Sista Sledge Slipping need to Sashay Shante and QUICK!!...

I have one thing to say ...you better work, BITCH!...Ru Paul
Papizgirl with the BeeStang = WORK Mama!!

Ok, Party People in the House, I am fashionably late, as usual. I have finally realized my colored flavoring and seasonings bubble to the top like fatback juice more than I would prefer, as I am quite frequently on CPT. Be that as it may, I sincerely apologize to all of my loyal followers for doing the Chrianna….hitting, running and hiding with my peeps who tell erry dayum thang anyways every dayum chance they get. I tell you da truth!! No respite for the meek and no privacy for the ghetto fabulous. I do believe I too may eventually need a PR (Pimp Relations) person to help keep my image tight, should I unintentionally persist in carrying on with this sipping and pimp-slipping. I would also prefer one who has experience with genetically enhanced and inherited time travel-challenges. However, I digress. Therefore, without further adieu, I am going to tell you all about my goings ons (God, I miss the Mac Man!!) and what transpired during the wee hours of my accidentally self-imposed absence and at the very beginning of this full-scale pimping spree. So, here we go now, come on…….

For the past week or so, I confess like Ursha that I have been a rather busy little Bee Stang slash Hooka Mama. This mostly accounts for why I ain’t been blogging ish since it seems I may have been a bit too preoccupied with living the ish. During my “Seven Whole Days…Toni Braxton” of doing the fool (literally), I decided it is only fair to blast myself….seeing as, when I am on my job, I blast errybody dayum else erry dayum chance I get. Might as well do me since I’ma do you, so, why da fuk not? As I always say, “Spread the word, not the scourge.”

Note: If you missed my rationalizations and justifications on you, me, him and shim as the MotherShip blasted off, then you need to see the previous Busta Alerts and Public Service Announcements. Be encouraged!

Four score and dayum near seven years ago, a father brought forth his beloved baby girl. All because two beautiful people fell in love and did the hoochy coochy, this ray of sunshine hit their doorstep and altered their world as they knew it. They showered her with love and dressed her fabulously in Goldsmith's to protect her from this cold, cold world.

Ok, I'm tripping. It was more like four hours and seven days ago, I woke up to a sunshiny Chi-once-in-a-lifetime-cause-you-gone-freeze-yo-ass-off-next-week morning and put on my new fly ass Hawaii Five-O silk frock. I bought girlfriend in a small so she could touch on errythang. It was like, “Whoomp, There It Is!....Vintage Tag Team, 1993” And, my disciples, I will have you know that UrbanDictionary.com quotes the phrase as meaning, “Often used to recognize fine pieces of ass or "booty". Hello!! Talk to me now! Hmpf!! You better recognize. Quit playing, Craig. I looked JAM GOOD!! Hammercy, I did.

Since I know we have already established the fact that my healthily, happily, plump ass is plum, clear and undoubtedly, unequivocally broke, busted, disgusted and can't be trusted, I am going to try and ease that pressure on your twisted thongs and bunched up boxers by telling you I got the frock for $15.99 reduced from the original price of $88.00 with a coupon, a bit of good white girl diction and a bimbo smile. (Don’t EVER underestimate Bargain Basement Betty.) What? You say something? Is there a problem? Still pressure on that crack? Cut ya whining. It ain't like it is a gubment secret. Dayum!! I will admit I can be on my last potato and two boxes of Apple Jacks and I can and WILL figure out a way by hooking or crooking to squeeze out a frock and two pair of shoes from the budget. Ain't no shame in my game. Yes, I CAN!! So effin what! And, your point would beee? Shiiiddd, fuk a depression!! I’m tired of being depressed in it. Hit that Newport and be like, "Fuk dem bills!!" They ain't going nowhere. I say, "Treat yourself, don't cheat yourself." Pay YOURSELF first. TRUST, I do. If you don't, that is YOU. "Don't hate the playa, hate the game." Anywho, moving right along…..

