Let Me Go On And Help Y'all Fuckboys Out...
The damned door because y'all just taking up good air and limited seating.
Much as I did in Contra, I apply cheat codes regularly to my everyday life. I will up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right B A B A your ass right outta my face, is what I’m saying to you.
I have some folk in my life, listen, they lend a little glimpse into who I used to be. Be glad you don’t know that Bitchface, because she was not the fucking one. It used to be the actual running joke that if anyone shot a nasty look from the other side of the bar, I would Jesus sprint across the tops of those bottles to knock that shit right off of them.
I was always in the mix. Always running the streets. Always in that nonsense, always with the fucking shenanigans.
These days, I’m tame like a house cat. Just kicking it on the throne, occasionally smiting, and *waving my well manicured hand in the direction of the folk that do all that shit now*. It somehow feels slightly more civilized to keep some knuckles on the roster instead of on ice.
My homegirl Melinda, the broad is some kind of stupid fine. She looks like Mariah, and is about as crazy as a fucking sprayed roach like Mariah as well. This bitch and I could not go a damned place, not one, without it turning into me throwing hands with half of the joint. It is simply a fact of when she and I get together, we elevate that part of one another. She loses her inhibitions because she knows I never leave a bitch behind. She turns me into a 350 pound bouncer, because I have physically thrown a dude for getting handsy with my girl after I distinctly heard her say “don’t touch me”.
Not where you want to be when I’m laying down Titos and tonic. Those are words that are a gold-foiled RSVP card to me whippin your fucking ass for you. I don’t give two hot damns if you were green lit the entire way here, the ride down to Funtown is now down for maintenance, bitch, so get off.
It’s a part of my fabric. It’s the protector in me. In my heart, I’m BMan’s size, and my attitude is double that.
My attitude is Debo, and these Fuckboys are somebody’s bicycle. Someone is finna get tossed.
Yet, there are some people in my life who are that very quality I am to Melinda, to me. I know that whatever should happen to pop off, I’m leaving with my absolutely gorgeous hair still under my tiara. There could be an all out zombie apocalypse and Phat would just pull the truck around and someone would shove me into the backseat and it would be just another Saturday night in a county much too small for my larger than life personality.
Tonight, I was reminded of these people, with their knuckle scars and a tendency to press my face into their chest when things are getting complicated for fear that I may see something that would get my surprised Pikachu face up and “oh” mouthed. To this part of my team, I am 5’2 with anger management issues, not the woman who once told a AAA league ball team that I had all 28 or 29 of their roster on my list, and it was time to start crossing off some names.
Yeah. I was big, big mad.
I like to believe that I still hold my own when shit gets live, but I really don’t have the need to tune the technicolor anymore. However, we live in a world of unpredictable shit. Last week a yoga instructor, wife, and mother from the next county over vanished. Tahoe and all. Bitch. How do you completely wipe a fucking Tahoe off of the damned planet? A Tahoe is the size of half of my fucking cul-de-sac.
It’s been ten days, no sign of the truck or the woman. That is a bad nasty omen. And not too many years ago, it was Jennifer Kesse that disappeared from the same city and very similar mystery. Just poof.
I know there are things that go bump in the night. I know that there are things that, if given the opportunity, would add me right onto that guest list to poof.
And for these reasons, I keep a serious attitude, these hands, some people of less than rigid moral compasses who think I’m the bees knees, the Judge, some pit bulls, and the good sense the Lord handed to me. You might work through one or three of those, but one of them is gonna snag you, I’m certain of it. And if not, it’s a fortress here, complete with the cameras and backed up to the Cloud.
I’m not going poof, and I promise you, you can roll the footage back, and we’ll be game prepping with the markers on the screen because I want to know where they were able to slip the defensive linemen, and what we’ll do next week to prevent it. X and O this shit here, bitch.
That’s some scary shit April. Also why I keep ‘em locked, loaded and convenient at home and away.