The title says it all. Twitter is on my nerves. That's neither good nor bad. It's complex even though it sounds really simple. For starters, my GRANNY and my TEE-TEE got pages up on there and that shit ain't cool bruh. I mean damn, my momma and Wale ol' booger nose bougie ass already on there. Now these two? Why you think I'm avoiding Facebook?

But that ain't the half. It seems like what seemed to be a good thing, has "faulted itself". You know how you follow me (you do follow me, right?) and you see me tweeting funny shit to funny people? So you follow them? And then they follow you? And so on and so forth until it's one big MyCircle type affair? Sounds cool on paper, but it ain't.

Why?

Why?


Why?

Because originality has been AWOL since the season finale of The Basic Bitches of Buckhead. Every thing The Chama say, every thing Fresh and 'nem say, every thing Lil Big Kim and Big Lil Kim and Medium Small Kim say ends up repeated twelve times the next day as if it's still funny. Basically plain ass basic tweets are becoming retweets without the "RT" in them.

If I sound like I'm in a bad mood, really I'm not. Maybe I should switch from my "Take It Down For All The Lovers Out There" iTunes playlist to my "Fuck The World And The Horse It Rode In On" playlist. Actual playlist names. R&B makes me think and Hip-Hop [any kind] makes me jig. Shit, I'd jig to a Mos Def track, to an Algebra track, to Uncle Joe exclusive. But I digress.

That's not my only fault with Twitter, y'all. Besides "exclusive" circles that we all fuck and fight within, there are "inclusive" circles, if those are real words. These inclusive circles are like six degrees of separation in Twitter form. It's probably the only way you could link Ciara to the Billboard charts or Omarion to some pussy. In these inclusive circles, everybody is connected to everybody. Motherfuckers you ain't never heard of, don't know them from a box of washing powder, pop up in your timeline via @replies or that bogusoity-laced official RT button. I love receiving love in my @replies. I hate seeing strangers in my timeline via RT. Sometimes they be ugly as hell. Sometimes they be so pretty, I'm caught off guard. Sometimes... I can't. Either way, I'd like to wake up from this beautiful nightmare.

But that's not even it... It's... this:

That's my homie. We don't beef no more but still... This?

Ion't want no homo ass Goldeen.

But

that






ain't







nothing







compared to








THIS:









Bruh..

Black people, what the fuck gives? I was "enjoying all the drama" my Hadley street-esque life has to offer so I missed out on a multitude of niggardly things that happened in the past days. I wasn't there when Serena was about to turn that Asian lineperson into lo mein. I wasn't there as Kayne snatched that dick away from Taylor Swift and handed it to Tee-Tee. I wasn't there when Obama called him out his name for it. I wasn't there when Llama the Moses repped her set. I was there when Sheneneh caught that snowball to the face though.

[CLICK FOR MORE]

You lucky motherfuckers got to live to witness, yet another, B'Day! You better drop to ya knees and arch ya back and praise whomever you answer to on the Sabbath.

If you weren't aware, Friday, September 4, 2009 Tee-Tee turned 72 (to some people). And since it fell on a Friday this year we had to do it big! Now when you're a rich ass Creole family with a galaxy of haters and checkbooks, doing it big is bigger than just doing it big.

WE DO IT BIG, NIGGA!




Originally, we weren't sure how we was gon' do this, because no one in the Killa Knowles Klan shares the same views on "doing it big". When you're Kelly Rowland, doing it big is throwing your fiesta-fiesta overseas and having it a bigger success than it would be if it were held in the states. When you're Michelle Williams, doing it big is dropping down low and sweeping the floor with ya FACE at the local Negro complex for coon dancing and dutty whining (on Tuesday nights). When you're Cousin Angie... doing it big is whatever Tina Knowles, swag effervescent, thinks doing it big means. And Tina Knowles, swag effervescent, thinks doing it big means ordering a couple pounds of crawfish and sitting 'round playing spades and tonk out in the front yard in a gazebo tent you bought at Wal-Mart... And before you sit there and talk yo' shit, those tents are ideal for southern summertime activities because these Wig Crypt MOSQUITOES ain't no joke.

Pop-Pop's theme song.

I know I may be the devil with a keyboard [in your eyes], but I don't want it to be this way. I know that one day you plan on catching me in a Wal-Mart, bent over in the produce section, picking some nice fresh greens for my momma and you'll turn over your shopping cart on my ass. I know this. And it's because of this blog. Insert sad face here.

I know a lot can happen to damage your family. I mean, look at Kizzy... And there you have it. So sometimes this place is not ideal or suitable for children. Particularly your child. He's as cute as a button and I bet as bad as Latarian Milton, but that's just me judging children. I don't really care for the under ten variety. Don't ever ask me to babysit. For real, for real. You won't recognize your kids when you come pick them up, if you leave them with me. Ask some of my kinpeople if you think I'm lying. One bitch might suggest you call CPS, but that won't really work... I don't have kids for nobody to take away. Praise God.

But I digress.

This may be a half-assed attempt at showing you, I do have a heart and I'm not out to destroy your one true source of happiness. Don't listen to Gabrielle Union, boo. She ain't nobody. Her performance in "Bring It On" was lackluster and "Deliver Us From Eva" is a BET Blackbuster special every 6th of the month. Blogs aren't the devil. Bloggers aren't the devil. Sometimes it's the content. Most of the time, it's the readers willingness to Google search "Creole Pimp" and come here and read about fifty posts before they really decide, "This is some straight up nigotry and I will have no parts of it".

Again, I digress.

The point of this entry was to appreciate you on "your" day. It may not be heartfelt, it may not be totally sincere, but it is somewhat real. Are you confused, yet? I sure am. Let's be confused together, that way we can finally see eye-to-eye. But don't see this as a half-assed gift, because if this was a real Lil' Creole Pimp post, he woulda said he got you a big ol' hug, all the love in his Creole heart and a box of Baby Jamz crayons so he can help you color your outfits and look Solange Fierce.

Hope you doing well your with your life, liberty, and your pursuit of tackiness.

Happy Mother's Day

Can somebody tell Kelly that I'm not speaking to her and that she's been blacklisted and that she is a big, dumbass because we are going through economic hardships and the Wig Crypt's production is down 64% and she ain't going nowhere until she give us back everything WE paid for:

1. The wigs.
2. The quick weaves.
3. The tits. (Better show me some tits or die*)
4. The Corolla that my momma been letting her drive.
5. The career that we gave her and she lost.


*Name that movie