Holdin it down...

The Man is NOT gonna get the best of me. No matter how much work these mo' fo's throw in here, I'm still gonna find a way to chill. Thus you have this late ass post. Ha. Anyway, I would say good morning, but it ain't really. I am distraught. I must bid farewell to the no-cuss quota. I find that the only things that stop me from cussing is: Grandma, sitting up in Jesus' house. So unless my granny can ride shotgun on the way to work everyday and that job happens to be up in the church house, I'mma be one cussin' heffa. So lets have a moment of silence for my attempt to quit cussin'. *head bowed* Okay. Don't get me wrong, I'm going to keep trying. But since I know myself, my efforts will probably last a few hours at best. And that just isn't enough to get hyped over. Now if I can quit cussing for one whole day, I might throw my damn self a party. So I'm still cussin, y'all. My bad. I would like to send a personal message to Mr. Pimpin' Panama: Your music has been found to contribute to my delinquent and deviant behavior. I blame the music that YOU supplied me with for what happened this weekend. I ain't speaking on it. But volume 2 kilt it. That is all I'mma say about that. Oh yeah, and thanks ;-). Next topic. I am still disgusted by Jagged Edge, I don't care who comes to their defense. After "Promise", they can K-M-A. Forever. Unlimited. 'Til the end of time. And consider that a mandate. My car is heinously filthy. Everytime I get ready to employ the Compton Corner-dwelling Crackhead Imperial Guard, the clouds show back up. So I'm not gonna give them no money to wash my car and then it rains again. To hell with that. So the Imperial Stang is the filthiest that it's ever been, and I don't give a damn. If it bothers anyone that much, then they can wash it. And kiss the Illustrious Imperial Ass while they're at it. Well, since I wanna bail up outta here early, I need to get to work. The mandate for today is, tell the damn truth for once. I'm sick of folks lying all the damn time. Now if I saw your ass up at Golden Bird with this ugmo ass chickenhead on Friday night, don't drive up to my house talking about you just got here on Sunday night. Not like I wanted to see your raggedy ass anyway. Making me have to explain who your busted ass is to ex-Baby (who really has no right to question Her Imperial Majesty, but thats my nigga. So I'll indulge him to a certain extent). So yeah, quit lying. You don't know who's already busted you. And if you're not a pathological liar, then just send me some macaroni. I'm all out of macaroni. Okay, that is all. The Queen has mandated it, and it shall be so.