Demanding the Pardon of the Imperial Kingdom

The title was supposed to be "Begging the pardon". But if you don't know by now, I'm banishing you. Sole Imperial Monarchs don't beg, suckas. Anyway, I had a good day yesterday. And I wanted to post about it, but I refused to. Because it was most imperative that yesterday's post remained first all day long. Since one of our resident stalkalistic playas decided to voice his menial triflin' concerns to me at 1:00 am Monday morning, I had to set him straight. One thing folks should know not to do is tell me what I'd better or better not do. As in, "... and you bet' not write nothing else about me on the internet." And what now, fool? What 'cha gonna do now?? Huh? Unfortunately for the ass in question, all vehicles at my home have upgraded. So I have a choice between an Explorer, an Expedition, 2 Mustang GT's, and a Camry. There is also the mascot bucket of the house, the ancient Tercel. So pick which vehicle you want to die by... the Fam-Mafia can accomodate you. Don't get me wrong, y'all. I don't go around starting fights, I don't pick random fat-ass, ugly county-fied mommas to threaten and clown, I don't bring havoc and chaos wherever I step. I'm a li'l mama, so I know my limitations. I'm also a peaceful woman... I'd rather eat Macaroni and Cheese while drinking Kool-Aid, listening to my Delfonics CD as opposed to getting into some altercation with some ghetto slime creature and his minions. But I am NOT scared. If you wanna bring it, you'd better be ready. And don't ever forget that. I fight dirty too, so don't try to play the honor card with me. Standing at 5'3" and weiging about 118 lbs doesn't allow much room for fighting "honorably". You'll turn around and get a broken ankle followed up with a broken jaw from messin' with me. And if you get too stupid, I've got other means of handling your ass. Compton's Finest, indeed. Now with that out of the way, I would like to announce that I have a sexy lunch today. Moms was home yesterday so she hooked it up. I'm not telling y'all because I don't want anyone to be jealous of my ultra-sexy lunch. Thats how much I love y'all, I'mma spare you the jealousy. In completely unrelated events, I still don't know what to do about ex-Baby. I miss him like hell. I am very sad when I think about him (and his penchant for assholeitude). So I will not think of him right now. I want to have a good day. So y'all pray for me and him. Because I do miss him. And that's all I'm gonna say about that (right now). Well since today just started, it can go either way. I want to have a good day, so I'm going to pretend like I'm not still mad at the SP, like I don't still miss ex-Baby, and like I'm not hungry. Today's mandate is: Wash your cars. Now I know you think thats silly. But it isn't. I worked out a lot of anger while washing the Almighty and Supremely Sexy Imperial Stang yesterday. I didn't solicit one of the infamous Crackhead Imperial Guard to do it, I did it myself (okay, I'll admit that I was waiting for the unnamed SP to show up at my house... nigga wanna threaten me, you betta bring it or shut the F' up... wit' cha punk ass). Anyway, it was a liberating experience. And if you react to Fall (or autumn, whatever-the-hell) like I do, then your car is dirty. So wash that bamma. There. Oh yeah, I'm extending the Kingdom Tax deadline, because I saw another pair of air max that I want, and I need them in my life most urgently. Taxes here in the IK have no rhyme or reason... they're solely dictated by the need for Nikes. So pay up, suckas. If all y'all gimme about $5, I can buy the air max's. So govern yourselves accordingly. The Queen has mandated it, and it shall be so.