Issue #13's letters






Der White Bitch, You all dat and a bag of Skittles. I loves dem Skittles, a whole rainbow of colors. I wish this was a letter about Skittles but it's not. It's much mo' serious than Skittles. I have a gas problem. Now I know it ain't the Skittles givin' me gas, but it must be somethin' I'ze eatin'. Maybe it's them pork rinds. My gas always be stinkin' men away. I make them SBD's you know, the silent but deadlies. They deadly all right. I done put one sucka inna coma. What can I do to control my foulness? Yours, Stink-ass

Der Stink-Ass, Well, I's ben eatin' pok rinds me hol life an' aint nufin but class be comin' from my ass. Gots ta be da skit'les. Smell da rainbow, bitch. Now yous gots ta choose. Which is mo impo'nt, gettin' ya grove on or ya feedbag? It be hard fo da brothas ta be givens da lickity split wearin' da gas mask. But if deys can't go down wit out passin' out, why don't ya try gettin' yo lovin deliv'd to da back do'. Plug dat shit up. Den da brothas can be gettin' da bootay wit out da bootay gettin' da brothas.


Der Ms. Bitch, I'm thinking of going for the record of most bouncy-bouncy (you know, tail-ticklin') in a 12-hour period. You think that's a good idea? Thanks, Flappy Flo

Der Flappy Flo, Wha be goin' on tween yo sheets is yo business. But I jus hopes y'all be doin' all dis record breakin' wit someone else. 'Cause I don't wants ta be waitin' fo da bus at 125th street next ta yo ass when ya be rubbin' all ova ya self. An don't be leavin' no stains on ya mama's sofa. If ya can'ts keep da hans off da merchandise, do dat shit at home.


Hello DWB, My love dart reminds most women of one of them mini golf pencils. They always be laughin' and gigglin' 'n' shit when I'ze tryin' to hit the bullseye. I'ze thinkin' about gettin' an implant pump and impressin' them with a zucchini-size member. Should I go for it or should I just slap 'em upside da head when dey laugh at me 'n' teach 'em a lesson? Sincerely, Little guy

Der Little guy, Da only slappin' ya'll be doin' is ta dat lil cocktail weenie. 'N evens if ya'll go outs an buy da stick o dy-no-mite, all yo ass knows how ta set off is da lil' firecracker. Either way, yo ass be a big disappointment. Why don'ts ya'll jus go ta da 7-11 an' gets a box o' Cheerios. That shit only cost 'bout 3 bucks an' ya'll probably gets mo' play.


Hey Whitey, I'm lookin' for a new song to impress da ladies. For the last 12 years I've been singing, "You got the peaches I got the cream, tastes so sweet, saccharine. 'Cause I'm hot, hot, so hot, sticky, sweet, from my head, my head, to my feet. Yeah." Then I asks them to pour their sugar on me, in the name of love. Is there a better song out there? In hysteria, DL

Yo DL, Dere ain'ts no betta ditty ta gets ya some titty. Why don'ts ya try a diff'rent verse o' somethin'. Tell dem bitches dat "love is likes da bomb, baby, c'mon get it on. Livin' likes da lova wit a rada fone. Lookins' likes da tramp, likes a video vamp. Demolition bitch, can I be yo man. Yo man." I can'ts be tellin' ya wat da fuck a rada fone is. But dat autta gets ya some suga.


Dear Little White Kimb, I've been following your column for some time now. I have two questions: 1. What do you think of socks? and 2. Do you have a degree or any qualifications to help these people who write to you? Thank you, Curious in Kansas

Dear Curious in Kansas, I did my undergraduate study in psychology at Yale and later received my PhD from Harvard. And then I did a 2 year residency while attending the University of Go Fuck Yo Self. What da fuck? I jus knows whasup. Dats it. If dere be suckas out dere dat be doubtin' my shit, den don'ts be pickin up da fuckin pen an askin'. I'ze mo' den qualified ta be givin outs da knowledge. See wha I'm sayin'. Cause I'ze been dere, don dat, an knows all, ya dum bitch. An' socks are okay. 'Specially when deys used ta choke dum bitches likes y'all.



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