Lawd,
It is I, your humble shit talker. I come to you on this beautiful day that you have given unto your children, wearing that wonderful skirt that you allowed me to find the last small in that store last week, and I pray. I pray that you give me the strength to deal with these incompetant motherfuckers at Sprint. I pray for the fortitude of nature not to walk my skinny ass over to 125th Street and wrap my hands around the neck of the ghetto broad that said she took care of the problem. Please Lawd, I ask you to strike whoever it was that thought it was a good idea to disconnect a b*tch service for .57 cents, with a case of crabs. A case of crabs Lawd, so virulent that they get those bothersome louse in their armpit hair and eyebrows. I ask you Lawd, to let the caffotine ritual work it's magic on me this fine morning so that my nerves are eased. Let my ipod not runneth out of juice whilst I jog, walk, switch towards my goal. Let me be calm as I approach that place of injustice Lawd. Because I swear, if my service is not restored asap, there's gonna be a motherfucking misunderstanding.
Hay-man.
1 comment:
I swear that sprint should just have pimps and not customer service reps.
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