To the foulmouthed lady off of MLK who has called me a "fucking faggot" twice since I moved to her 'hood: You're a black, beautiful lady. I wish I was a black, beautiful lady! Donna Summers, Missy E…. Seriously! So why can't we be friends? Because you've caught your man checking me out--twice!--and so have I. Ain't my fault my ghetto booty is fatter and tighter than yours. Lay off Popeye's and do some cardio, or if you're really lazy, invest in some designer ass-defining jeans... or do both! Shit! And it ain't my fault your dude's eyes wander. He's just a weak-ass, sloppy-ass playa. But let me assure you of one painful thing: It will be your fault when I come to your house and fuck the shit out of your man! In your bed, shower, kitchen table, everywhere but the closets (well, maybe the closets). I'm talkin' at least a dozen condoms, some crazy man-on-man marathon sex.... Think I'm bluffing? Call me a "fucking faggot" once more and I'll quickly place validity to your rancid, backwards hatred, and hit your man up with what he really wants. --Anonymous
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