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.
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!!
LOLLLL U ARE WILD (NAK)
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