To add to my dazzling ass-ets, titillating tiddays, and gorgeous gams, I threw my Foxy Brown 3.5 inch boots on, MACed up my face, added a little bronzer to my cheeks, highlighted that with the MAC gold shine, slid a little turquoise, bronze and green cream eye shadow on my pretty brown eyes that I got from my Papi, and finished off my kissable hearts that I got from my Mama with Vicky Secretion's Lotta Colada lip gloss and yup, you got it. My ass and everythang else was FLAWLESS!! I'm telling you, I have really been giving good face since I decided to stop letting my ish go to waste. “You Better Work, Covergirl!...RuPaul, 1992” EVERYDAY my face is done up. No matter how subtle it might look, don't get it twisted, I am done up!! Sashay Shante!!

So, why when the brother chase me down the street LITERALLY, I felt like a 2 dolla garden tool metaphorically? Was it because he was flat out spit-drooling at the ass that I had so painstakingly shined up less than 2 hours ago? If I wanted the ass to be lookable tappable, then why the fuk was I tripping when he looked like he wanted to tap it? What was up wit dat?

All BS aside, I ain't trying to front. "Stop the Track!! Let me state facts!...Beyonce with her overpublicised ass. I REALLY do want to know what is wrong with a chick who looks good, know she looks good, but who then all of a sudden develops the self-esteem of a Desperate Housewife getting her azz whupped on Tuesdays and Thursdays? When he asked me my name, why was I thinking about how I was unemployed, all none void, walking round like Pretty Boy Floyd? And bout to turn Stick-Up Kid, oops, look what I done did, now I may be sent up for an eight year bid?

I mean..."I believe, so therefore I am...Diddy with his crazy ass" I always have been fly and always will be fly as long as I can pick up a MAC pencil and blush brush. Me NOT being flawed up JUST AIN'T GONE HAPPEN, NEVA NOT NEVA!! I could be living under Wacker Drive without two g-dayum nickels to rub together and I would have some Studio Fix NC45 in my stolen shopping cart right next to my Pitty-Pat Table.

So, somebody please tell me why in hayell was I thinking I wasn't good enough for this brotha? What happened to all the confidence my Papi instilled in me and that the MAC had laid down on me? Am I going thru a fukn identity crisis? Is this pimp really slipping? If I am so fabulous, where the fuk did this need to be in-cog-negro come from?

MOST IMPORTANTLY: WHY THE FUK WAS I TWEAKING?!!!!!!!!!

**Note to self: If after said tweak attack, you find out later this Busta Motha Fuka is a whining ass BEEYOTCH and unequivocally, a pussy AND he makes your ass tired..yup, you got it...it is time to tap-dat-ass! He don't know who he fukn wit, now do he? And your ass musta forgot too. WTF??!!! I cannot believe you tweaked like that. You better work that ish out, pimp! And, since he is a wack ass motha fukr, he is the perfect specimen for the next Busta Alert. Do me proud!

So, on that note, y'all be on the lookout for The Running Man's BA "Humming, Coming at 'Cha...XScape" REAL SOON. And, you can bet your last money, it's all gonna be a stone gas, honey!...Don "Soul Train" Cornelius.

In parting, I wish you love, peace and SOUUULLLLLLL!!!

1 love, 2 fingers and 3 Kisses...I'm OUT!!

PSA…..Public Service Announcement #1….Ya, dig!

“Do not attempt to adjust your radio, there is nothing wrong. We have taken control as to bring you this special show…..Coming to you directly from the Mothership….Top of the Chocolate Milky Way, 500,000 kilowatts of P. Funk-Power. So kick back, dig, while we do it to you…..Parliament 1976”

