
My mother, a Yoda-like presence in the physical form of a black woman in her mid 60's, dropped more jewels than a cat burglar with Parkinson's the other day, some uncut truth that made me seriously evaluate my habit of going completely bat-shit at the drop of a dime. Out of nowhere she was the one who brought up my temper and where she thought it originated from, listening to her I just knew that I'd be on the business end of another one of her lame jokes, where she claims to have imbibed gallons of wine and other alcoholic beverages while pregnant with the fetus that would later be referred to as Humanity F Critic. But as she looked me in the eye with that serious gaze that all children recognize, she went into explicit detail, pinpointing the cause of my temper being my father's verbal abuse. Even though she told me something that I already knew, that I sift through peoples words in my mind with a fine tooth comb, hoping to find an ounce of disrespect so I'd later feel justified in barraging them with either expletives or punches, her words were more powerful than those hustle-man preachers you see on Sunday mornings. The funny thing is that my mother told me not to change, that she loves me for the man that I've become, even though she did admit that I was emotionally crippled, had a hair trigger temper, that I had the attention span of a crack addicted toddler, and that most of her closest friends find me to be a rather detestable individual. When I gave her a bewildered look, slowly realizing that their wasn't a compliment to be had in her lengthy diatribe, she smiled and said "Hey, embrace being a complete cock, based on all the women out there that have dangerously low self-esteem, you'll never be dateless!!" Thanks mom!

So in a very irritated tone, while paying for my salad, I said "Naw man, I'm good.(motioning him away) Get the fuck on now!" In which he replied, "Come on my nigga, what's your problem!!", as soon as those words left his mandible I had every intention to impale him with the huge statute of Jared that they had in that establishment. But a cop walked in, so cooler heads prevailed, but as I passed the cop I told the officer "Sir, that gentleman there(pointing) attempted to see me marijuana a few moments ago. Check him, he's holding!!! He's holding!!" I walked to my car not even looking back to see what damage I had done, feeling like Larry Bird at the three-point contest when he put his hand up in victory before the last shot fell. Fuck it, I'm a snitch, but anyone wearing a Dipset shirt has it coming to them one way or another.


Let me explain: I don't know if the story is true or not, it could be a pack of lies like that fat girl Beth having to go to the emergency room to get a frozen Hot dog removed from her snatch, but apparently Paul literally fucked a cat to death. The story around school was that he drunkenly walked around a beach party that was being thrown, with someones dead domesticated animal dangling from his cock. I always thought the story was horseshit, but if my memory serves me correctly Paul had to change school based on how many dudes wanted to introduce his skull to a tire iron. Anyway, because I was drunk and I'm already an asshole, I would litter my sentences with cat references. When talking about the Iraq war I'd say, "The whole thing, is a Cat-astrophe. A fucking Cat-astrophe I say!!", "Bush should get his head checked, I think they call that a CAT-scan!!", and when I was talking to him about some of the fine women that were there I think I actually said, "Yeah man, I'd nibble on her naughty parts like a bowl of meow mix, she'd be hooked to my chubby phallus like cat-nip baby!!" I don't know where he went, but when I came back from the restroom he was nowhere to be found.