The cultivation of authenticity.
Executive
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Written by Priscilla Wong
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All is quiet now that hope has packed up and moved on.
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Nobody cares about nobody or nothing. There ain't no National Treasury to fix broken mental people. They been jail broke since the dawn of time. Ain't nobody gonna put bad boys in jail. Best for them to trip and fall on they faces, be eaten by a coyote or bear.
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They's only going to be smote by the lord almighty.
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My creeping mate of a reject pedophile donkey, who fancies himself as a wizard - picture this - a sneaky slime bag drive through, in which he throws a brick through my city window, on account of getting his conviction boosted by bedding a fine Black girl. I said she can't be as fine as me.
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Oh and the credit card fraud, the other bandit tried to commit - a felony, I says - he tried his dangest to steal my identity to make purchases in my very own Christian born name. Picture a creeping Yakuza gangstateer type, punching a pin into a street corner ATM machine, with my picture, pretending to be a sweet angel face, scrawling my signature for cold cash money. Why, I hope they both get hit by a subway train.
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Poppa, you's supposed to protect me.
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Evaded two fellow loathsome chimpanzees, I did. I said, they's been evaded. Why do they reckon I'm not a wizard witch, myself? Try as they might to crack my code, but how do you imagine two monster bimbos trying their mightest to squeeze into a pair of designer heels? We're not even the same shoe size, and they's hairy as sin. Once their technology spell wears off, their pubic curly head hairs, be sprouting out of control and suddenly they'll be back where they started. As gargoyle toads.
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How would them two gangster bandits like it, if I send a proper lynch mob after thems? Wouldn't that be the most splendidest, Dobermann Bijoux? No injuns around to shoot them arrows at me. I'd catch 'em all bare handed and crack the whip on them Ferdinand Bull Horns!