I Want To Know Whose Son Made This, So I Can Beat The Fuck Out Of Him...
And that's me minding my mouth because I'm an ex-con.
I’ll tell you right now, it’s difficult to shock me with something from the internet anymore. Y’all know the rabbit holes I go into chasing incels and Egyptian men who want to kill me for talking shit about their law saying they can fuck their dead wives.
I have seen a lot of shit running down shit for this column, and the majority of it is written by some little bitch ass incel in his mama’s basement, waiting his little pimply-faced ass on his fucking pizza rolls.
I’m willing to put money that the same could be said for this fucking drivel above. But, Jesus H. and His Mother Mary, what the fuck environment are you raising your son in that he thinks shit like this is ok?
I am doing what I can to track the creator because I seriously mean what I’m saying. I will literally show the fuck up to the front door and ring the fucking bell.
Ding Dong.
“What’s up pussy ho, you wanna step out, or I get to drag you out?” Y’all know I’m not trying to do the 15 years behind that home invasion shit. But this dude needs his fucking ass kicked. Several times.
What in the fuck is going on out here? Who is raising these kids that actually believe this shit is funny, or even worse, true? I mean, this is more than punk-ass kid disrespectful wanna-be humor. This is real fucking vitriol. This is fucking venom. This is misogyny, motherfucker, in print.
I urge you, if your son says some shit like this, in passing, with or without an ignorant grin when he does it, whip his punk ass before I come do it. I assure you, I have not lost these fucking hands, trying to tame the trap queen or not.
This is the fucking hate that women face every day. No matter how many enlightened, sensitive, fucking awesome men who apologize for this shit, that apology isn’t saving me from this dude when he corners me somewhere.
This is the type of dude you have to literally fight for your life against. I know. Bitch, I’ve fucking done it, and if you’ve read the story about the slapjack and the Jolly Green Giant, you know exactly how I fucking did so.
I thank God that I was on my A-game that night, lest I had been left dead in a fucking orange grove. But that doesn’t mean I want to have to worry about sick fucks like the creator of this bullshit above catching me on a day I didn’t pack the big Glock .40 or the A.
No woman should have to do so much as engage in conversation with the type of person who spent the time it took to make this shit. Not a single one of us deserve to be exposed to these nasty-ass, zit-squeezing asthmatic wheezing pussy-ass kids.
Dude, somebody better find and check your fucking kid. Because if I get to his bitch ass first, you can kick back Mama Bear, your shit has been dealt with. Bet.
That’s it. I’m so fucking sorry y’all had to read this absolute puss of a photo attachment.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.