I. Hate. Thugs. Period.
2003-02-17, 7:30 p.m.

I hate thugs. Dislike them with a passion. Sure, there are some that are pretty tolerable, but most are just complete assholes.

And just so you know, it aint even a black thing. One can find thugs of all colors. And you know what? It's frickin' sick'ning.

"Allison! Telephone!" mom hollers.

"Ok! Who is it?"

"Some jackass."

"Oh." I pick up the phone. "Hello?"

"'Ey, man."

"Who is this?"

"Why you aint goin' out tonight?"

"Who is this??"

"This is Melode's ex-boyfriend. BJ."

Damn liar. BJ was Jazzmyn's ex.

"Nuh uh. BJ has a deeper voice." Lord knows that's true. BJ's got a super deep voice.

"Aight, man. He wanna talk to you. Hol' on."

"Okay."

"Hey, wassup?" came a deep voice.

"Cut the crap. You ain't BJ."

"Aight, man." The stranger brought his voice back to normal. "This Jay."

"Ew. I don't want to speak to you."

"Not that Jay," he said, reading my mind. The other Jay is th' dude that enjoys flashing people, though he's got a pencil dick. "That's my cousin. I'm th' other Jay."

"Oh."

"So you aint got no nigga?"

"What?"

"You aint got no nigga?" he repeated.

"No."

"Why not? You fine as fuck."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'you fine as fuck'."

"What do you want?"

"You lookin' fo' anybody?"

"No, I'm not."

"Aw, damn. So can we jus' be friends?"

"You called me because you wanted to hook up?"

"Yeah."

"Goodbye."

"WAIT!"

"What?"

"Why you ain't wanna nigga?"

"Goodbye."

"Wait, naww, c'mon."

*click*

Damn thugs.

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