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                    [Title] => Word to your Mutter
                    [Summary] => My roommate and I once asked a friend if he could give us a ride home from school. "Fo shizza! Bitch, you don’t hafta axe, you know you is my girls, and I is yo nigga. Aight let’s bounce." In lieu of normal conversation, he started to rap about how he disliked his Philosophy professor but quite enjoyed marine biology. He cleverly rhymed Proustian with crustacean. In clashing contrast, my feeble comments resounded like a dead wall next to his mellifluent metering. My roommate, a stickler for grammar, pulled the stick out of her ass and beat him on the head with it.
                    [DatePublished] => 2003-06-27 00:00:00
                    [ColumnID] => 133679
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                    [AuthorID] => 1149216
                    [AuthorName] => Audrey N. Carpio
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                    [Title] => Word to your Mutter
                    [Summary] => My roommate and I once asked a friend if he could give us a ride home from school. "Fo shizza! Bitch, you don’t hafta axe, you know you is my girls, and I is yo nigga. Aight let’s bounce." In lieu of normal conversation, he started to rap about how he disliked his Philosophy professor but quite enjoyed marine biology. He cleverly rhymed Proustian with crustacean. In clashing contrast, my feeble comments resounded like a dead wall next to his mellifluent metering. My roommate, a stickler for grammar, pulled the stick out of her ass and beat him on the head with it.
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abtest

Word to your Mutter

By Audrey N. Carpio | June 27, 2003 - 12:00am

My roommate and I once asked a friend if he could give us a ride home from school. "Fo shizza! Bitch, you don’t hafta axe, you know you is my girls, and I is yo nigga. Aight let’s bounce." In...

Young Star