As you can see, I am in a P-Funk kinda mood. I was trying to calm down after MM's Busta Alert and decided to put on some vintage funk to soothe my soul. I popped in the P-Funk and after about two swallows, um, er, (dayum, my country ass. SMH).....after two sips......yes, thank you!...after two sips of Pinot Grigio and one bathroom run, simply put, I was sanging my ass off. AND LOUD! “Make my funk the P-Funk. I want to get funked up!” Whoo Shiiidddd!! I got ta spanking, butterflying, rocking, locking, robotting, Errol Flynning, spinning, and wash-machining. You don’t understand, party people, I had to let loose! Reliving MM’s bullshit shenanigans had my nerves shot to ish. If you can picture it, imagine being there in the flashbulbs. WORD!! And, wouldn’t you know it? Right after, “Tear the roof off, we're gonna tear the roof off the mother sucker…Tear the roof off this mother fukr!"…yup, you got it....the little kill-joy called. That baby rang just as I was bout to drop it like it's hot with the Flashlight! DIZZAYUM! He broke my concentration. I didn't know if I was in the spin cycle or rinsing. Shoot!! Now, I knew I hadn’t responded to his calls and texts in a couple of days. (I was too busy blasting his ass, DUH! Remember?) Sooooo, as a result of looking at his 39th call in 32 hours and 36 minutes, for a split nanosecond, I almost felt bad about it.

**Note to Self: When you start feeling bad about blasting someone, put da bottle down, homie. Pinot Grigio and Funkadelic at the same time is kinda deadly. And you know this MAN!! Who knows where that sudden blast of compassion came from? You should check yourself before you wreck yourself, cause we know you ain’t giving up dranking. Nurp! You can’t be pimping, sipping, slipping and dayum near stripping like dat, playa….or it’s gone be some repercussions and consequences. Now, where is Diddy when I need somebody to gimme a ride home? SMH

As I looked at that traitor ass devil phone, I started wondering if maybe someone had ratted me out and that's why he'd been blowing me up.....or maybe, wanted to blow me up? The truth hit me, nonetheless, as I was coming up from the drop-hot position. It was very simple, boys and girls…plain and fukn simple….it didn't matter who done told what.....one half ass peek of a page by him and Boo Yow! “You know who it is….T.I”.....and it still don't matter who shot jack....cause before I done told you, I done told him ALREADY. It wasn't no need for him to be calling me, nor the Academy asking for an award for his role in The Crying Game.

On the other hand, when the devil phone kept raising and ringing hell, I got a tad bit paranoid….after all, his ass IS 6 foot 2, 275, Double Duh! I had no choice but to go into BBS mode…Black Broad Survival, on the off chance brotha man just might be pissed. I thumbed thru the BBS rule book and found a section on Spitting Foolywang. I found my spit right off. I was going to say, “Put it out your mind ‘cause it's jealousy. They don’t know bout dis here”….Jon B. with his black, skinny white ass. If that didn’t work, I still had five older brothers, 10 girlfriends, 2 jump-offs, and one mean little Moo-Baby, who would whup-dat-ASS if I needed them to. But before I could pick up the phone and you could say “What the hell child is this?...South Park”, he hung up and a whining ass text came blazing thru hell…."I can’t get a hello, huh?” Chile, he hit dat nerve so bad, I thought I was going to have to smack the waiter at TGIF’s and ask him “What in hayell is so good about Friday’s when you got a Busta whining on it?!” Right then and there, my pressha went off Richard’s and Mary’s scale.

BREATHE BITCH!! You die on me, Annie Mae, I’ll kill you. You hear me, Annie Mae? I swear. I’ll kill you. Nam myo renge kyon, nam myo renge kyon….Ok, I’m straight. After I fanned myself with two price tags, I told myself (lied to), “He is calling because he want to go to Dave & Buster’s. Or maybe, The Green Mill? Right? Probably? Possibly? Hopefully? I know, I know…..that bullshit was more far fetched than George Clinton (and Billy Boy) missing out on a puff, puff, pass, pass. They would be more like, “Excuse me while I light my Spliff…Bob Marley.” Yup, you know it too. AIN'T GONE HAPPEN. Moving right along……He should know by now I’m tired of going “I Wonder Who’s Loving You....Little Mikey Jackson BEFORE the three B's...Bleach, Bubbles and Blanket” Can you say Lil Mama and nem? He can take that bullshit elsewhere because, ”I Can’t Stand the Rain Against My Window…Old Skool, Ann Peebles.” And, I most def don't need a Busta at my door. Ok, playa, you lost? "Let me show you, let me show you the way to go..Vintage J-5"

The caller you have dialed is unavailable…Message LEY2389...commercial break over, boys and girls, back to our regularly scheduled PSA. If this had been an actual emergency, you would have been on your own, cause I would not have been here..I would have been like, PEACE!!!

