How To Shut A Mufukka Up In One Coversation Or Less

or Another Reason I Don't Answer My Damn Phone


The ringing was all but driving me up the wall. I was in one of those moods, you know, the leave-me-alone-or-suffer-the-dire-consequences mooods. The number was restricted which made me even more loathe to answer it. The way I see it, if you don't want someone to know you are calling then you don't really want to talk to them. Besides, I owe damn near every company in the country, I wouldn't be surprised if Citibank somehow got a hold of my cell number and decided a balmy Friday afternoon was just the time to ask for their damn money back. Whoever it was, they were nothing if not persistent like a hungry dog worrying at a bone. No sooner than I hit ignore my Sprint location device would start a jangling again. Aw fuck it... it's Friday and I ain't doing shit.

"Hello?" I rasped into the phone using my best nigguh-cain't-you-tell-I'm-sleep voice.

"Hey Little Baby, you sound like you knocked out."

Ah damn, it was my lunch date. I should have figured it. Walking away from fresh-grilled, medium-rare prime rib with broccli rabe and a mimosa just wasn't going happen. What'd that comedian say, something about if he spent money on dinner somebody's getting fucked? Well I guess since it was lunch this nigguh figguhed I at least owed him head. Sheesh.

"Yeah, sort of. Why, what's up? Everything o.k.?" all politness and false concern.

"Nothing major, I just wanted to run something by you."

There went the bullshit siren ringing like a five alarm fire in Beverly Hills. He's getting ready to throw more crap at me than the N.Y. Dept. of Sanitation on a Wednesday. Ah the trials I endure for my traitorous stomach. He went on to explain to me that the situation he wanted my opinion on was purely hypothetical (my ass but I'm already knee deep in the shit so I may as well wade for shore).

"Suppose something happens to you that lets you know that life is short. Suppose you realize you've made a lot of mistakes and you want to make amends. Suppose you realize that you hurt some people and you might have let go of the best thing that ever happened to you?"

"Suppose you stop reading those fucking romance novels, you dick."

"What'd you say Little?"

"Nothing, nothing. Look I don't know about people and their epiphanies. I guess the best I can say about making amends is to explain your intentions and hope it ain't a chick like me that holds a hellafied grudge. As for letting go of the best thing that ever happened to you, it couldn't have been the best thing if you let it go in the first place."

"Wow, that's kind of harsh."

"Oh my bad, I forgot you prefer your bullshit covered in honey. I got you next time."

"So what you are saying is hypothetically there is no hope for us?"

Huh? Just when did this become about us? Us my hypothetical hynie. I could have sworn I told this big dummy that I was a bad Mamma Jamma on my way out the door oh so long ago. He should have listened and he wouldn’t be kissing my hypothetical high-yellow ass right now. Of all the damn nerve.

"Hope is for when you gotta fart and you hope you don't shit your pants. Everything else is in the hands of God and he's got a sense of humor so wear clean drawz."

“Damn Little, I didn’t know I made you so sour.”

“Ok, lookey here pardner, I don’t know who left you the Crown of Ego but you better take it off before the weight of it caves your skull in. No one made me anything. If I had to blame someone for being the paragon of good manners (quit snickerin' yall) that I am I’d lay the blame squarely at my own doorstep before anyone else’s.”

This dude is really working my last nerve now and I could feel that red tide rising to the left side, right behind my eyes. He better not push me or I am gonna summersault over the edge and hurt his damn feelings. I told you God had a sense of humor ‘cause this fool just kept on coming.

“Can you at least tell me why there’s no hope?”

“Hypothetically right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well hypothetically for starters, you hurt my G-D’d feelings. Why should I go back to someone who I know can hurt me when I spent so much time getting them out of my system in the first damn place?”

“Ah Little, I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

“Nigguh puuuh-leeze. You late as hell with that sorry, so that is just what that is… sorry. Besides, you meant that shit when you left. I seem to remember something about being too young to take on the responsibility of a woman and not being in the same place emotionally. You know where you can put that sorry, don’tcha?”

“Damn you mean as hell. I’m trying to tell you that I’ve grown up a lot.”

“And just what in the fuck do you think I was doing while your ass was growing? Sitting around picking my nose waiting for you to mature? You ain’t a fine Bordeaux. I’ve been living my life just like you’ve been living yours. Anyway, to continue on the hypothetical path, the bar has been raised and I am not letting anyone limbo under it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well to be frank, you don’t have the strength, stamina, sheer will, twisted determination, or downright enthusiasm that it takes to get me where I need to go. I have no desire to sleep with anyone if I don’t have a good idea of the result. Having slept with you before, I’ve had a taste of the result and it’s dryer than week old pita.”

“You joking right? Now you trying to crack on my skillz? I seem to remember someone calling my name in the past. Oh that sorry nigguh’s name here don’t move, right there, aw shit! Sound familiar?”

Now if I never said it before, I’ll say it again, I’m loud as all hell in bed – shut Up YOU – and I am quick to repeat that if I am quiet then brother you are doing something really, really, wrong. Either way the crimson wave just crashed on the beach… wait for it… wait for it…

“Ah nigguh, here I was trying to be nice but you want to get all bold and reminisce? Bet. Bottom line is even if I forgave you for leaving me, hurting my feelings, and feeding me a load of bullshit, I still wouldn’t go back because we have permanently become sexually incompatible. You just don’t have the right size equipment to do the job. It would be like trying to cut down a Redwood with a weed whacker.”

Silence.

Dead Jason-behind-the-mask-hiding-in-ya-closet-with-a-machete-aaaaah-aaaaah-aaaaaah-chhhh-chhhh-chhhh fucking SILENCE.

I’m talking you-was-cussin’-your-ass-off-and-your-mama-snuck-up-behind-you-like-a-ninja-caught-your-silly-ass-and-your-siblings-was-too-stunned-to-say-shit-so-they-let-you-keep-on-till-you-figured-out-their silence.

You could have heard a dime drop in a whorehouse in Thailand.

“Yo Little, I gotta take care of some shit, I’ll call you back later.”

That’s what I thought.

“Yeah nigguh, you do that.”