Mindless Banter

Let's give it up to the niggas who on lockdown and can still use the phone (Okay, if you was one of the twelve folks who watched the FX movie Redemption last Sunday, then you know what I'm talking about).

Good news, I finally quit that soul draining job of mine. Due to my inability to find a way to work until the insurance company finally gets me a rental car and getting a better job, I just said fuck it. I came in on Wednesday and told Tubby (my former supervisor) that I'm leaving. I didn't write a letter or nothing, I just quit. I told him I would finish out the week, but after that, I ain't coming back. Do you know this muthasucka goes "It's probably for the best" Whatever, fat ass bastard. He just doesn't know, if my hand wasn't so numb, I would've clocked his ass. He then says, "Don't tell anybody that you're leaving because I don't want anybody to know about my guards" What the fuck ever, you just want the opportunity to tell people that you fired me, well news flash, I already told err'body I was quitting because I found another job. OOOOOHHHH I hate him! That's why you'll still be a fat ass security officer who wears cheap ass stankin cologne. I hope somebody whoops his ass. For a dollar, I will poot in his face.

In other news, my car was totaled out. I wanted to cry. I loved that car man. Shamrock (that was her name) got me to my classes at West Georgia and work and to my mama's house when I was in labor with my Peanut (most women in labor go to the hospital, I go to my mama's house). I loved her so much. She wasn't a luxury car by no means. Just a plain 'ol Mercury Tracer LS with Child safety locks that I adored. She was a good car. Rest in peace baby, you'll always be number one in my book.

The adjuster from Allstate called me Wednesday trying to twist shit around. He was asking me more questions about that bitch ass soccer mom's car than my own. I asked me what kind of damage was done to her car. I told him I didn't really remember. He then goes on to ask me "Did you close your eyes?" He was basically trying to make me accept responsibility for the accident. I lost it. I went off on his punk ass before I knew it. I told him I didn't care what happened to her car. She hit me. I have a police report and two witnesses that say the same thing so you can kiss my ass. Well, after all of that, he asks me about my car, just verifying shit. I guess it amazes people that I knew my license number verbatim. Hell, when you've had a car for five years, you tend to know those things. Perhaps the most interesting thing the asshold adjuster asked me about my car was if it was red. Hmmm, that would sum up the issue of the dumb ass soccer swearing the light was green, because my car isn't red, it's green. I rest my case.

Enough about depressing shit. For once I get to watch ER. Wooohooo! Dr. Carter, Dr. Gallant, and Dr. Pratt, it's on again. Damn, I love that show. It's the soap opera for future doctors such as myself. Of course we know that shit ain't even remotely close to what goes on in a real ER. Believe me, I'm not even a doctor yet, but I've spent more than my share of time in an ER to tell you.

Oh well, enough already. Until the next time.........