Damn, Damn, James!

Man, have you ever been so mad that it makes you tired? I tell you, shit just ain't been going my ways for some months now and today was no exception

Whiteboy done stopped working.

For the one person who reads my journal, they know that Whiteboy is my white Chevy Cavalier with the NASCAR paraphanalia shit on it. For all you other niggas, now you know. Anyway, yesterday my car appeared to be running hot, but it wasn't smoking or nothing like that, but I knew something wasn't right. Being that I've had my share of shaggedy cars, I would know when my ride is running a fever. I told my dad that the Check Gages light kept coming on and and the temperature gauge hand kept dangling perilously close to the "Nigga Yo Shit Is Blazin" side. He told me that he would take a look at it, but it stopped by the time I got to the house. This morning, the car cranked up with no problem. I dropped my baby off with no problem. I drove my car to my house for lunch with no problem. After eating a healthy bowl of Kroger brand imitation Crunch Berries, I went downstairs to crank up 'ol Whiteboy.....

Now we got a problem.

That shit would not crank for nothing. I don't know if the battery is gone or what. All I know is that this is the last damn thing I need to be happening to me right now. OOOOOOOH I hate damn cars. I wish all of them shits would run off into a ditch. Why can't Atlanta be laid out like NY and shit? Why does everything in Atlanta have to be 1234567 miles away from each other? Why doesn't the C-Tran run to my damn job instead of stopping 5 fucking miles short of the shit? I went upstairs and called my sister (I always call her when I'm mad). I was mad as hell. I was so mad that I was shaking and crying on the phone, asking my sister "why me?" over and over again. Man, I just wanted jump off my patio and just end it all (well, not really, I just wanted a really good excuse to give my boss for not being able to make it back to work). Luckily, my brother was home and was able to give me a ride back to work. I don't know how in the hell I'm getting home, but I know that she can't dock my pay because I came back to work.

Man, this shit sucks like Monica Lewinsky, but I'm determined not to let the Devil win this shit. He's pissing me off, blowing my dreams of making it big. I need the Devil to go bother somebody else and leave my black ass alone. Ain't it time for the Devil to go on vacation or some shit like that?

I apologize for my excessive use of the word "shit", but given the gravity of the situation, I feel it's appropriate.

I need a hug right now, but my baby isn't here to give me one. She gives such good hugs. I really am hungry, I'm daydreaming about some Arby's.

Y'all niggas email me some food and some money to fix my car.