“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.
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!
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