain't that Brandy's lil' brother?"

[That song was your only banger and it was the beat and Lil'Kim (before she ruined her face) that made it hot. Not you. Honestly, the track couldv'e been any other washed up R&B dude.Montell Jordan, I'm talking to you.]

I hope Reggie Bush has better luck after tapping Kardashian. If the Saints ever let him back on the field.

But this isn't about him. It's about these damn girls.

Do the producers recruit from orphanages and halfway houses, dragging barely legal chicks from the weave shops, bars, and bail bondsmen's offices to live the short-lived good life?

Think of all the good that could come to our society if someone, (Oprah I hope your fat ass is listening-that school in Africa didn't really work out as planned hunh?) reached out to help these broken dolls...and not on some Charm School or G's to Gents bullshit either.

(Not for nothin' but don't them dudes need fathers too?)

Think about it. Damn unicef. Damn all these celebs going overseas to adopt lil colored babies.

FOR REAL.

You know Angelina could use a few extra hands helping her take care of the babies. Wouldn't Leilene from Flavor of Love, Charm School, and I Love Money be perfect? She's got kids of her own too so Brangelina would actually be getting 4 brown bodies for the price of sponsoring one whore.

Let's find out who the next Octopussy...oops Octomom, is going to be and give her one of these reality show castoffs to take care of, love and cherish before she pays to get fetilized with more babies. Sponsoring one of these tragedies of American society is waaaaay cheaper than in vitro, and with none of the yucky side effects of pregnancy like afterbirth and stretch marks.

Or we could loan one to Salma Hayek since she wants to nurse lil' African babies while on ambassador missions. She could look really benevolent as she traipses through Anyghetto USA with her brand new Rock of Love girl learning of the hardships of growing up in a trailer. The ratings would be through the roof if she started to breastfeed her new adult daughter.

Being a catalyst of change starts in your own backyard. What are you doing to help with the castaway reality chicks?

Let's all man up and give a damn. Show how much you care.

Have you hugged a fatherless fucker today?

why does simple shit always have to be so fucking complicated?

yo!

i got a question blognistas:  why can't life be easier?

for real?

like why is it it seems that the whole world is out to lay booby traps at any given turn?  wouldn't the world be a better place on the whole if everyone would calm the fuck down and take it easy?

no one would need meds.....no one would bug out and start shooting up schools....no one would fly off the handle and hurt themselves.....

i wonder what the crime rates are in places where siestas are still mandatory...

i wonder if we had naptime in the workplace, or sliding employment hours, or merit pay everywhere how that would affect our society.

isn't there a recession going on? so why the fuck am i seeing pics of celebs partying at all star weekend soirees with magnums of champagne?  

can't we all live? 

honestly,  has beyonce really worked that hard that she should make more money than a nurse who pulls graveyard shifts?

who can even afford to get lit up and have bottle service every night anymore. and not for nothing, even if you can afford it, aren't they STILL rebuilding new orleans? wouldn't that be a better use of your $$$ and a better look for your karma than getting twisted and ending up banging some groupie who'll slap you with a paternity suit like its nothing? (sorry ray j)

i know this has nothing to do with life in the city, but like i said, i'm on vacay trying to take it easy so i got LOTS of time to pontificate on the perils of our society. in a way, doesn't it have something to do with life in NYC?  a place where the juxtaposition of extremes is so extremes that even the stickup kids don't know what to do with themselves....(yeah i used juxtaposition and stickup kid in the same sentence...haahah)

i guess this rambling spurs from me trying to buy a basic necessity yesterday and being overwhelmed by the options.  yeah, its nice to live in a country where i can walk into a store and choose from several different things, but it also kinda sucks cause i know that somewhere else in this country someone else doesn't have those same choices.

i'm a have.  always have been and hopefully always will be but i've never been a have who looked down my nose at the have nots, ('cept for that bitch who wouldn't seat us for sunday brunch.) do i really need a 4 course prix fixe meal that i inevitably won't eat all of when there's a fam down the street who could buy groceries for a week with my tab?

as i grow older and pay more attention to what is happening in the world around me, i can't help but to think, yeah it's not right and yeah it's not fair, but shouldn't it start to be?  

we were all singing that new negro spiritual about change when we were trying to get B.O (i hate the fact that his initials connote something so nasty) in  office. but change is more than getting those crackers out of their seat of power.  change has to start with everyone.  

