Reader Mail V: I LOVE The Hate

"Tru yu ah laugh dem no know seh yu will buss dem bubble" - Terror Fabalous

Hi y'all. This is not the 'days in review' I had initially promised but it's something I feel the need to speak on. Lately I've been good. I haven't been popping shit because I've been too busy getting my grown folk on. I've come to realize that one day I'm going to offend someone so badly that they are gonna put a whoopin on me that my mama is gonna feel in her sleep. However, today is not that day. Still, I need to avoid what drama I can because
1. I'm too old to be acting a fool in the street
2. I'm too cute to risk any damage to the goods
and
3. I've got too much shit to do to be bothered fucking around doing some dumb shit that might be either meaningless or detrimental to my existence.
Yet life, or Murphy - pick one, has a way of throwing a monkey wrench in even the best of intentions. I go 5 steps forward and have to take 2 steps back for some lackwit. Just when I think all is silent in the halls of madness, some psycho screams out.
And angels weep.
Sheesh.

The back story: This chick started hitting me up sometime back in January about some inconsequential dude shit. How she got the email addy I only use with close friends beats the fuck out of me. So I blocked her. Then she hit me on crackspace but she had no picture, no personal information, no identifying facts, no nothing. So I blocked her. Then I started getting bombarded by nasty crackspace messages from people I didn't even know. So I made my profile private. Then she got a hold of my general email address and started up with the nonsense again. The delete function got a work out. She slowed down after a while because I gave her no energy but for some reason she's back again. Normally I would have gone apeshit and stepped to the situation long before, but I tend not to waste my time with cowards. If a person has to hide behind a screen to speak their mind, they're not worth my attention. I save my shit popping for people I can get at live and I don't duck people trying to get at me. I just don't have the patience or the personality for bullshit. But homegirl is getting out of hand so I've had to regress to Mama Mala:Talks Much Shit...

Joanna Sevilla aka lushuslady@gmail.com wrote:
"I read your blog. You conceited bitch! Get over yourself! You are a such and idiot! No one cares about you or what you do! Why don't you do the world a favor and drop dead!"

And now a question to those up high...

Lord,
Why am I plauged with twits? Why must all of the baby net gangsters fill up my inbox with their tripe? The shit that kills me is, they're probably one of those spoon-fed, corn pone, sycophantic dames that are Mala snatch-snufflers when they see me in public. Bitches not real enough with themselves to get at me, faking the funk with air kisses and hellos when they know I make them sweat like sumo wrestlers trapped in a sauna. What's wrong with these hoes? Yeah, I toot my own horn all day, every day and whosoever doesn't like it can catch the hell express. Fuck their opinions. People call me crazy and I admit that I can be. Sometimes when I flip at the lip I don't have the good sense to think to myself 'damn, this dude is like fitty feet all... if he punches me in my snot box I'm never getting up' and that is crazy. Funny thing is, I don't even start shit anymore like I used to back in the day (when I was young, I'm not a kid anymore but some days I sit and wish...), but I will damn sure finish it or take the consequences of trying. Yeah, I'm crazy, up front, up close, live and direct. I don't hide behind a fucking monitor. I don't net beef. That shit is pointless. Also, if I don't like you, I won't smile at your bitch-made ass, I won't visit your venues/blogs/webspaces and I definitely won't waste words on you. As a matter of fact, If I don't like you, your very existence is well, a non-fucking-issue. I will pass you in the streets clean, like I never knew you at all. Just ask my ex-friends. What is it with these chicks?
Ah fuck it... I've got 5 minutes to fritter away. She wants a response? Here it is...
But remember what Lord Tariq and Peter Guns said: Keep an eye on your lip bitch, watch your mouth.
I ever figure out who you are, it's gonna be straight comedy. I will embarrass your ass in public.
That's
my
word!

