Help me please.
She came home and said “Phillip got 6 months for the POM”.
I said Oh.
Why they didn’t give you the same thing?
I tried to act like I was sad or something.
I said I’m surprised she didn’t beat his bitchass up already.
I remember when we first moved in. We moved specifically because he was abusive. Next thing I know he had moved in too.
The first day of our stay he showed up at the apartment with a rock, threatening to throw it at our window if she left him.
Then he stormed into the shower while I was in there, trying to attack her.
When I left the rock was still sitting on the staircase. I was like, wow.
Who shows up to somebody’s house with a rock threatening to beat them up.
You can’t beat people up with rocks, it’s not allowed. I keep waiting for the day when I just call the cops on myself.
Get me out of hereeee!!! I can’t take it. I’m just going to hop in the next cop car I see like it’s a taxi cab and start giving instructions. Like take me to a jail cell that’s not on the Eastside.
It’s too fucking hood for me. You people make your own rules. And you shouldn’t. In what other zip code are stonings allowed?
Fuck man, it’s the goldiggers guide to life. It’s too late to switch my strategy up, I’m not going to try and hustle my way out of this shit. I’m marrying rich.
I’ve started sending messages to people I don’t even know-thinly veiled pleas for help. I feel like I’m on one of those feed the children PSA’s.
Would you like to help a young African child get to school for less than 3 dollars a day?
Okay well, call Tyrone. Don’t lie about your morals. You’re going to find you a rich man. Just man your post.
