Even though Shannon asked me not to do this, I felt that there was no way in good conscious that I could let this slide. Truthfully, this is not about Shannon. This is about me and how I feel about the subject.
This is not going to be for everybody. This isn’t for the family members that lived too far away. This isn’t for those who participated in the work baby shower and might not have been able to afford another one. This isn’t for those who thought it was just for the family only. This isn’t even for the scary ass bitches who didn’t want to get their head wet because it was raining. This is not for anybody who thinks they have a plausible excuse. I’ll accept whatever lame excuse you have. I’m not even talking to you.
This isn’t because I want to stir up trouble, or because I love drama. This isn’t because I want to instigate a riot. This isn’t because I know everybody’s going to read this and it’s going to cause a scene. No, it’s not about that. If you can’t figure out what it’s about, then you have a problem.
I have always had issues. Anybody that has ever spent more than five minutes with me has discovered that some days something don’t be quite right with me. That’s cool. I’m glad that my real friends are able to look past my weirdness to see who I truly am and why things make me the way I am.
So as you read this, you’re going to say, “Yeah, that chick has problems,” and that’s okay, because it’s true. But listen carefully, make sure you read every single sentence and you will understand.
Do you know why I don’t like black people? Do you have any idea why I wish I had been born as a grasshopper? Because black people do shit like this. Black people deliberately do things to other black people to hurt them, to degrade them, to humiliate or embarrass them, to knock them down and run them over. The more we screw over our own race, the cooler we are to our friends who are just as dumb. Black people have no sense of dignity. No pride. No grace. No civility. Black people are ill-mannered, ill-bred, and ill-met.
No, this is not every black person I have ever met. I’m not categorising the whole race. Of course not, that’s too big of a generalisation. But one sour apple ruins the whole bunch. One piece of shit in your pie fucks up the whole pie. You know it as well as I do. Just take a look around you. The bastard next to you. Would you trust his ass? Of course you wouldn’t because he would steal from his own mother if he thought he could get ahead.
And that’s just what black people do to each other. Especially black bitches.
To all the skanky, class-less, saggy-tittie, crater-faced, pimple-backed, scarred up bald-headed ass, cum-sock bitches who could not come to Shannon’s baby shower because they have some sort of petty grudge against her, I hope you rot in the lowest hell.
You think you are somebody. You think because you hang in a flock of birds that you are somebody. Please, wake the fuck up. You get out of bed in the morning, put on your clothes to come to work to spend time with other low-class degenerates and suddenly your life is better? Are you really serious? Does it really make you feel good as a person to take a lame ass break room argument to the next level, to give someone the cold shoulder because you feel that they have wronged you in some measly way? Is your life so useless that something so small has that much of an impact on you?
What really is the issue? Is the issue that you think she did something to you? Did she cross you in some way? Did she commit a cardinal sin against you? Insult your mother? Steal your man? Fuck with your money? No, because that would be too easy. Instead, since you don’t have anything else going for your sorry ass pathetic excuse for a life, to create some excitement, you took something that was so lame, so meaningless, so insignificant and ran with it because it was something to do. You called up all the other harlots and all the ghetto cum-stained niggas that sniff around you to form a lynch party. “Oh, we don’t fuck with her because she starts stuff.”
How about you if you never opened your foul mouth in the first place, nothing would have ever been started. How about if you actually had some class about you, this would have been no thing. How about if you even had the slightest shred of decency, you would have sucked it up and moved on. But after much thought on this subject, whatever the argument was about, it’s completely irrelevant.
The real truth, you cum-mouth bitches, is that you are a bunch of haters. Haters that Shannon has found real love. Haters that Shannon is very happy while you are all miserable inside. Oh, please. Don’t screw up your face and say, “I ain’t miserable. Fuck her.” Yeah, you are.
You’re miserable because you’ve been with your man for years and he still isn’t going to marry your ass. Why would he because you’ve been giving it to him for free all this time? You think that mother fucker is about to pay for it? And please don’t say because you don’t want to have a baby; we already know your scarred STD infested uterus is incapable of mothering a child, and thank God, like we really need a another version of a trashy, garbage-bagged feces face running around. One is more than enough.
