i want a bachelorette pad. with leopard sheets and massive amounts of technological fun shit. yeah i need things to do too when i’m not returning phone calls. you best believe. i also want a posse always chilling in some corner of the pad: playing poker, xbox, or watching music videos. hellz yah. 
oh yeah and the bathroom would be forest-scented. ain’t nowhere to take a dump better than the forest.
what’s with you and all this ghetto fab talk??3/13 “yo, my little pecans.”“womenz”“get a good grope on”“best recognize, my progeny.”3/14<>five lines of [expletive deletes] as sung by busta rhymes<>3/15“…trying to get his stretch on.”“…rolled down his window just so he could holler at me.”“welcome to mah crib”“hellz yea”“…break from the straght menz”“peace out, brothas.”also i’m horribly allergic to pecans so as soon as you started your one entry like that i immediately stop reading thinking that you were going to start talking about them and i would have to go vomit.
sorry. it’s my fourth language. i’m a poser. etc. etc.
ghetto fab talk is the dialect of generation y. how else can we understand each other? good observation, though.