I was dressed up. And when you is dressed up, you do not walk like some abused housewife bitch with your body in some dowdy-ass slump. I am a proud creature, I am fierce. People look at me and they say Damn, that bitch is everything I aspire to be!
Well dream on, motherfuckers, because you ain’t gonna get close. You are ten thousand leagues under the me.
If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it is ugly people. Don’t be all looking like that around me, you ugly fucks, with your crack bitch mother who shoulda drowned the fuck outta you in the sink. I ain’t sitting through no weeks of hypnotherapy wiping your ugly face from my memory, because you are too fat and lazy to look good. Bitch.
And if you ugly, I know you don’t be looking at my titties. Not like this cunt on Goodge Street, last night. I was investing my hips in some motherfucking fabulous to and fro, and this fat cunt took one look at my smooth, toned body – and bear in mind that I was looking good, people – and he fell in lust with my ten thousand dollar titties. The fuckin’ nerve of this man – looking at my hot titties!
You know what I did? I raspberried that son of a bitch. I gave him five full seconds of the raspberry. Count em. Five seconds of ass noise, that’s what he got. And you know what this cunt said to his friend? With this stupid-ass English accent, he turns to his ugly-by-association friend and says all la di fuckin’ da, “I think she’s deflating”.
Motherfucker! You be talkin’ about my hot sweet Peri-Peri make-you-cry-they-so-beautiful titties? If you weren’t so fuckin’ full of the AIDS, I would grab your hand and press it to my bosom, where there be so much love that it make you see GOD. But no – I am not engaging with this fat ugly mess – my time and tits is precious, and I got hot and sexy places to be.
If you lucky enough to know me, you will know that I do not wear underwear. My ass is not a thing to be covered – it is a thing to be coveted. My ass sings. Put a microphone to my ass, and you be hearing Whitney fuckin’ Houston. Seven octaves of love come flyin’ outta my crack, and you betta fuckin’ believe it. But this cunt, he be following me down the street, and when my itsy micro-mini flips up to let the love out, it gets too much for his ugly virgin brain, and he be tuggin’ at his dick, he so excited. He be on all fours and ape-shit for this booty.
I have this special move. Superman got his crazy laser eyes, Wonder Woman got a tiara and shit, and I got The Whirl. It’s a full 360 with your hair out like a bitch on fire. And when you doin’ The Whirl – which by the way you don’t, because I have filed copyright and I will pay men to rape you if I catch you doing it – you laugh. You raise your head up and you laugh at the motherfuckin’ sky.
I deploy The Whirl, to knock this cunt off my tail. And get this – the motherfucker laughs. Is he living on the same planet as me and you? I have to say something. But what’s a girl to say whilst remainin’ classy and unreachable? What’s the weakness of ugly people? I know… their ugliness. So I tell him. I give it to him straight, both barrels. “YOU UGLY!” No, that’s not enough. “YOU UGLY MEN!”
Look at them pussies. They crossed the road straight away. They looked into the face of beauty, and they saw that they were wanting. That must have been like a fuckin’ religious moment for them. I am their fuckin’ God. They be makin’ a shrine of my tits and ass, and they be pulling each others dicks over me, those fuckin’ faggots. I am the fucking best.
In this story, I was the ugly cunt. The ugly-by-proxy friend was Lee. Writing about the incident from her point of view is part of the anger management course I’m pretending to be on for the purposes of this sentence alone. It is the profoundest source of sadness to me that I didn’t get a photo of this lady, who was quite possibly the most beautiful and well-hung woman I’ve ever seen.
Stop Press : Lee, who has written the story from the boy perspective, has just made this authentic identikit of what this loveable strumpet looked like. It is exactly what she is. It is unnerving.