I stopped at the Ghetto Mart for coconut water today and saw a sight.
Little Debbie is a big chick of Swedish descent who works as a cashier at a ghetto supermarket in Harm City, Maryland. She noticed that the lady who she had just checked out—a small, Dindu bitch in cut off jeans, wife beater and flip-flops with her hair woven with fake braids—had a box of fried chicken hidden under her shopping cart. She pointed to the security guard, who stopped the woman and asked her to pay for the chicken.
The little, 18-year-old-looking Dindette then began screaming, and swearing at Debbie, told her she wanted a refund, that it was Debbie’s fault for not seeing the chicken, and that she was “from Wess Balmore, bitch,” en we can take dis shit outside, where I’ll whoop yo white ass—bitch!”
Debbie stepped out from behind the register and said, “Let’s go, Bitch. I’ll grab that wiglett of yours and scrub the sidewalk with your face!”
The Dindette, looking up at the husky paleface broad, then seemed to think better of her challenge, set the box of unpaid chicken on the register back, and left, looking over her shoulder nervously.
I love shopping at the Ghetto Mart.
Your Trojan Horse