Because I’m a mean bitch and I know I’m a mean beeyotch, “These are my confessions...Ursha before Tamika and after Chili,” I told myself I was going to be nice and not use any real names….even if they do irritate the fiyah hayell outta me 3 out of 4 days a week and 17 hours out of 24. They may be Bustas from the neck up, but it is I, PAPIZGIRL, who is responsible for who walks into MY life. My ass has always known when “no means no” and I use it quite frequently and very eloquently when I want to, as in FUK NO or ohNOhedidn't!! TRUST!! There is no way in Whitney Hayell to the Naw La-La Land any niccas would be all up in my Kool-Aid stirring with no sugar and ice cubes, if I did not LET them. Can’t be no us and we without ME saying so. Remember that when you howling, “Woe is me! Shim (she and him) did me wrong.” Shim may did do you wrong, but like my Papi say, “You ain’t GOTTA take sh*t. You choose to.” Y'all don't hear me though.

Shh...be quiet. You hear that? That is my Papi trying to circumvent your number of stupidassadocious encounters. Are you listening, gym shoe? YOU are the one who decides when Aretha with that foolish ass hat on should sang and shut the party down. When it’s time to go…IT IS TIME TO GO…get yo coat, hat, socks, gloves, MAC (do NOT forget the MAC), seventeen rags, 32 pair of panties, 957 pair of shoes, 3 head scarves, 1 doo-rag and G-O. If he walk-mopping yo ass while you still giving him some, don’t be talking bout "I Can’t Stand Myself When You Touch Me"…Godfather of Soul, J.B., 1968.....RIP” Cut ya whining, bitch!! “See, You Betta Work It Out!...Beyonce A-K-A Foxy Cleopatra and she a whole lotta woman!”

I ain’t even going to front. I know how hard, yes HARD, it can be to leave good tucci behind. Like Sommore say, “You don’t know good d*&% like I know good d*&%.” It can be a traumatic experience going from Getting It Good to Libido Limbo. You tremble, shudder, shiver, quiver and break out into a silver bullet sweat the very first week your extradickular activity ceases…sometimes after the first two days, especially if it was really ass tapping good. Hell, I say, if it is what you gotta do to make that move, make that move right now baby, then by all means, get that last hit (maybe two), take no prisoners and hit dat door!! I will admit for me it was a road filled with shocks, electrical currents, lightning bolts, mercury overdoses and GPS Busta track dodging to get me here. I’m here though, ain’t I?

Hello?...May I speak to Barbara? Barbara, this is Shirley. You might not know who I am....Now, Barbara I don`t know how you`re gonna take this, but whether you be cool or come out of a bag on me, you see it doesn`t really make any difference. But, I feel it`s only fair that I let you know that Woman to Woman, if you ever been in love…Ole Skool, Shirley Brown”.......Ladies, if he whuppin on yo ass and/or hurting your children, this here ain't no love. Honeybabychile, ain't NO ding-a-ling good enough to get in the boxing ring. You know it is time to go. Make a break for it, I got yo back. “We’re busting out, everybody come along!!..That’s Rick James, Bitch!”

Men, if you gotta beat her, you don’t need her. Let her take her worrisome, (pronounced countrily as wur-sum) and simple ass on. Can you say TROUBLE? If “You are a diamond and she treats you like glass and you beg her to love you…Ole Skool Gladys and The Pips," then you needs ta gets ta stepping! Hmmpfff! "You shoulda left day fo' yesserday," as my Papi say. Is it really “Cheaper to Keep Her…Ole Skool, Johnny Taylor” when you in the orange DOJ tuxedo, "Locked UP and They Won't Let You OUT?..Akon with his midnight black ass." Let me spit you a whole bit of Destiny's Child: Who is going to pay your bills? Can you pay your Telephone-BILL, can you pay your automo-BILL? Then maybe you SHOULD chill. What? You say something? Tell me, how much is 15 TO life out OF your life worth? Wouldn’t you rather be looking at the booty, instead of guarding the booty? Ummmm, hmmm, I thought so. "Say my name, say my name!!" Y'all know how I love my jams now! Don't like it? Then YOU can gets ta stepping TOO. **See previous post on red box with white X in it at the top right. Yeah, there ya go, CLICKUP.

