“What beautiful weather. If I was Chinese I’d write a poem. Ah, fuck it.”
-Mescaline Franklin, 4/29/15
After all of the liberal spin extolling the innocence of the black youth army that defeated the BPD on Monday, it was nice to speak with some real people with real opinions that were at ground level. As much as I write about social emasculation it was refreshing to speak with a women who is a man fan, who was there through it all.
I finally got back in touch with Miss Ezz, the lady that notified the BPD that the hood rat brigades would be attacking on Monday. Or rather she got in touch with me while she was smoking on her lunch break.
“How are you doing over there in the war zone darling?”
“Sugar, this girl is grovin’ with this eye candy! I ought to write that stupid bitch that runs the city a thank you letter. You know how long it’s been since I’ve seen more than two good looking muscle men at a time—and white at that! I’m standing here in a high and tight uniformed hunk paradise.”
“Are you talking about the national guard?”
“Talking, talking? You know better than that Baby Cakes. This girl is checking out the merchandise. The boss might be getting bled dry, but I haven’t been panhandled, back-sassed, or yelled at since these boys rolled up. Umm, umm, umm, muscles, uniforms, guns—and their packin’! A hundred handsome white men; I’ll stand next to this fellow all day long—got to go sweetie.”
