I talk so much noise about people with heads full of cashews in other cities that it’s about time I pinpoint the bonker bust-it-babies in my own hometown.
I don’t know who this woman is in the video, but I’m about to drop to my knees and thank God that she ain’t not kin to me. She’s a fruity pebble if I ever saw one. Yes, I just made that up. And I think it’s a good way to describe someone with “the crazy.” Feel free to start using it, too.
That said, I’d like to play a little game with you all. I want to know what substance do you think is responsible for her doing the fool in the middle of the night at a gas station.
Is it powder, pills, something that requires a needle, or did she have a little too much to drink?
Or, maybe she’s just naturally cursed with the crazy. That could happen if you breast feed your child while smoking a Newport.
Now if she’s postpartum, forgive me for being a jackass. However, based on her behavior can you blame me for talking shit?
And bless her heart: “Don’t touch me because I believe in God.”
I am so trying that line if I head out to the club this weekend.
Speaking of lines, I dare one of ya’ll to randomly yell:
“I’m a liar because I’m a woman. This is sexist. This is racist. I’m not a witch. I just know when I’m not being treated right. I refuse to take this shit no more.”
After you’re done, you might as well break into the butterfly while pouring a package of grape Kool-Aid on your face.
Don’t yell out, “I taste my own blood. Are you trying to kill me?” That just sounds weird.
I don’t know if this woman has been drinking in the oil spill, but after I wrap this post up I’m going to say a little pray for her. And one for myself.
Did ya’ll hear her say that her husband is in California? You all pray for my safety. Her husband might be here thinking he’s a cartoon raising with a singing career.
But, for the record, this crazy girl has nothing on Major, my neighborhood dancing schizophrenic. He jigs, he rolls up his pants leg like he’s LL Cool J at 1996, he curses you out if you don’t buy him a beer, and he runs away from the po-po in slow motion.
When I head home for the holidays, I’ll see if I can get some footage.