Don't get it twisted, my brothas. I am very aware that sometimes the very best foolywangers can be a she, too. One chick who shoulda took a “Walk Away from Love….David Ruffin” is my girl. That broad broke her man’s arm after he slapped her in a fight over the remote control. I had to talk him out of pressing all types of charges until I got her over to her mama’s house, all the while trying to stop her from breaking his OTHER arm in the ambulance. WHEW!! Talk about needing a shot of Hen-Dog and two puffs off a Newport. The poor EMT was scared to death!! I was like, “Who the fuk trained you to put BOTH domesticators in the same gaddayum truck? Have you lost yo rabbit ass mind?! You bout to get us both killed with all this domestics abuse!!

Ok, I know, I know… Papi’s aversion to BS is coming out…my pressha done jumped sky high AGAIN….I got all off the Engine, Engine Number 9 track. This was supposed to be a BAU (Busta Alert Update) and it done turned into a PSA (Public Service Announcement). Sorry bout dat! But, hey, we all gotta preach some time. Spread the word, not the scourge.

That’s it, Kiddies. Class is dismissed. No questions to answer this time. But, you take this home and work with what I’m saying to you. Life is too short to be stumbling thru it with a dumb motha fuka!! When you meet shim and shim ain’t what you want, ask yourself “Can I Change My Mind…Old Skool, Tyrone Davis" Our new fly ass Prezzie, who just painted the White House BLACK (RIP MC Breed), said "YES YOU CAN!!" And, I say, "YOU DAYUM RIGHT!" My party people in da house, always remember, when you put the bottle down and Aretha closes the hat check down again with that foolish ass hat on, you deserve the best and all that it brings. You are “Outstanding”….My Name is Charlie Last Name Wilson and the Gap Band” Hello!! Talk to me now!

Until the next “You told Harpo to Beat Me” story…........

1 Love, 2 fingers and 3 Kisses, MUAH!

Busta Alert!!...MM...Coochy Coupons and Expiration Dates

Look...up in the sky....is it a bird....a plane? Watchoutderenow!! It's a Busta Alert!!!

Mississipi Mud...Yep, this one is for you, playa... "All for You"...Miss Janet if ya Nasty Jackson."

This is a bit overdue, my loyal followers. This iss-shue has been on my mind for a couple of weeks now. I just ain't had the chance to let it rip and send it out. I have been actually having to work at work. DAYUM!! I can't get nothing done. But, this here my very first Busta Alert and I quite proud of it.

To get the party started, our topic for the day is...Coochy Coupons....Do they have an expiration date? When you give a playa one, does he get a lifetime membership to the putty or just yearly visits? I mean, this is unless he royally fuks up like he beats you, gets you arrested or fuks with your MAC or shoes, then that don't count...goes without saying, all that ish is absolutely unforgivable. Is there a way for you to discriminately pass them out on your 21 sale days and have a Busta redeem his discreetly and then beat it without whining or trying to haggle on the clearance rack? Can you stop him from hanging around while you are doing inventory and rearranging your stock during the other 3-5 days?

Questions like these, my party people in da house, are what keeps the party going over here and brings us back to MM, Mississippi Mud. Yes, crooked letter, crooked letter, I can't stand this motha hopping biscuit eater! That child knows he works my last nerves. Ok, ok, pass the Henny and hot wings....I'm gonna tell you all about my old jump-off and his shenanigans and his lack, thereof. (WARNING: This is one of those "You Told Harpo to Beat Me" stories.) Here we go now, come on.......

I met MM (no names, now, no names.) a little over a year ago thru my home jammy jam, AVJ. I was still kinda reeling from the previous jump-off who had a fukn play-by-play rule book on dating. TRUST!! I will get to his ass too, just gimme a mino. MM was pretty cool. Tall, laid back, country and kinda looked like a cute Biggie, if that was possible. And, yup, doofus over here fell like a ton of bricks going thru the window of the Blazer of a cheating ass, black man caught up in Chic Rick's with one of his "workers." (Throw-back!! Y'all don't know nothing bout dat. UNLESS, you were there, I plead da Fifth.)

