Talking To Myself (Forty-Eight Years Old, Broke Black Prophet, Near Salvation, Trying To Kick) January 1, 2014

So you wannah quit smokin and whatdahyahknow?  Yo ass is ah fuckin straight up dick without the nicotine swirlin round in yo tainted temple.  But let me tell yo sorry ass a lil som’ehn-som’ehn Sunshine:  that’s yo mothah fuckin pro’lem.  Nobody else’s.  Treatin people ill cause yo ass can’t continue tah do what yo sorry ass started and still wantstah do.  Well, ain’t that a sorry ass shame.  I feel so bad fo yah.  But listen here, you do know nobody told yo ass tah pick up that first one and smoke the mothah fuckah?  Just between you and me.  You do understand that lil impo’tant factoid?  You did it all by your damn self.  Oh, I’m sorry, you do know all of what I’m tellin yo sorry ass?  Then cheer the fuck up mothah fuckah!  Happy days ah comin! 

You the one that’s tryin tah quit.   Not everybody else; that chew treatin like a hated stepchild’s child.  Only you, cause yo ass knows the shit tearin yo lungs up somethin terrible.  But…and yo sorry ass knows life ain’t nothin but a shitload of butts.  Shit, yo favorite scene in any movie is with that ugly mothah fuckah.  Now, don’t play crazy with me.  The one with…yeah, Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, Whoopi Goldberg and the mothah fuckah’s name I fuckin forget all the fuckin time from Scandal, the president; when Patrick Swayze is on that subway with that ugly mothah fuckin othah ghost.  And they jump off the subway and now on the floor of the subway station and the ugly mothah fuckah kicks the shit out of the cigarette vending machine and all those wonderful, beautiful packs come crashin on the terminal’s flo and the ugly mothah fuckah gets on his knees and lovingly looks at the packs lyin haphazardly here and there and pitifully sayin, “If I only had a drag.”  Cracks yo ass up every time.  Cause you’s an addict and can feel the mothah fuckahs pain.  But the othah people in the audience or next tah yah witnessin the same scene don’t crack a fuckin smile and sometime even have the nerves tah say, “I don’t get it,” while yo ass crackin yo mothah fuckin side.  If they only knew.  Or maybe not.  And that here lies the pro’lem fo yo Black ass.  It’s yo fuckin pro’lem.  It’s yo fuckin addiction.  And if yo sorry addicted ass can’t kick’em, then light’em.  And if yah don’t have’em then buy’em and light’em.  Until yo sorry treatin people ill ass can quit without all this bullshit diverted anger.  And maybe that means, sorrowfully, til yo Black ass dies.  Cause yo ass will die from a direct result of smokin, what they rightly monikered, cancer sticks. 

Poor fuckin baby.  Yah heard may.