¡Órale, pues!

Things I never thought would come out of my mouth:

• “Good luck in court tomorrow!”
• “Please stop calling me dawg.“
• “Did you just call me your n***?”
• “Don’t get the kittens high.  That’s cruel.”

I have also been trying to figure out why, without fail, the white boys I have as clients come to me with major attitudes.  Only the white boys.  Everyone else is a perfect angel to me.  They’re usually total pricks to everybody else, but have never unleashed their ‘tudes on me. 

I do wish that these perfect angels would stop doing two things.  The first is telling me the truth all the frickin’ time.  They lie or do something sketchy and then scamper on over to tell me the truth.  I am the holder of various secrets: the plan to slash tires, the undone court-ordered community service, the ass-whoopins and the family traumas.

The second is making me listen to amateur freestyle rap that they and their friends do.  Do I really look like I would groove on raps about bitches and ho’s and Glocks?  Maybe I do, but I really don’t think so.

Which leads me to one more thing I never thought I’d say:

“Perhaps you could switch out the ‘n****’ and replace it with ‘ninja.’  Good beats, though.”