[As per usual, conversations are not verbatim and have been paraphrased, rephrased, and generally rearranged to make Smoove D sound far more funny and clever than he really is. Isn’t the internet great? - Ed.]

“Thank god you answered, I have a dilemma. I like the blonde, but her brunette roommate is smokin’ hot. Which number should I get?”

“The blonde.”

Maybe I will get around to calling her.

A couple hours later.

“Your husband isn’t here?”

“Nope.”

“Awesome.”

Standing outside Kroger at 2:30 in the morning*, Smoove D is munching on some recently purchased** honey roasted peanuts and minding his own business. A minivan pulls up next to him.

“Can you tell us how to get to I-20 East”

“Man, I’m drunk. I don’t know.”

“Haha!”

This motherfucker is crazier than Horselover Fat. Good reading. I do hope he manages to get some hot biker chick poontang. This should be obvious, but as a public service for the legions of clueless: not safe for work.

“Don’t you know who I am? I’m the pool boy, bitch.”

My car is right where I left it. Awesome.

No tasty breakfast food in the ghetto fabulous apartment. Back through the Kroger with the riff raff again.

notes:

* Or maybe 1:30 in the morning, fuck daylight savings time. Fucking government.
** Despite the best efforts of the motherfucking goddamn U-Scan to prevent Smoove from actually checking out. Fuck Kroger.