You are miserable because you haven’t had a man in years. Yeah, you’ve been fucking, because that is all you are good for. Your pussy runs deep and they know it, and that’s why they like you. But really, no man wants a ghetto loud-mouth trollop who can do nothing special except put her knees behind her ears.
You are miserable because without the tarnished limelight of the harpies around you, you would fade into the background and no one would look twice at you. You’re the worst kind because you’re a mindless sheep, blindly following along to your own ignorance. You don’t even have your own mind. You do whatever it is they tell you and go along with it like a nice lap dog, a trained house nigger. When was the last time you had an original thought?
You’re miserable because your life sucks. You’re so wretched that I can’t even think of something worthwhile to insult you with. You should save the environment by killing yourself. Nobody really likes you anyway. They all just hang around you and follow your every word because they are scared of you and don’t want to fall under the traps you lay. Nobody wants to really involve themselves with you, but do it anyway because they don’t want the drama of an altercation. I pity you that you do not have honest friends, just people who are tired of hearing your flapping lips.
And you’re miserable because you’re so lonely that you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that these pox-ridden camp followers will fill the void deep within you. The sad part is that whatever sweetness you once had about you has been poisoned and now rots inside you like an untreated breakout of herpes. Leave that house of cards before it falls on you and crushes you. You’re not strong enough to hold up the weight of their bullshit. Those scavengers feed off the good in others trying to fulfil the black desperation deep within them. You will never truly be one of them, and if you’re trying to, I pity you.
By now, you are flipping out. Who the fuck does she think she is talking to? She ain’t talking to me, is she? Fuck her. I’m gonna fuck her up.
That is all you ever say because that is all you are. Your whole life is about talking about other people, fighting other people, and all the drama involved. Do you really hear the words that are rolling around in your empty head?
You are 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 years old. All the way up. You are not 17. You are not 15. You are not in eighth grade. You are not in high school. You are a grown woman. Why don’t you start acting like one. Why is your whole life about who you’re going to fuck up? Why is your whole life centred in the break room where you and the other seagulls sit and talk about other women like dogs? Why is that your whole life? What are your goals in life? Where do you see yourself in the next five years? Still in that break room, texting each other about what so-and-so said about you? Why is that important?
If your face got hot while you read this, I’m talking to you. If you picked up your phone and called your other hoe and asked her, “Did you read this? Who is she talking to?” I’m talking to you. If you tried to come up with an excuse as to why you didn’t come, I’m talking to you. If you got mad in any sort of way, I’m talking to you.
Your small mind is turning over like a hamster trapped in a wheel trying to figure out who precisely am I talking about. Let’s see, who hasn’t had a man in years? Okay, that must be so-and-so. Uhm, well, so-and-so has been with her boyfriend a long time, so that’s her….
It’s not just whatever happened in that break room the other day. In the grand scheme of things that’s not even important. It’s a whole host of things that have been happening since we all started working together so many years ago. It’s about who we are as black people and what we do to each other because we think it’s funny. I’m upset that Shannon was put in that situation with none of her friends to back her up, but I think it’s more of a straw that broke the camel’s back.
For years, you harlots have been doing this. When the hell are you ever going to grow up? When will your life ever have meaning, value, substance? When are you ever going to stop shitting on other people to make your own life seem worthwhile? When are you ever going to mature into a real woman?
Wanting to fight someone does not show maturity. Wanting to get up in my face doesn’t make anybody idolise you. For a minute, it’s funny. Oh my God, did you see that, she was up in her face! And you love the attention because in every other aspect of your sorry, wasteful existence, you are neglected and unimportant. And when you turn your back everyone says I am so tired of her mouth.
I feel nothing but shame and disgust for most of you that did this to Shannon. Having a baby is a significant life change. Getting married is monumental. If I thought I’d be any good at it, I’d do it myself. I am jealous of Shannon because Charles really loves her and her family is so supportive and happy for her. I can admit that and not feel any less of a woman. Shannon and I have had our differences in the past when we didn’t really know each other too well, but whatever meaningless disputes we had have fallen by the wayside. We got to know each other; we understand each other and I now regard her as a sincere and real friend. We are far from each other now, but we’ve been keeping in touch and that is how you know a friend is a real friend. If you keep in touch even if the thing that held you together is gone.
