big bitches

Ooh, gurl, I have TONS to write about today. First off, before I delve into the great Saturday night I spent in Clemson, I have got to talk about our skamp friend from last week's Big Blocks class... the namesake of this very blog entry.

She is a big bitch. I think I stated that last week. The heifa is a big girl... I think the phrase I used was "her whole body is a badunkadunk." Yes. No, no love lost to the girl. I love big girls. Aretha Frankiln is a big girl... love her. Comedienne Monique is big girl... ADORE her. Basically all I'm trying to say is that I have NO PROBLEM WITH BIG GIRLS. The problem I DO have, is big girls with big attitudes to match. UGH! Lets think this through... Really... So the girl is already not society's image of a pretty girl... she already has issues to deal with. People are cruel and mean to larger people. Heck, I'm a big fella myself. I'm not above admitting that. I am not a physically fit person... neither are larger girls... neither is this hobitch skamp from Big Blocks. OH! And neither is her friend that annoyed the hell out of me today. Yes, now there are two of them.

Anyway, I am done giving fat girls the benefit of the doubt. Now it's time for me to lay it all out there: If you already have the weight issue working against you, one would think that you would do everything in your power to make the rest of you appealing, ie. clothes, make-up, attitude, FACIAL EXPRESSIONS.

Let me tell you about these two heezas. Every word anyone tried to contribute to Mr. Rowe's lesson, these hussies scowled at! Honestly, today, I enjoyed the lesson. It was all about writing a memoir, which I am all about (exhibit A, this blog). But seriously, I watched this lady try to share a good book that would help teachers teach students about a snapshot, the two girls looked at her like she really looked as skanky as they did. I mean really. I SO hate girls who do that shoot-daggers-at-you look. What the hell do they get out of looking at people like that? I can't even think of something clever to write that runs through their badly dyed heads.

All I have to say is this: If you are a fat girl, please do everything in your power to accentuate your true beauty. Society already has this jaded view that because you have a few added dimensions, you are less of a lady. Do everything you can to prove them wrong--keep a smile on your face, a warm demeanor, and a fashionable wardrobe. Thank you, please.

Now. Saturday night. I met Freddie and Emily at Acropolis in Clemson. We ate in disgust as Clemson lost to Tech, but we were soon relieved of our woes when an incredibly amusing species of girl sat in the booth behind us. It was a "Chrissy."

Chrissy (n.) a ridiculously obnoxious college girl who talks too much, has excessive amounts of sex, is often referred to as "hot shit" by horny guys, and is at least 10% synthetic

This girl had the signature airy/Macy Gray/"I've had too many phallic objects in my mouth" voice (obnoxious), the ridiculous conversation about her escapades from the night before (excessive amounts of sex), the plethora of Fratty Frattersons around her (the "hot shit" referrence), and an obvious tan-in-a-can (10% synthetic). Amidst her talk of "Ohmigod, you were so drunk last night," she could not decide whether to have the chicken fingers or the chicken "parm"--both of which would be coming up again later that night while she bowed to the Porcelain Goddess due to her thorough roofie spiked intoxication by one of her Fratties. She also sat there on the phone saying nothing more than the signature Chrissy "Yea" and "Omigod."

If that wasn't enough, her friend Jordan showed up... Jordan was a female of the "mo" persuasion, we believe... due to her infatuation with the waitress, who was eating it all up.

Well, if that Chrissy wasn't enough. About twenty-seven-eleventy-three of them came in all at the same time... accompanied by only two boys: Bob Saget and Dirty Doesn't Wash Fratty. Among these Chrissies were: Ugly Chrissy, CMT Chrissy, Redhead Chrissy, Big Booty Chrissy, Big Forehead/Talks Too Much Chrissy, and our all time fave, Chrissy Wu. While all the other Chrissies are pretty self explanatory, Chrissy Wu was an Asian girl. The conclusion we drew was that Chrissy Wu was not really friends with these Chrissies. They just picked her up outside of Super China Buffet and decided to be diverse for the evening. They didn't pay poor Chrissy Wu any attention. She looked like every minute she sat there with them, her super-human Asian intellect was decreasing by 10 IQ points. Bless her heart, 'cause it prolly was. Seriously though, Chrissy Wu had this look on her face like, "Americans are really a waste of good oxygen. And why can't I get any rice in this establishment?"

Well, after laughing out loud at all the Chrissies at Acropolis, we attended this utterly tragic party in one of Central's premiere ghettoes. Don't get it twisted or anything... we didn't attend in order to have a good time. We basically wanted to see all the freaks come out... and did we ever. The funny thing about this "gathering" was the fact that we arrived in time for the host to make a few announcements, including the awards ceremony for the costume contest, and the birthday toast TO HIMSELF. We snuck out the back door... and ran like fire to the car in fears of A) being shot and B) being seen in such an atrocious community.

Oh yes. We had fun. These are just the highlights of the night...

BUT LET'S NOT FORGET THE BEAUTIFUL NEW STRUCTURE THAT GRACES CENTRAL, SOUTH CAROLINA NOW: INGLES! Oh, my goodness, it is more wonderful than any other grocery store I have ever laid eyes on in my life. It's so big and sparkly! It's like it illuminated the little town of Central. I'm tellin' you... they thought that Wal-Mart was a big deal??? Well, Sam Walton can take his super-corporation ass and shove it, 'cause it's all about Bob Ingle's shit now, bitches...

...bitches.

...big bitches... do better, big bitches.

(And now I have ended my writing the same way I started it--which is an ending strategy that we learned today at Big Blocks... Thanks for that, Mr. Rowe)