Tuesday, May 20, 2008

The End Of My Rope (part one)

I’ve decided that I’m done. I’m spent. I am through.

I am officially depleted.

I don’t know, maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve blogged. Maybe it’s because I’ve watched one too many “Flavor of whatever fool the white folks who run $hit have decided to give a reality show to.” Perhaps it’s because gas is more than four dollars per gallon. I’m really not sure what has sent me over the edge; but I’m there. I am actually over the edge. I’m hanging on by my fingertips on a hot day wishing I hadn’t used lotion on my hands, because I’m slipping. I am slipping into an abyss of I don’t give a f*ck no more and you can’t make me.

I’m sick.
I’m sick of a whole bunch of $hit!

Don't believe me? Well here...I’ll give you part of my little list in case you think I’m writing this for my health:

I’m sick of hearing about celebrity weddings or anything else “celebrity.”
I don’t celebrate these people.

I don’t give a damn about Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon getting married and having a reception at Magic Mountain. So f’ing what! All I want to know about Magic Mountain is if they still sell those funnel cakes with the strawberry syrup drizzled on them in abundance and then sprinkled with powdered sugar? Anyone care to drop dime on that piece of information? Nor, does my craw tickle to know about Jay-Z and Beyonce, Brad and Angelina or Tom Cruise and his robot/beard wife Katie Holmes. Married, shacking up, gay; I DON’T CARE!

Funny, but I think the feeling is quite mutual.

I don’t care the Suge Knight got knocked out. So what? It was bound to happen. Bullies can’t win all the time. It was the natural progression of things. Move on people, move on.

I’m sick of little bastards like Latarian Milton. He’s the little f’er that beat up his grandmother inside Wal-Mart. Talk about a roll back. You can click the link below to read more, but in essence, the little piece of caca wanted some chicken wings at Wal-Mart, and when grandma didn’t pay for them, he commenced to open a can of whoop ass on her.


I keep telling you nigarolls that the man is putting something in the chicken, but y'all wanna keep supporting the Colonel. See how the chicken be calling people? Even little 7-year-olds.

Is it only me? Am I the only the only one who sees how far we have fallen as a people? See, my first thought was that had I been in that Wal-Mart store and seen that mess, I would have pulled his rabid ass off granny and stole on that little sucker myself. Then, some debbiedoogooder would have called the police from her Nokia and told them I was beating up a little kid. You see how this dumb $hit works? I would have been arrested for beating up the little bastard that was beating up his granny. Ridiculous. Does anyone have a vicodin? $hit!

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