I guess you all perceived that whatever it is that happened was so important that you had to ignore her during a special moment in her life. But that is okay. What really happened is the separation of women and girls. It’s not because you didn’t come to the baby shower. Oh no, I won’t bring it to the base level. Your actions define you. Everything you have done up until this point in your whole desolate, black hole of a life has done nothing but define you as the lowest form of trash.
You. Are. Nothing.
Most of you scraggly cum-bags don’t even know the real meaning of friendship. Do you think all you birds that hang together are real friends? Do you really trust that bitch? Do you really? Would you leave that hoe alone with your man? Would you let that bitch watch your child? Would you call that harlot if you were in real and serious danger and needed help? Would that bitch get out of bed and come get you in the middle of a cold ass night if you were stranded? If you can’t answer yes to any of those questions, maybe you should really re-think what your friendship is based upon. The only thing you all have in common is that you all mistrust each other. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. You figure if you hang together, you’ll be less inclined to talk about each other. I know for a fact that you all will eat each other. You’ve done it before and you’ll do it again. You’re doing it now.
You are a black woman. As black women we know we’ve got it the hardest out of anybody on this whole damn planet. We’re marginalised. We’re mistreated. We’re paid less. Straight out the womb we’re already in last place. We make it worse on ourselves by cutting each other. What does that solve? We’re not really getting to the top by stepping on each other; we’re actually just building a bigger hole for ourselves. When one gets knocked down we all get knocked down.
Any bitch can get riled up ready to fight. Anybody can do that. You don’t have to have one thought in your head, but it takes a real woman, a real woman with intelligence and grace and dignity to stand up and say enough is enough.
I am saddened that the black race has fallen this far where even the slightest insult turns into an excuse to commit grievous sins against one another. I am disgusted that this is what young Baby Hardy has to look forward to when he comes into the world, a race of uncivilised bastards and bitches who cannot be trusted to do anything except the wrong thing.
All of you, look in the mirror. Take a good fucking look at yourself. Ask yourself what the real problem. Don’t lie to yourself. You know the truth as well as I do.
If you had a problem with any of this, then you must know that I was talking to you. I don’t care that you are offended. I don’t care if you’re mad. I don’t care if you sit in the break room and call me every dirty name in the book. I don’t care if you want to come and kick my ass. If I can’t count on anything in life, I know I can count on your reaction because you are simple-minded and are good for only one thing. If you have something to say, say it. If you think you can counter anything I’ve said with any real and viable and logical excuse, bring it.
If you want to argue over what really happened, don’t bother. I’m not interested. If you try to say to me, “Well, you weren’t there, she did this, she did that,” save it. It’s not important, because truthfully, that incident may have brought this on, but this has been years in the making. Nothing Shannon could have possibly done that day is enough to justify the level of your behaviour. Nothing. If it’s that serious to you, maybe you should reconsider the value of your life.
If you want to get on myspace and cuss me out or whatever, do it. Just make sure you dot every “I” and cross every “T,” because I will lay your ass out if you bring anything that’s less than perfect. Don’t write me back with some run-on gibberish full of typos and spelling errors. Don’t “bitch” this and “bitch” that. I’ve been called a bitch before many times. I’ve been one all my life and will probably be one until I die. Get some new adjectives. Stop buying cheap weaves from the dollar box at the Chinese store; go by a thesaurus instead. Meet me on my level for a change, because I am tired of stooping down to pick up your bullshit.
You don’t need to say anything to Shannon, or try to bring her down in anyway. This is my writing. These are my thoughts. This is how I feel. Don’t think because you can’t get on my level that you will go to the next person in order to make yourself feel big. Stand up and be a woman and admit to your wrongdoings.
If you have some rational thing to say to me, by all means then say it. If you don’t, keep your flapping mouth shut for once in your life.
You were all dead wrong and you all know it. If the shoe were on the other foot, you would be cussing and fussing that someone did that to you. Nothing about you is cool. So you have the best hairstyles, the newest weave, the most boys following after your ass. That just shows that you have your priorities in the wrong place. That just shows how little you think of yourself.
I wish that things could have been different. I wish I didn’t have to go this route, but I did. For so long, nobody ever says anything because they are so worried about what other people will think. They don’t want to lose their friends. In case you didn’t get the memo, these people are not real friends.
And that is all I have to say on the subject.