Readership, looka here.
Every now and again I get viewermail that's angrier than next Tuesday. I usually CTRL ALT DEL that shit when I sense the sender's blood pressure rising, but sometimes they turn out to be Gifts from Virgos. Or Cancers.
This mail I got last night troubled me, so I wanna share it with you.
You think you funny, don'tchu? You think just cause you got a Twitter page you can talk shit? You think just cuz you got more followers than people you follow, you the shit huh? Well let me tell you something, you ain't shit. You never was shit. You ain't gon' never be shit.
When I found out about this pissy ass, trick ass, TONY ass site, I thought it was something like Beyonceitis at first. Then I read the second POST. I slapped the shit outta Angie for sending me that fucking link. That hurted my soul. You hurted my soul. That lil' bad ass reason why I can't have drapes on my windows cause he always find a way to burn 'em down is my soul, DAMMIT!
When I founded out, it hurt me right here. *holding chest* Yes, I laughed a little and it kinda hurt because I had bronchitis that day. But then your lil' shenanigans kept on coming. Got hella popular on the underground side of the internet. I'm here in the fucking studio tryna write the twelfth song on why I can't stand TONY remedial football playing ass and you got my producers asking me "How Lil' Creole Pimp doing?"
I HATE WHEN PEOPLE CALL HIM LIL' CREOLE PIMP!
That is not his name. His name is Julez. L before the E. Not Juelz.
He is not Santana. No son of mine is wearing no bandanas on his head unless it's plaid and shiny, because I encourage all things different.
But I digress.
I'd like to come down to your local Wal-Mart and catch you bent over in the produce section, witcha greens eating ass. I'll turn over my shopping cart on you, dammit! Wait 'til I find out who you is.
1998. Chevy Corrolla. Head lights off. Windows down. You better fucking run.
HE IS MY FUCKING SOUL! YOU BROKE MY FUCKING SOUL!
You know what my sister said when I tol't her? Nothing. Just stared at me. Like she was auditioning for a fucking movie. Nothing.
Understand this frightened me. I don't know if it's real or not, but the email address was "TONYaintshit@gmail.com" so... Yeah. I'ma take heed to this threat, so if you need me I'll be at the border.... Not the Mexican border. Taco Bell. I want a Nacho Bell Grande like a mug.