AFTER 8 MONTHS OF THIS SHIT I HAVE HAD ENOUGH EXCLAMATION POINT.
My dearest Jo-lush,

I'm not even going to bother with the whole ahahahahaha thing because anyone that knows me, knows I laughed my self into a case of hiccups fit to choke the devil himself. You funny, silly little girl you EXCLAMATION POINT.
I guess the old saying is true, everyone's got an opinion and an asshole. So I guess even your opinion is valid, asshole.
But wait a minute EXCLAMATION POINT. Aren't you the same broad that kept sending me harassing emails about a dude I don't even fuck with a few months back? Yeah, you are, aren't you? Either you fucked him, are fucking him or wanna fuck him. Whatever it is you are certainly fucking up. Bored huh? Wasn't the first asshole-ripping, courtesy of my witty diva ex-partner, enough (I notice you didn't answer her after she reamed you - punk)? I didn't deign to respond to your nonsense back then but yet you remain like a chigger, or a nit or some other pest.

Let me start by saying that for someone that doesn't give a shit about what I do, you sat your brilliant ass still and read my blog. What does that say about your level of intellect? Don't think too hard about my intelligence mama, your brain might spontaneously combust. I am a self-centered ego maniac and I love it. My ego is so big right now that were it a dick, you'd most assuredly choke on it as is your wont. Honey if I don't sweat myself I wouldn't have dimwits like you hopping to my beat. I eat this shit like candy. To know that I have in some way, had a profound enough effect on your life, that not only do you read about my daily madness but you write to me as well EXCLAMATION POINT. Such is the spice of life. Don't feel bad though missy, if I were you, I'd wanna throw a brick in my face too. The only difference between you and me is: if I hated someone that much I'd probably hurl a cinderblock. For real. No bullshit.

But you love me EXLAMATION POINT. Admit it. To follow my movements so closely for so long. You probably shit your pants every time I walk into a spot, praying like a motherfucker that I haven't figured out who you are so as to avoid me stuffing my stiletto so deep in your ass your future grandkids taste leather. Then again, I love my shoes, I would never sully them in such a manner as I assume it would take industrial strength cleanser to get your bullshit off them. I just can't do that to good shoes.

Go kick a fucking tin can, you net thug. See me in the streets and yap all that yang. Please? Thanks.
I invited you and your whole sad ass crew of email/myspace message gangstas to do it months before. Funny how ne'er a one of y'all punks did. Wassamatta? Do I make you nervous? Do I make your heart weak? Do I make your skin yellow? Is the fever I bring too hot for you? Don't singe your fucking eyebrows clocking my ass. I know I spit this insanity like I'm 10 feet tall, but trust me, the flip action is fire and you won't realize how hot it is until it burns your fucking life down. Don't you have some garbage to go play in? Or a mudpie to go eat, you fucking infant. I can tell you are one of these upstart young hoes that don't know their place, by the mere fact that you don't have anything to do other than try to shout at a chick that ain't having it. A chick that doesn't know you and doesn't care to. A chick that could give a fuck about your entire lifestyle.
I don't play in the sandbox and you obviously have all kinds of dirty, gritty shit all up in your crotch, irritating you into making stupid moves, such as: fucking with me. You talked so much shit for so long about people and things that are so trivial. I figured by now you'd have enough heart to step to me. It's not like I'm hard to find.
At all.
Ever.
Well this time I made things a little easier for your silly ass. If you look in your mailbox, you will find my phone number. You're a bad ass right?
Use it.
I'm down for whatever you want baby.
Any time.
True story.

So this is the end of it. Not one more iota of energy on you and your bullshit. Go ahead and write to your heart's content. Watch my life. Make me popular. Scream my name when you nut. Sweat my movements. Lust after my style. Feed the frenzy. Cower in my shadow. Pray for my attention. Suck my sexy. Wish you could be the bitch that is me.
Do your worst.
With this post I am finished with this inanity unless, of course, you are foolhardy enough to step up. Otherwise, you are cordially invited to go fuck yourself.

Now.
Put that in your hole and ride it.

Love always,
Mala

- & I'm off to go drop dead laughing at punk bitches.

P.S. Thursday I will be at S.O.B.'s (Jump & Funk anniversary) and Sutra Lounge (Ubiquita Leaves 1st & 1st)
Saturday I will be at CBGB's (The rebirth of Pillow Theory - YAY! love yall)
I'll even post the address at some point just so you won't have problems finding me...
Come see me miss.