SMDH....I don't know if I was stupid or well, if I was just stupid. Don't get me wrong...ain't nothing really wrong with MM...that is, if you don't want to go nowhere, don't need your man to have no money, and, oh yeah, did I mention he is great if you don't want to go nowhere and you don't need yo man to have no money? I mean, MM will spend time with you, all you want. BUT, that time is spent screwing, rolling over, getting a sammich, screwing, rolling over, getting a pop, rolling over, going back to sleep, getting a lil mo for da road and then you going home. Now, you can stay as long as you want, but you MUST know yo ass will not be leaving the confines of his room until you take your confined ass back to the crib. If you go anywheres, your Route 66 or 69, if you like, will be going back and forth to the bathroom, the bedroom, the TV (IF his zillion and five homies ain't there) and back to the bedroom. That's it. Now, you may get a bucket of chicken out of the deal, but don't be looking for no ambience and candles or no ish like that, cause IT AIN'T GONE HAPPEN. You just better sit there, eat that 3 piece with mild sauce, ketchup and salt and pepper by the lamplight and be giggly as a motha fuka while 92.3 bumps the jams. He really was a sweet guy, y'all. ;-$ He just ain't never talkin' bout nothing!

With all of these fabulous qualities, we still ending up having a few problems. Can you believe dat? Ya think? NO!! I'm kidding, right? Bullshit. AS IF THAT ISH WASN'T ENOUGH? It really is all my fault too. I had no dayum bizness snooping. That's right. I did it!! And, what do we say after that, boys and girls? And, you betta not tell no g-dayum body either! One night, I got bored (and who the fuk wouldn't?) in between the bedroom and the bucket of chicken and decided to scroll thru his text messages. And, for the record, the dumb motha hoppa GAVE me the phone to do it. I was like, "Whoa!! Did I hit the mother lode or what? Is he stupid or dayum, is he just really stupid?" As Tweety Bird on my man's jeans say, "He don't know me dat well, now do he?" I whipped thru that motha fuka like T-Mobile on Ten, AT&T on Acid and Nextel on a nickel bag. I found texts from some chick asking where he at, another asking why he don't, one asking what she do and he do and one last one asking for a little bit off the top. Now, I ain't hating on the top off hoe at all. Because, if he didn't have a little swordsman in his blood and pipefitter in his pants, we never would have lasted them six months and some change. I kinda understood her. At the time I met him, a broad was broke, starving, and gang-banging. AND, horny. To be getting it on the regular and GOOD, on the regular, had me happier than a queen with a Crown Royal bag packed with liquor and ding-a-lings that used Gold Wrappers. Hello! Talk to me now!

I was really ok with America's Best Sweat Crew. Didn't bother me too much at all. Hell, we all gotta cry some time. But, what really got my brain twirled was these broads sending him coochy shots. No, not back shots, not Vicky shots or Patron shots, but nasty ass fukn coochy shots!!!! I was like, "WTFFF???" (Yeah, I needed THREE f's for that.) I'm like, "That is what my lil yella ass get." I almost went blind! I'm talking bout vamp the Vulva, clip the Clit, lasso the Labia and pop dat putty pics. I just could not believe it. I did not want to be that up close and personal with my own Betty, less than known some other kitty's yarn ball. That's just nasty y'all!! I'm about to regurgitate on my keyboard as I peck. And, I betcha that will make you think twice about asking a chick to use her phone too, now won't it? In any case, I might have been ok with that too, after I sprayed that phone with Lysol, bathed that keypad in ammonia and stuck a TB and Tetanus shot in the earpiece and camera hole, but we were NOT going no where! Yup, you got it. No, we were not mingling with the outside world at all. I sat in dat chair, sat in dat chair, likes ta rot...Sophia, The Color Purple His idea of going to the movie is watching bootleg flicks with niccas all in the video and passing one Heineken between me and his zillion and two homies. SMDHH!! Now, THAT is where I drew the line and got my thongs in a knot to kill.

