9 in my right, .45 in my other hand!

I guess I'm just not a nice person. I tried not to cuss for the rest of the day and it didn't work. I cussed someone out before I even made it to the 60 fwy entrance. I felt bad for a while, I'm not even gonna lie.

Anyways... the real reason I'm back. I usually dont mess with this crap while I'm at home, but I have to take a stand. Against what, you ask? I'll tell you: against Power 106 and it's minions who schedules the playlists, or whatever the hell they're called. Someone should, or rather someone has to put a moratorium on Ma$e. Who told that verbally challenged idiot to make yet another wretched ass song? I thought I was rid of his lameness for good. Excuse me, but mase (no capital=no respect), I do not like your song. And all your attempts at subliminal conversion (talking 'bout "you know you like it") have failed. You need lessons from Ying Yang Twins, or T.I. Especially T.I., since I somehow like the crap that is "Rubberband Man". Just go ahead and shoot me now. I'm ashamed to admit that I listen to it on the way home, just not loud enough for anyone to know. Usually people know my car because of the Isley Brothers, or EW&F, the Temptations, or whatever ol' school I'm listening to. You can hear me like 3 blocks away (according to my momma anyways). But now, my stereo has to play in shame... because I cannot shake the "who I is... Rubberband man, wild as the tal.iban, 9 in my right, .45 in my other hand." I reiterate... someone go ahead and do me in now. I shudder to think what so-called "artist" is gonna sabotauge me next. Oh the horror!

Anyway, I'm about to go eat. Mom's hooked up the lasagna at my behest. And niggas wonder why I still live here. Naw, but I'm about to move though. Whatever. I'm out.