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.

:(

"Dear Asshole,

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.

THIS!

NOT THIS!

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.

Just wait.

1998. Chevy Corrolla. Head lights off. Windows down. You better fucking run.

Godspeed, fuckface.

HE IS MY FUCKING SOUL! YOU BROKE MY FUCKING SOUL!

Fuck you,

Signed Sincerely

P.S.

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.

My debaucher in fame proceeds me in dog years. So the general public seems to think I'm wise and shit because of it. Why? *Kanye shoulder shrug* I just roll with the punches until they cut my check.

But I digress.

The public thinks I'm wise enough to share my insight with them even though my preschool education says otherwise. But I'm not one to let the people down! And the giftshop just went into foreclosure, DAMN ECONOMY!

So, I thought I'd answer the readerships personal questions for the time being... Or at least 'til me and the newfound, UNBLACKLISTED homie, Lil' Rock just buss up in the motherfucker, singing the Upper Room and steal my shit back, OJ style!

The very first readermail after the jump.

[CLICK FOR MORE]

Bad Boy beat you down with a baseball bat. CHECK THE CREDITS, HO!

Apparently, Sara Stokes... the mulatto one from Making the Dee Aye Bee Aye En Dee... got locked up for stabbing her husband, Tony. Now I know why Tony don't call no mo'.  I don't know why she hasn't stabbed him before now. When she was on MTB2, Tony seemed a whole lotta controlling and scream-prone. I saw this coming...

FRESH has the scoop.

If you been living under a rock, you probably haven't heard about Drake kicking and bucking his way back into a wheelchair. That's bad for business and quite funny when you think about it. Tweet about it. Blog about it. Such fuckery. First let's check in with our brother-in-fuckery [KID FURY]. Good? Cool... Now let's see what Drake had to say about the slip up.

This bottle of Opus One is low but my spirits are high my friends. I am about 2 hours away from Toronto, CA where I will be spending the next chunk of time recovering from a surgery that I now must have. I embarked on this tour with a torn ACL, MCL, and LCL and due to the events that happened the other night lord only knows what other damage I have done. On the bright side I will begin the reflecting and soul searching that its going to take to make this album and my outfit on the night I fell was crack. I will forever push myself beyond the limits despite advice and recommendations given because even with this new found success I am still the kid who wanted this more than anything in the world. Its funny when I read comments from previous fans who have lost interest because of the radio play and exposure I have. I just want to assure anyone reading that nothing has changed on my end. I refuse to get comfortable, I refuse to fall in line and follow anyone elses formulas. I still work as if So Far Gone had never dropped and I’m still trying to figure out how I’m going to gain entry to this game.

“Missing someone gets easier everyday. Because, even though it is one day further from the last time you saw each other, it is one day closer to the next time you will”

See you soon.

[SOURCE]

This is what he really meant.

This wheelchair may be occupied once again, but I'm not sad my friends. I'm going home so my momma can fix my some chicken and dumplings and my doctor can whoop my ass and have some surgery and shit. I took my no rhythm having ass and tried to fly on stage and well... you saw the video. On the bright side, I can take this opportunity to do guest spots on Degrassi. I got my own wheelchair this time, so they won't have to spend money on a prop or nothing. My castmates will forever have to push me beyond the limits, despite really wanting to or not. It's my fault though. I jumped my Eyeore from Winnie the Pooh by the eyes looking ass on stage despite advice and recommendations given because with this newfound success, I'm starting to become a tool. And I wanted this more than anything in the world. I read a few funny comments from previous fans who have lost interest because radio play and exposure and Lil' Wayne using my face as a nut holster has skewed the appeal I once had for something a little more mainstream. I just want to assure anyone reading that nothing has changed on my end. I refuse to get comfortable in this unpadded chair. The doctor ordered me a motorized one with all the fixings so when I get that one, then I'll get comfortable. I refuse to fall in line, but believe me... When my post-surgery bed rest is over, I will fall again. A wise mind [by the name of @TittySalad -LCP] once said, "I refused to humble my motherfucking self down so God decided to turn me into Wheelchair Jimmy for real." It's true. It's how I'm going to earn entry into this game.

"Some shit about missing a wheelchair."

In all fairness, I listened to Drake a couple of times before Lil' Wayne even knew what a Degrassi was. This was back when he was still on that show and rapped on the side. He had the hot lines and the potential. He just wasn't saying all the clichéd rap artist shit... y'know... Women, sex, drugs, partying. The majority of what I heard didn't contain any of the above. I'm not knocking his success. But homie... You done got put on and got Creole.

One day I'm gonna log on the Internet and find out you have a prosthetic leg. That's what I fear.

Leave Bow Wow alone!

:mad:

Sure, Bow Wow said he was HOMOPHOBIC... that's his business.



 Is you mad, because Bow Wow didn't want no boy that likes boys cutting his hair? That's that mayne. If he don't want some possibly gay guy feeling and rubbing and caressing and finger his scalp, then let that nigga not want that. Bow Wow ain't never did nothing to nobody. You won't buy his record, because he's homophobic. Bow Wow is a good man. He tried to make an honest woman outta Ciara, Dollicia, Omarion and Soulja Boy. This how you treat him? Despicable

I, myself, don't blame him. That's why I don't let gay men cut my hair. Ain't no telling who be doing what with they hands these days. I only let my Granny comb, moisturize, perm, and rod my hair. Only thing she do with her hands is fondle my Pop Pop's nutts. I can trust her. I can't trust gay men.

I don't want no gay man touching my head, even though all he's doing is giving me a line. That's gay.

I also don't want no gay man preparing my sammiches at McDonald's. Ain't no telling what they do to my sammich when I'm waiting at the drive thru. Niggas these days is nasty. A straight man would never fuck over my sammich, even if I had beef with him. He wouldn't kick my patty back and forth to his co-workers like a hockey puck,  dress my sammich, then serve it to me like ain't nothing wrong. But a gay men? Nah... Gay men fixing your food... I don't care if it was my last meal. That's still gay.

I also don't want a gay man installing my cable. You watch flicks. You be at the adult bookstore on late Thursday nights/early Friday mornings. You watch Xtube. You see the themed movies. You know about the cable man hooking up your TV, then hooking you up. You know how cable men get down. You know all cable men are naked underneath that dark navy jumpsuit. A straight brother? Cool, he can hook my DirecTV/Comcast up anyday. I can trust him. A gay dude? Nah, that's gay homie.

I don't even want a gay dude's kidney. I don't care if he had the best kidney in the world. I don't care if he was a virgin. Never even touched a dick NOT EVEN HIS OWN. He can be kin to Obama. I don't give a fuck. I'd just die. Tell my momma I love her, then  die. I can't have gay parts in me. That's gay.



Hop off Bow Wow's nuts, yo'. He is already short. Now you want him to get molested by a man? AGAIN!? Let that bitch breathe.

This is what Pretty Chrissy wanted to play on the drive back to his hotel. I'm not one to judge or point fingers so...