Uhhh... good morning.

I guess. I'm sleepy as hell. I don't know why, I went to sleep at old lady time. And I still woke up feeling like hell. Maybe it's because it's Monday and all the other folks in my house are home for stank-ass Columbus day. Hell, I don't care if he didn't discover nothing. I still want my damn free monday. Thank you very much. On another note, Ms. Reddy, your virtual offering was most definitely received, girl. You know whats hella funny though? Before I even checked the comments section of the last post, I'd already eaten my macaroni complete with my own pitcher of red Kool-Aid. You go girl... much luv for the clairvoyancy of it all, LOL. And now, for a special presentation of the Imperial Kingdom: Open Letters from Her Imperial Majesty. This one is for a very special negro who had the nerve to call me last night. See, I'm a equal opportunity, sensitive Sole Monarch. So I try my best to accomodate all of my readers, and clear all confusion they may express to me. So here it goes. I hope this answers your question, M.D.W. Don't call my ass no more. That is all. Dear Stalkalistic-ex-boyfriend who somehow found and read my blog: I hate you. Congratulations on being a bigger bastard than I ever imagined. By far, your stalker skills have grown as big as your huge ass head. I am soooo (not) sorry that you feel that everything written here is about you. I'm also sorry that you're such a punk that you'd actually call me on my cell phone at 1:00 am when you know that I actually have a REAL JOB with that BS. But it gets worse. You think I'm scared of ANYONE you know? Please fool, you only know bitches like yourself. You should know that I am not in any fear of you, your momma, or anyone else in your degenerate, inbred ass family. If you don't know, lemme refresh your memory. Don't you remember that time you called me after I broke up w/ you and thought you'd let your momma cuss me out? Remember when she hung up on MY momma? Remember when me, moms and Nisha sat outside your house for 2 hours after beating on the door and you and your oh-so-bold ass fat momma acted like you werent home? Even though both your cars were outside and we saw you turn the back lights off? Yeah, muthafucka, good times. Remember when I tried to run over you with my Hyundai after you decided to throw my BONE thugs-n-harmony CDs in the street? Remember how I woulda gotten you if that fence hadn't've been in the way so you could hop on it? And lets not forget how I had to lie to my momma so she wouldn't know I hit a pole trying to run over YOU, not trying to go through the Jack in the Crack drive thru on 103rd. Oh yeah, lets not forget when I threw your stankin ass perry ellis sweater to my dog Moufasa (R.I.P.) after you threatened me YET AGAIN. Oh, and I remember that time your homie grabbed my ass and you DIDN'T DO SHIT, but I had to cuss him out and you got mad at me for cussing out your boy. (I wonder was HE hitting that too?) Man. You're such a bitch. And the infamous "Well why were you with me?" Simple. You had your bitch tendencies well concealed. But don't act stupid. You know I was gone at the first sight of your exposed Always Overnight Size 14 and above, plus sized maxi-pads. You see, ass-stain, there can only be one bitch of the relationship, and since I actually possess the P... that would be ME, nigga. So there, since you wanna ASSUME that all the Stalkalistic-Cant-Let-Go-Playas featured in this old ass post from May are, in fact, some spin off of you... I have made it very, crystal, or in your case, cubic zirconially clear. This post today is about YOU. I hate YOU. If I see YOU... I will get in my sister's Expedition, and continue what I didn't finish the last time. My family hates YOU, and they've been put on full alert. YOU will get it. YOUR SISTER will get it. YOUR MOMMA will get it. Don't think that LMU made me soft, nigga. You know all the shit I talk I back it up. I don't speak on what I cannot accomplish, you ass. You should know that better than anyone else. In closing, I'm sick of you, I was sick of you then, I will always be sick of you. Now. Go show your momma that shit. Print it out for all I care. I don't give a flying damn. And in my infinite mercy, I STILL DIDN'T PRINT YOUR PUNK ASS NAME. So there. Kiss my ass, so what. Love Misty (The Neighborhood Queen, to you bitch.)