Ok, advice on MM: if he was going to have Hoodies Gone to Hell do the fool, it would have been better for him to have them do it while we are on our way to the Islands or at the very least, to Banderas or Flat Top Grill. Not saying those are top down restaurants. They are like lunchtime with the girls for me. But DAYUM, you gotta understand what I was working with. I had to start small. Popeye's was his thang and it was making my ass swing around the corner after I turn it and have a Jheri Curl complexion. I was getting chicken grease errywhere! Plus, I didn't want to scare him with something like China Grill or Fat Cat . :-O And, people, we are talking minor league here and you know it.

Nevertheless, I wasn't tripping, not really, even after all the coochy clicking. I'm one of those chicks who go into most of my relationships or dalliances with eyes wide open and legs wide shut until I get proof in the pudding and good pudding for proof. Papi said you can't be letting everybody have a piece of the candy. God, I love that man!! In the very beginning, I give my behavioral speech, even though it has been pledged more times than the Pledge of Allegiance, spit more than Kanye's "Love Lockdown" and preached more than the sermon of Creflo Dollar trying to get one more collection plate in. I make all they asses pledge to be on their best behavior and not embarass me while they are whoring around, WHILE I'm over here making up my mind about whether or not they are going to get to come to Aunt Millie's cookout. TRUST!! I have only taken 2 to see Aunt Millie, and one gave me my baby love and the other bought me a Blazer....WAIT!! That was the same one. And, oops, now that I think about it, I mighta thrown the bricks through my own ish one night at the club. So, you see what I mean? Getting to Auntie Millie's is like Survivor, Chapter 10, Paragraph 3.."How to make it to the Family Picnic and not have to pay child support and a car note before you go."

To make it so bad, these texts and coochy clicks were coming from chicks with names like, "Lil Mama, Keep It Wet, Shake It Down, Bay-Bay, Punkin and Pookie." Well, as far as I was concerned, he could have Lil Mama and Bay-Bay and nem. I was up! My name was picked by my father for its meaning, beautiful in Spanish, not from action verbs and Halloween patches. I could not bring myself to compete with these heifers. I JUST COULD NOT. Honeybabychile, I was like, "Playa, I ain't madatcha, but I ain't trying to hear dat there, neither. I gots ta go, lemme get my coat. See ya and don't wanna be one of them brokeback mountainback, nasty ass black hole models." It was like, "Ok, whatever." with them. NO CLASS, PERIOD, end of story. That was easy. Still, I couldn't help but wonder (shout out to Carrie..SATC)....what kind of man has chicks snap their money maker and send it thru cell towers with no change returned? Is that why my phone drops in the LSD curve and when I go down 63rd street? What happens if he loses his phone? Would another brotha be able to identify them in a lineup? What would Jesus do? And, last but not least, I KNOW this motha fuka don't think I'm gone send him a picture of the Underground Railroad my baby came thru!!! EWWWWW!!!! Nasty him and her beeyotches downstairs!!!

Now, I am sure you prolly have enough background to connect the dots to our topic for the day. Soooo, back to the present...we are now cool, and I like it that. I will admit I slipped off the welcome wagon once and got a hit because the doc said I had to watch my mercury level. Can you say BIG MISTAKE?!! I shoulda just explained to Security at the County that I didn't have no knife when I was there to see Junebug and Raoul. The metal detectors were "Dead Wrong...B.I.G" I shoulda let them know I sometimes get a little overexcited with my pet, Rabbit....and that my doc said I would soon be involuntarily launched to the moon, if I did not find another more constructive, less electrical way to entertain myself, thus the static in their radio and police scanners. SMH AGAIN...Ya knows I shoulda took the dayum trip to the moon, right? INSTEAD of relaunching his spaceship and crashing in The Dead and Shoulda Been Thru With Sea. Ummm, hmmm...that chile has been whining ever since. My ears are going ring, ding, dong, ring, da ding, ding, ding dong...shout out to Dr. Dre with his swole grown ass!! "Keep Their Heads Ringin" I'm like, "Will you please STFU?!!" I used to try and shoot the ish with him, but I can't now. It is just too irritating, makes me have uncontrollable tics and stuff. He just keeps on calling and texts like a mad man because "I Refuse...The Late and Great, Aaliyah" to answer. And anyway, what happen to Tank after they tasered his ass? Wasn't he and babygirl on the same label, Blackground, her uncle's? You know they trying to say on Bossip she usta be a jump-off for Dame Dash and Jay-Z?

