texting with ticole.

first off, i’m alive. hand clap for that. (amen)

life happened. haven’t posted in over a month. but…you’ll still read this so…whatevs.

anywho, just a few minutes ago, i engaged in a lengthy text convo with a good friend of mine, met via Myspace at Cashawn’s house in DC ages ago….TICOLE.


i don’t know where this dialogue came from, but we tend to go back and forth like this for great lengths of time for no apparent reason. i re-read the convo today and laughed out loud several times. hopefully you find it as interesting and stupid as i do.

note: i am “sammy.”

Hey Sammie.

-Mmmhmm. What u doin?

-Thinkin bout u. When u gone tie me up and put summa dat sweet luvin on me agin?

-After Geraldine cut me loose! I aint no good time charlie! My mammy aint raise no two-timer. Waitcho turn Edwina!

-MMhmm…u aint say dat last night wen u had dat mayonaise spread all n mah crack…sho wont thankin bout dat ol floozy den!

-Nah woman, don’t be givin be da blues. I had me one a dem..change ‘o hearts. Ainna man posta do right by his main hoe?!!?

-Well don’t come scratchin round ma do afta u done got all licka’ed up talkin bout gettin dese good dun debbies!! I’m thru witchu sammie!

-Now Edwina, u and ah both no dat minute i come round with dose red knee-hi tube socks u like, pitchin woo atchu like i do, those hanes gon hit de flo.

-Hmph!  U bess gone and pitch woo to one of them otha skanks! I think I’m gone get back wit Ricky Lee.

-If u go shack up wit dat no count fool Ricky Lee Jones, I’m gonna git back ta hunchin wiff yo cuzin  Claudine. She alwuz knowed how ta luv a man real good. And her catfish and college greens is betta den yo’s is!!

-Now sammie dats a lie an u know it! Aint nobody in da great state of gawguh cookin betta greens than me and i guess you aint heard dat Claudine got dat nasty womyn’s disease. Ol loose self…serves both yall rite!!

-U seem ta think very highly of yoself eva since you did a week at dat ere fancy comunitee college, witcho books and yo MacIntosh compurtas, and learnin and what not. Just a year aga ya wuz sellin used socks ova on Peachtree. Uppity, no college-green cookin nigra!

-U sho aint one ta talk witcho 6th grade diploma sammie ray! My lil boy jimmy dee can read betta den u!

-SIXTH GRADE IS MO FARTHER THAN DEM NIGGERS ON THE MOTHERCOUTRY GIT TO GO!! Shooot, I’m prolly smarter den bout 625 a dem Afreecans put togetha. I gotz life sperience! HMPHF! Don’t be puttin dat lil proud woolly-headed boy a yours on no pedestal. he still shit in his pants…what de fuck do he know!?!

-Now sammie u can call me whateva nasty ol names you can think of but u aint fixin ta be talkin bout mah boy!

-Oh Nah! I’mma say what i wonts! Dat lil shit-pants sumbitch so smart, let him take up fo himself! Who de hell heard of a boy goin past 6th grade?!? Get that bastard out on the field! He can go tend ta Mista Jasper’s mules! Them is good white folks. Don’t spoil that boy with lies bout college…and being RICH…and being PRESIDENT…and all dat otha mess. Think womyn!

-He kin b anything he wonta b and that just happens ta b a manager at Hardees…and it shall, by and by lawd.

then it kinda died out. i don’t know why its so funny, but this time we dug deep and let it ride for a LONG time.

good times.

well, off to dinner with…um…someone from the past. laterz.



5 responses to “texting with ticole.

  1. You and Ticole are two damn fools!! I laughed my ASS off all the way through this exchange!! Oh my, I love you two!

  2. You may need to copyright this…I think Tyler Perry may want to make a stage play out of it.. At least then you’ll be able to buy me that pearl necklace you been promisin me (since last year) from K-Mart. No more excuses sammie! They got lay-away nah!

  3. LMAO!!!!!

    “red knee-hi tube socks ” I swear I was done after that hahaha

    Oh and “college greens” hahahaha; yall are some fools! I loved it!

  4. Yall need help…that tickled me pink! That would be a good movie short for BET hosted by the cuteness of Hill Harper. It’s gotta be better than what they are showing already.

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