I was released from prison in December. December 21st, if you’re taking notes. You probably should be, if you’re one of them hos in the back row.
Friday, I hired my first writer for my copywriting business.
I’ve decided that simply being The Queen isn’t enough for me. There’s entirely too much money out there for me to be happy not rolling around in it with three or four dogs like trashy ass new money. I clearly don’t give any fucks, so when I do, I’ll take photos for this exact column.
That’s four months. In the span of four months, this is the work I’ve put into rebuilding my empire. Because you can slow me down a little, but you will never fucking stop me.
The very first thing I want from this column is for every one of you nasty bitches who read my column with a sneer on your face to roll your fucking eyes so hard, you see the back of your unattractively shaped heads. I have analytics, bitch, I see you. Lurking. Like a lurking ass lurker.
Hurts don’t it? Ssssss….yeah….it’s only going to get worse.
See, your mistake was thinking the only business I ever ran was being a trap queen. That, ho, is a falsehood.
Two different Fortune 500 Top 100 upper management positions. Before 30. You can’t match me there, and you can’t stop me here.
I know. I would fucking hate me too. Really, I get it.
No, no I don’t. I know so many fucking successful, talented ass women who know I think they are amazing. I celebrate their successes with them because that’s one more woman who is on her own two Louboutins getting shit done. Making shit happen. Bitches who are just caving shit in like breastplates.
Those are my favorite women. They fucking crush shit. Really, it took me a few moments to realize, I’m one of those women. Matter of fact, I dare another bitch to stand up right now and tell me they hustled something out of nothing faster than I just hustled it up.
Okay, well, I don’t fucking have all night, so just email me when someone thinks they know a broad who has. I’ll be happy to reconvene just to shut that shit down.
Today, I’ll take my fucking accolades (yes, plural, you can visit any of my publishing platforms to side eye my ribbons) and I’ll tell you with zero shame I lived every word in this column, and the other ones I write, as well. I fucking did this. And, from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve done this shit to death.
I mean, if you ain’t on my team by now, bitch, really…I mean, do you hate money or great hair or super funny fucking descriptive narratives? Because I can’t think of any other reason, ho, I’m just good fucking people.
I don’t know, girl, you should probably just hop on board. I’m willing to let bygo- wait, hold up, I was drunk from the prospect of rolling around in money with dogs. I ain’t letting shit go. I can suggest you go to someone who runs shit in my absence and hope you slip in under my radar. That’s the only way you’re getting into my fan club.
However, if you send me a SASE, I’ll send you an 8x10 glossy. Because, yeah, I know. It’s Olaplex. That’s the secret.
I’m out. All my fans, I love y’all, and soon you can laugh at my ignorant ass rolling in money with dogs. All you lurking ass hos with the ill will, *waves well manicured hand in the most condescending fashion* Sleep tight. Ho.
The eye-rolling bitches aren’t fit to polish your Louboutins, my Queen so don’t even give them space in your head (except for so long as it takes to call them out 👍). Take your kudos where you find them and I find Absorbine Jr. is very soothing when you throw your shoulder out patting yourself on the back 😳😂
Nothing but respect 💅👑💖💯