Monday, February 7, 2011

Hostile Negress Realness: Revenge is a dish best served cold. And spiked with arsenic.

"If you don't like a bitch, snatch her wig off and toss it in her lap" - Freshalina.

Words to live by. I'm gonna keep "nam yoho renge kyo"ing that particular phrase until the charges are dropped.



Being the clearly sweet, docile, loving and home-oriented smiling negress that I am, I'm sure that it might surprise my readers to realize that violence can and does occasionally besmirch my thoughts (otherwise typically dominated by thoughts of pancake recipes and fantasies of The Upper Room).

Indeed, from time to time, even I have thoughts of slappin' a bitch silly with a hot spatula.

One such time occured in August-ish 2008. I - then a nubile young thang still in the pangs of hope and believing that life could indeed, not suck - had recently decided to relocate to the home of all negro fuggery, Atlanta. Just prior, I was invited to join my circle of furrow-browed black women at a sushi dinner.

All was going well - drinks being poured, conversations percolating. And THAT is when IT happened: Some boulder headed whore who had been trying my patience with her askance comments all evening made the insinuation that my ex (more on that never nosey batches) had indeed made the right decision to kick THN to the curb.

I stepped outside. I had a chat with a friend. I composed myself, lest I draw attention and the slave catchers find me.

And yet to this day I can't help but think

I SHOULD HAVE BEATEN THE BUCKSHOTS OFF THAT BITCH.


Rewinding yet further to 1994. THN is an innocent young waif, not yet hardened to the world and still not sharp of tongue (that wouldn't happen for at least another year...). I have recently transfered from private school (translation: Becca books, girls and boys buses and a LOT of puppetry) to public school. *cue Gangsta's Paradise theme*

After a few unfortunate incidents involving multi-colored shirts, yours truly was roundly tossed into the reject pile where the harassment commenced immediately. One, a fairly husky air compressor of a girl took special care in harassing me; in hindsight, I'm sure she was only lashing out in reaction to her anemic ponytail and tragic case of 8th grade jowls. Regardless - she harassed me, there was a fight, and THN lost.

And all these years later I still think to myself
YOU SHOULD'VE SNEAKED UP ON THAT BITCH DURING LUNCH AND MOLLYWOPPED HER ASS WITH A TRAY. MMMHMM. BEAT THAT BITCH SENSELESS!


I think I promised a question with this post - and if I didn't, fug it, I'm promising one now. How long do you hold a grudge?

As for me and mine, well I'm over 8th grade Boss Hog. If her middle-aged, middle school figure was any indication, the ravages of time have hooked her up pretttttty good.

But as for that other heffer, I'll be tossing a fruity cocktail in her face sometime this year I'm sure - cherry included.

Productive, no. Satisfying? Hells, yes.

PS: No seriosuly, I'mma get you batch!

No comments:

Post a Comment