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“Damn, baby. Give me something good. What kinda nasty was he askin’ for, ma-ma?”
“Oh, that nasty heathen wanted me to squat over him and pass gas in his mouth, then go to the bathroom on him.”
I frown. Oh that muhfucka mad nasty. He’s one of them shit-stained teeth ‘n’ tongue muhfuckas.
“Then he wanted me to let him clean me up back there with his…tongue. What kinda nasty devilishness is that? The devil is a lie if he thinks I’ma do some nastiness like that.”
I blink. “Wait. Hold up, ma-ma. Are you saying ole boy wanted you to squat over him ‘n’ pull open them big, fluffy booty cheeks and take a dump in his mouth, then let him lick out ya shitty hole?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Ole nasty shit eater. I’m so appalled. Why couldn’t he tell me he was into this level of devil work before I let him stick his serpent tongue in my mouth?”
“Damn, ma-ma. Sounds like you’re gonna need a deep cleansing, no pun intended.”
She groans. “I’m going to pray on it. And just call out on the Lord to send me a man with a good sexual appetite who isn’t into filthy sex.”
I bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. “Yo, beautiful. There’s nothin’ wrong with a lil’ ass-lickin’. It’s a real treat. As long as it doesn’t taste like shit. Next caller. You’re on the air.”
“Yo, what’s poppin’, fam? This ya boy Mike, yo.”
“Oh, aiight. What’s good, Mike…where you calling from, playboy?”
“Nyack, son.”
“Oh aiight. That’s what’s up. What’s on ya mind, bruh?”
He sighs. “Man, what’s good with these light-skin bitches these days, yo?”
I furrow my brows. “I don’t know, man, you tell me.”
“On some real niggah shit, yo, them hoes becomin’ basic as fuc—bleep these days. And they all starting to look the same, actin’ like every muhfucka out here can’t live without ’em. Bitch, boo! Go have ya pancake-batter-face ass a seat somewhere. All I’m tryna do is fuc—bleep. That’s it.”
I chuckle to myself. “Damn, bruh, you sound angry.”
“Nah, yo. I’m just tired of the games ‘n’ the stink-ass attitudes them hoes be bringin’. And most of ’em’s mouth game is whack as hell, anyway. If you gonna act all stuck up, at least know how’ta suck a goddamn dic—bleep!”
The line goes dead.
I shake my head. “Well all right then. That sounded like one wounded bruh. Next caller, you’re on the air.”
“Hey, boo. This is Ronzella from Union City.”
“What’s good, Ronzella. What’s on ya mind, ma-ma?”
She sighs heavily into the phone. “I’m so sick of dumb chicks. These thots be thinking ’cause a dude rocks a few Polo shirts and a Gucci belt that he’s ballin’. But ask him how much money he has in the bank, or what he’s driving, or where he lives and I bet he doesn’t even know what the inside of a bank looks like. He’s riding shotgun in his boy’s whip, or he’s on foot. And his mattress is on the floor of his momma’s house. It’s pathetic.”
“I hear you, ma-ma. Sounds like you got your ish together.”
“You got that right. And I can’t wait for my man to get home from his bid. So we can ball out.”
I blink. “Yo, what’s he down for?” When chick says something light, as in armed robberies, I almost fall out of my chair. “Yo, you call armed robbery something light.”
“Well, yeah,” she says nastily. “It’s not like he raped or killed someone.”
“Oh, aiight. Sounds like you definitely snatched ya’self a real baller, baby,” I say sarcastically, but it goes over her head.
“You damn right, boo. And as soon as he gets out in twenty-twenty-five, I’ma show these silly bitches what a real baller looks like.”
I smirk. “Oh, I’m sure the world can’t wait. Thanks for calling in, baby.”
