I have a cut ass for somebody. I mean a hard slap to end fucking hard slaps, oui? I have to tell this story, because I have only glanced at it before, kid gloves remained on, and I remembered my crown, rather than the pettiness of shit.

Except, I have what my grandmother used to called a fowl shit temper. I mean when you hit a fucking nerve with me, it goes right through me like a starter’s pistol, or the opening salvo in a battle and my blood scent comes up and I whip out my pistol and the shot is fired before I know it’s happened.

I tend to excoriate assholes in my life quick, quick. I don’t waste time. I don’t pussy foot about whether or not I want this person in my life. All you have to do, is reach out and impose some injustice, be unkind to me in some way, or take me for granted, or try to control me, and the wild woman in me comes out, and she, I have only a modicum of control over. She is the one with the pistol. Sometimes I say things that come off in another way, and people take it the wrong way, and I regret their hurt feelings, but I never say things just to be unkind, I’m just not that type of person. So when people try to hurt me and sometimes succeed, I realise more than ever, that people are people. Wherever you are, wherever you go, there is always some petty motherfucker who thinks they know better than you, know you better than you, and try to tell you your business.

You have to draw the line somewhere. Say what, some I dun tell wunna some things I taking, and some things I just ain’t.

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