Hit On Me

Just because you put a ring on my finger
Just because you put some clothes on my back.
Just because you gave me money for December
Doesn't mean that I have to pay you back.

You were my husband
You were supposed to do the things you chose to do
I loved you 'til the end
And I'd rather die before I let my kids see.
The way you hit on me
The way you hit on me
Every night I'd cry hopin' that they'd never see
The way you hit on me
The way you hit on me
The way you hit on me
How come you hit on me? -- Syleena Johnson

I'm going to need everyone to keep their damn hands to themselves in 2006.

I'm going to need all feet to stay on the fuckin' ground in 2006.

I'm going to need people to stop choke slammin' and clotheslinin' each other in 2006.

Shit's gotta stop in 2006.



It literally sounded like "boompity, boompity, boom" out in the hallway.

What the fuck?

I looked out the peephole to see him dragging his woman down the stairs by her foot, and I'm like what now? What the fuck did she say to set your unstable ass off TO-DAY?

Nicest people on the earth, on the surface.

But honey...inside of their crib? It was Gatti v. Ward 1, 2 or 3 err'y night up in that camp.

Shit, I got tired of callin' P.G.'s finest on them. She would jet up out of their with their daughters, cuz if the cops got one look at her Rican profile, they were gon' see his bitch-slap print, and hubby was not going to pass Go, was not going to collect $200, but would go straight to jail.

Couple of hours later, she would come back, and I'd hear them in there, merrily clanging pans together.

I guess they was hungry after all that fighting.

Now I'm not usually one to be all up in nobody's business, but the next time he tried to strike up small talk in the parking lot, I asked him how his wife was.

Then gave him the .

FuckIlooklike.

He just gave me that "Nigga what" laugh, and said he'd holla.

The irony of that wasn't lost on me.

I'll holla.

If God is a just God, you sure will.

To bypass all of that, I'ma just need muthafuckas to "Just Say No" to the domestic violence in 2006. Don't hit, and don't be hit.

Chicks, stop playing the hit game. That shit ain't cute. As a matter of fact, who told you that shit was cute? Now that's the muthafucka you oughta hit!

Niggas, that wrasslin' game ya'll like to play with us? That shit ain't cute either. Reminds me too much of what you do right before you start hitting. Back your ass up offa me. If you'on wanna wrassle my 6'5", 320 lb. cousin Boo, then fuckyoulooklike wrasslin' me?

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: I'on wrassle. I'on hit. Cuz see, I'm not that ha-ha, hee-hee type person that is gonna take it light. And you're probably not gonna realize that until I heat up some cornmeal and throw it at you. See...then I'ma be a crazy bitch, and you knew I was crazy, and so on and so forth...

Some people don't want to believe fat meat is greasy.

Stop.hitting.each.other.

So I've got bronchitis. Suppose my lungs look a little like this:



I had a sharp pain under my left breast on Tuesday, and I 'clare for God, I thought I was up OUTTA here.

The next morning, I went straight to the doctor, only to have him tell me that I had bronchitis.

Sigh of relief, right? Wrong.

Can't breathe!

My current obsession is the Discovery Channel's Going Tribal series, hosted by Bruce Parry.

Besides the fact that this series reeks of latent paternalism, I found it quite interesting that this Brit man takes what...6 or 7 weeks out of his life to go hang out with the natives in various parts of the world.

The episode that sold me? The one where he spent over a month with the Suri people of Ethiopia.



The women are known to wear clay plates in their bottom lips, with their bottom 4 teeth knocked out so food can slide down the plate into their mouths. How practical!

The men have elongated earlobes and walk around with their manhood swinging merrily in the breeze.

Not a eensy-peensy dick amongst them.

And I scanned the whole crowd, ya heard?

BIG OLE DICKS!

Blue Boy Blue, go and blow your horn!
You gon' break your neck tryna blow your horn... -- New Birth

I'm talking about some dicks to write home about.

Now they were uncircumcized and err'thang, lookin' like mutant, chocolate-covered corn dogs...but good gravy, Lord save me.

BIG.OLE.DICKS.

To the window!
To the wall!
To the sweat pours down my balls... -- Ying Yang Twins

Amazing how even though their dicks looked like they hadn't seen any water since the placenta, they still looked goot. Not good. GOOT.

Big dicks just look good. In whatever condition they are in.

I wonder if the clay plates in the women's bottom lip is so that they might serve the dick up properly.

Just cuz we live in the jungle don't mean we'on know how to set a proper table!

I wonder if their husbands' big ole dicks knocked out their bottom teeth.



If you're not annoyed merely at the fact that I'm jive fantasizing about unwashed, Ethiopian tribal dick, then perhaps you're a bit disturbed at how mouth-watering I made them sound. Maybe?

Happy New Year, bitches!