every day is an opportunity to find joy in what you live and to spread it, to live each moment to the fullest so that should the creator come and snatch away your breath, you got no regrets.

or say fuck it and watch the world crumble down around your feet.  be the last muthafucka standing with a pocketful of cash and nowhere to spend it.   

i can be a nasty and evil so and so, but i know which existence i'd rather live.

fucked up, ain't it?

so, i'm on a lil' vacay for a few days escaping the city that never sleeps for one that seems to sleep often.  

there is, after all no place like home.

i packed up and took off with far too many clothes and a suitcase that has seen better days.

lucky for me, i came home at a good time.  managed to check in to la casa familiar at a safely drama free time.  mom and step pop have been extra cool.  my bro has been laid back.

vacay has been what it is supposed to be, a relaxing jaunt that allows me to be a total slug and not have to do shit other than think about myself.

yesterday, mom wanted to take us out to brunch to this lil' trendy spot that she loves going to for happy hour.  upon arrival, i swear i felt like i was back at home suddenly. the pretentiouslil sawed off first generation american twat who was standing behind the hostess stand tried to catch a 'tude 'cause we were a few minutes late for our reservation. then the bitch proceeded to try and make us wait for like 15-20 minutes when there were several tables available. 

 moms wasn't feeling it and spoke to DA MAN when he came over to the podium about what was going on.  suddenly lil homie found a table to put us in.  shorty @ the stand tried to fling her hair with mucho 'tude like she was doing us a favor to seat us.  what the fuck is up with people working in a service position and being tight that they have to provide a service?  

yo, get your fucking GED, flash that green card and maybe you can get a job at a real restaurant "up norf." bitch was acting like she was working at del posto or some shit.  relax, change your tampon and loosen up your bra. reach for more in life and maybe you won't have to be such a cunt for the rest of your life.

so basically, what could've been a nice lil' family outing got tarnished by this broad being miserable 'cause she can't afford to eat where she works and moms feeling guilty the whole meal from bringing us there.  i was chillin' once i got my latte and my french toast with strawberries. lil'bro wasn't as happy and started drawing dead aliens on the table cloth.

fucked up ain't it?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

mom dukes and i went out late in the day today for an adventure in suburbia to run errands and pick up a better suitcase at the mall.  

we went to an old old old school italian spot to bust a grub before battling with the president's day sale hunters.  my mom raved about this spot and talked about how much she and my other bro loved the relaxed atmosphere and the authentic old school feel.  we were the only peeps in the spot for mad long.  

the food was decent, they gave us free white pizza, and we were having a fairly good time just enjoying each other's company.  just as we were finishing up our meal, i looked at the wall and realized we weren't alone at our table.  

naw.

crawling up the wall was one of the extra's from joe's fucking apartment.

yeah.  there was a pregnant fucking roach climbing the wall next to us.  tell me how i'm not supposed to want to vomit behind that shit? 

fucked up, ain't it?

my mom, a woman with a hyper sensitive nausea trigger beckoned the waiter and merely pointed at the wall where lil' homie was crawling away.  the waiter looked horrified and apologized.  before taking our plates, dude actually had the gall to ask us "are you done?"

WTF did he think? 

mom sat at the table looking like she was about to cough up a lung and i went to the ladies' room to see if i was gonna blow chunks.

when i came back to the table, dude brought us free spumoni.  moms asked for the check, and turns out he comped us for our inconvenience. 

moms then felt bad and decided to leave dude a healthy tip for his trouble.  

if i wasn't already teetering on having an eating disorder, i certainly am now. 

fucked up, ain't it?

CAN YOU FEEL A BRAND NEW DAY???

everybody look around

'cause there's a reason to rejoice you see

everybody come out

and let's commence to singing joyfully

everybody look up

and feel the hope that we've been waiting for.

there's a black man in the white house and somebody done effed up and gave me a blog.

hello world!

it's like a different way of living now

it's about to get real, real ugly for everyone.

the basis of this is simple:

i live in ny and got some shit to get up off my chest.  essentially, i am a brilliant writer with an alter ego that has been clawing at my brain to get out. 

this is where that bitch gets loose.  

i'm not going to edit. i'm prolly not even going to capitalize.  i'm going to say what i want about who i want and eff anyone who doesn't like it.  

for the meek and mild mannered, beware.  there is no pg rated or pc version of  what THATBITCH has to say.  leave your troubles at the door and be glad i'm not coming for you

just look about

you owe it to yourself to check it out