MONDAY MORNIN' RAW

One Fine Monday

Years Ago

There was once a youngin’ back in the eighties who never bullied a soul and he was never bullied. This lil boy was a midway introvert who never looked for trouble (well, not really), loved playin’ soccer (wit no boots on, of course) and, he loved sittin’ in the back of the class wit them bad boys (a hodgepodge of retards and midway geniuses) where he could meld in the crowd and subsequently hide away from the pryin’ eyes of those mutherfuckin’ teachers who were bent on humiliatin’ a good student like him by makin’ his ass answer questions that were too difficult for him. Lol!

I can identify wit this boy and am sure a lot of you can too, right?

No?

Oh! So y’all wanna pretend like y’all were lil Einstein growin’ up, huh?

If y’all don’t quit pretendin’ am gon’ be forced to call your mamas up and expose your asses for the lil retards y’all were growin’ up!

Ah ha, don’t feel so bad, am jus messin’ wit y’all. Lmao!

Back to the tale at hand, remember I said the lil boy never bullied no one, well I musta forgotten about one lil incident…a lil bullyin’ episode that back fired on his lil ass, big time!

16:00

That Monday afternoon so many years ago, our lil boy (the wanna-be bully) held his luck by the hand and led it jus a lil bit too far, he bullied a friend (well, not really a friend but some kid from around the way who was, up til that day, always a little afraid of him) jus a bit too much and guess who jus happened to turn up like a bad coin that day? Karma! Karma fuckin’ showed up to turn the table on our boy.

The bullee (the person gettin’ bullied…bullee? Please, there’s isn’t even any word like that) decided on that fateful day he couldn’t take the humiliation of bein’ stepped on no more, especially  ‘cause a lotta other kids were present that day, so he to called our lil boy out. The bullee came out fightin’ like a cornered rat. To cut a long story short, our boy (wanna-be bully) got his ass handed to him; he got whooped by his own belt (the lovely blue belt his pops had brought him from the good U. S of A).

Tuesday

5 June

02:12

If Mondays could talk, humans woulda been swimmin’ in all kinds of lawsuits by now. They woulda made all you Monday haters (I know there are gazillions of you out there walkin’ around wit chips on your mutherfuckin’ shoulders actin’ like you’re some kinda sweet fancy piece of shit) catch cases for stuffs like defamation of character, character assassination, discrimination and shit for givin’ ‘em such a bad rap/ rep.

Somethin’ tells me this Monday-phobia that homo sapiens wallow in so disgustingly might have some’ to do wit folks havin’ to head on back to their daily hustle (the jobs they pro’ly hate wit the same passion a shit cleaner has for his job) and the people they can’t stand but they gotta put up wit all week long…five fuckin’ days!

Soon as the chill pill of Sunday mornin’ starts wearin’ off and Sunday afternoon/evenin’ begins to get its foot in the door, a lot of folks start seein’ their bosses faces on their dinner plate, they start dreadin’ goin’ in for another five days (and sometime six) of dealin’ wit pressure of deadlines and hangin’ wit the same set of assholes called work mates and jus like that, all the sweet the cries of thank God it’s Friday two days earlier becomes a distant memory.

Jus take a few sec to imagine…if Monday was a man, who would he look like?

Am thinkin’, Danny Trejo of the Con Air/ Machete fame. A man wit a face so mean even his smile looks like a mutherfuckin’ frown. Lmao! Next time you wanna hate on Mondays, think twice.

Tuesday

5 June

10:35

Accordin’ to some researchers who got time on their hands, they said Monday mornings are so depressing that on average humans don’t crack a smile until 11:09! I wonder how they arrived at that conclusion though.

Anyways, what them researchers forgot to mention was that shit could get uglier than not jus crackin’ a smile much much earlier than 11:09.

Bus Station

10:33

I suddenly noticed men runnin’ toward a commotion a few meters away from where I was tryna get some’ done, I craned my neck and there they were, the source of the mornin’ excitement…two well built young bucks goin’ at each, no gloves, no head guard, no WWE fanciness, jus pure old fashioned bare knuckle fist fight!

From where I was standin’, I swear I could hear the sound of fists slammin’ against temples and guess what? Nobody stepped in to separate these fools; niggas jus made a circle around ‘em and enjoyed the fight.

I moved close and saw that these two bus station hustlers had blood drippin’ from their faces and tears streamin’ down from their eyes…I looked in their faces  and saw a silent plea in their eyes and eventhough they weren’t sayin’ it, mutherfuckers were beggin’ to be separated!

Huh, what did I do?

Well, I did what Clark Kent or Peter Parker woulda done if they were there; I got my super hero on (no spidey suit or red cape flowin’ between my knees though) and separate them boys. And no, I didn’t take no stray blows to the head. They were too exhausted to produce one!

Outro

Jus like those two Monday mornin’ fighters, the lil wanna-be bully looked for a way out of the fight but the other lil punk asses jus stood around and enjoyed my humiliation. Did I say my humiliation? Yeah, I did…that lil wanna-be bully was me!

Ever since that black Monday years ago, I never pulled a punch except I really need to and I never stand around to watch mutherfuckers fight themselves to exhaustion again…umm, well not really.