2004-01-13 - 10:42 p.m.

So, I just ate me a whole bunch of sushi and now my pee smell like it come outta a robot.

Y�all know what I mean. It�s the asparagus up in there smellin� up the stall like a scrap metal yard. Ain�t no other vegetables do that. You eat a whole shitload of carrots, you gonna have piss smellin� like a paper mill? No. That veggie�s somethin� evil.

Clearly it�s been a while�and here I am apolomigizin� again. What you gon� do? Stop readin�? Go ahead. I dare you.

Well? What you doin� readin� this, Mr. Big Shot? Oh, you gon� stop now, huh? OK.

Wow, I guess you really did go. Who am I even writin� to now? I feel awful foolish. Typity-typin� while you off filin� down yo corns and readin� up on yo Betta Homes & Gardens. Guess you taught me a lesson. Thank you for that.

FOOL! Ooooh, you lucky it ain�t cool to be Punk�d anymore, �cause you just got it.

Bitch, please. You need me more than Britney needs an invisible fence, Kabbalah bracelet that keep her 60 feet from literature on "beliefs". Girl goin� around lyin� like she�s read a book in the past ten years besides the Yellow Pages and the instruction manual to her Tivo. (And that�s only because she was drivin� her fool self crazy tryin� to figure out where you put the tape).

Poor thing�I oughta cut her some slack there. That Tivo thing know what on TV all the damn time! How you know all that, machine? What�s next? A sofa that knows how soft you like yo ass like it? A book that knows what page you stopped reading on? A stove that knows how hot it is?

What�s that? You got a stove like that? You better get outta here with that crazy Jetson shit! You betta not be lyin�, or I�m a fly a car straight up yo ass. What? You can have a magic stove and I can�t have a flying car? Please.

Anyways, bein� away for so long is as tough on Leitina as it is on you. Actually, that ain�t true. It didn�t even dawn on me that I hadn�t written until this past weekend. I been vacationimizin� and vacationimaxin� with my new man. Oooooh! That right! Leitina got herself a boyfriend and he FEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNE.

He name Jerome Meriweather and he wear a bonnet. There I done said it flat out. Now you ain�t gonna be surprised when I tell you later. I always say, when you got somethin� bad to say, you come right out and say it. Ain�t no use in sittin� on it, �cause people gonna find out another way eventually. Say you just bought yoself a house that just happen to be built on a desecrated Apache burial ground and they marked the land with a fence constructed from the bones of massacred children. Ain�t gonna matter that the house got a wine cellar, two car garage and a view of the mountains. What they gonna remember? The fetus skulls that line the top of yo highly protective and durable fence. Whatever. More room in the pool for you and the tortured screamin� phantoms.

And don�t think the pool ain�t got a slide! A long twisty one too!

Back to Jerome. So yes, he wear a bonnet and yes it make me a little uncomfortable when we hit the club. Granted, he do switch it up during the nighttime for a edgier bonnet with less fringe and a darker off-brown�Oh who the fuck am I kidding? That bonnet�s gotta go. This man got six-pack abs, eyes that make you close track of the road and a sweet ass cellphone that plays Hey Ya when somebody callin�. (sometimes I call that boy when I�m sittin� right next to him just to hear that shit�alright, alright, alright, alright, alright, alright�)

Why he gotta wear that bonnet? I blame Jesus. All that Easter nonsense is the reason we got bonnets in the first place. Mary Magdalene wear a bonnet? No. That ho barely wore anything. It�s just foolish.

And what do rabbits and pastel colors gotta do with a man risin� from the dead? I can tell you this, those Ex-Apache zombies in you backyard ain�t gonna be wearin� no pinks and yellows, lookin� for eggs when they risin� from the dead �cause you built a house on they sleepin� holes!

I know, it�s a little weak, but it�s all I got. When in doubt, blame Jesus because WJGD (What Jesus Gonna Do)? I guess I�m lookin� for a little advice here. Lord, I�m layin� myself out today! Askin� you fools for advice. You know I must be hurtin�. I just like this boy�like him somethin� fierce. Anything you got. Anything at all. Let�s get that bitch outta that bonnet. Don�t forget who�s helped you through the long, cold nights when you feelin� down. BEN & JERRY MY ASS! Ooooh, you askin� for it.

One last thing. Y�all know they ain�t no love lost �tween me an that Alligator Hunter, Steve Irwin. Well, I�d be remiss if I didn�t say somethin� �bout that baby incident. For those of you who haven�t heard, that maniac brought his baby into the crocodile pen when he was feedin� them monsters and errbody freaked out like he Jacko on a balcony.

I gotta say that while I blame the fucker for 96.4% of the unfortunate reptile accidents that have happened to me (3.6% goes to Steve Perry of Journey, for reasons that will not be divulged due to an impending trial), I can�t really express too much objection. What I will say is that I do feel that Steve coulda given the kid a weapon or something. I been to too many animal v. baby fights to say I don�t enjoy a good 9-rounder between a colicky toddler and a chimp that�s been fasting for three weeks. It�d be damn hypocritical.

That being said, Mr. Irwin, give yo baby a hacksaw, pistol or at least a handful of bang snaps to distract that crazy snapper and you�re sure to get fewer criticisms from your viewing public. We�re talkin� about a Crocogator! Give the kid a break.

You got his teenage years to cause a lifetime of irreparable damage.

Leitina for President in �04�

L-T

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