Ok, lost track..sorry...MM keeps asking this one question I FUKN HATE, DESPISE, AND LOATHE!! I cannot stand to hear nobody say it NEVA NOT NEVA EVA AGAIN, especially him. But all day long, all day strong, no matter the weather, he always goes, "Can I see you?" No "You wanna go to the movies?" or "How bout dinner and dancing?" Nurp!! Not him. Lawd, when I hear that question, I start convulsing and speaking in tongue like you done took my MAC Oh Baby lipglass. And we know how dat turn out? Guns, wine bottles, bobby pins, doo-rags, shoes and cooking utensils get to flying. I want to say and unfortunately, sometimes I do, "Do a drive-by, you lil fukr and look to the left, to the left. You will SEE me waving my hand and patting my shot glass holder for you to kiss as I "Walk on By...Black Moses, Isaac or Psychic Dionne...depends on which generation you come from...Me? Black Moses Grandkid all the way." I wouldn't be so hard on him if it was not completely true. When MM says he wants to see you....THAT is EXACTLY da fuk what he is talking about!!!...seeing you while sitting there looking at you upside yo head until you get so bored you give him some to pass the time away.

So, my point is, after all of this on "Coochy Coupons"....Why do men feel like once they get a hit, they can always go to bat or use their bat on you forever? Even the major leagues have new seasons every year. How come some don't realize that the season has changed and their asses have been benched? And, should you ever re-hit a once promising, but now, petulant old Busta just because you sometimes cause electrical shocks and produce lightning bolts in the rain?

WHAT MAKES HIM THINK HE HAVE A LIFETIME MEMBERSHIP TO MY SUNSHINE?

Does he think I am his own personal tanning bed and required to tan and tap dat ass for life?

And why this motha fuka ain't got sense enough to know that you gotta go outside SOMETIME? It ain't even that he can't go, he don't wanna go. I ain't mad at him at all, that is just fine, UNTIL the sorry motha fuka calls me!! My blood just boils because I done told him. If Lil Mama and 'nem like it, so be it. Just stop calling me with that weak ass game and then whining while you spitting it!! How bout dat?? Dayum shame I would rather go thru Crack Cockatoo Libido Limbo than even listen to him. SHEESH!

Ok, Busta with yo whining ass!! Your Coochy Coupon has expired, done, finito. Over here, we only take manufacturer's coupons not copies or reproductions of what a coupon should be like or given to a Busta who look like what a man should look like but don't act like. Yo Mama didn't teach yo ass nothing, did she? You MUST understand...I will never "Play Another Slow Jam....Atlantic Starr and Monica and Ursha, again depending on which generation you from...Me? Shining with the Starr" for you. Before you, Mississippi Mud, EVER get a whiff of a sniff you better know, "some Marvin Gave, some Luther Vandross, a little Anita, will definitely set this party off right...Jamie Foxx and Twista, new generation Slow Jam." AND THEN AGAIN...NOT!

Note to self: ALWAYS be painfully aware of whining tendencies of former jump-offs and act accordingly, as in act a fool accordingly every time they contact you. Do not, I REPEAT, DO NOT, entertain them for fear of nervous breakdown and ultimately, the good probability of an Ida B. Wells-Dearborn Homes cuss out before said nervous breakdown. Do NOT fear retribution, because if they are whining, who gives a fuk? They don't scare nobody no ways.

And, until this supercalicrazystupidaafoolywangadocious is resolved, I'm single again, back on the prowl, I thought it was perfect, I don't know WHY??....Gone on, Trina!!!!

"HOT LIKE FIYAH".......To my fellow Capricorn, Aaliyah...RIP"