A Diary of A Single Man: Peach Bunny Mama

How does one enter a room without being noticed by everyone?  The uncomfortable feeling it is when the cyber site house guest experience a cyber bully and it transforms into stalking along with so much more.

A Diary of A Single Man: Peach Bunny Mama

I post blogs on this one popular website that will remain forever nameless. The site has a chat room for bloggers and I sometimes will enter the room, pull up a chair and watch the fireworks and food fly across the net, while I’m in between writing. Why did this sister try to put me on blast just because I didn’t notice her when I entered the room? Somebody in her family must have eaten the last piece of chicken and left a corner of Kool-Aid and decided to throw shade my way.

The horrifying smackin’ sound effects heard from a person devouring and egg omelet fat burger with cheese began to crescendo through the computer speakers. She was a cookies n cream eatin’ drippin’ and droppin’, hurricane hollerin’ hungry hippo looking strutting her stuff, Mrs. Fields crumb dropping on the keyboard havin’ and always looking at someone else’s plate type of a woman, who’s face would light up like a Christmas tree whenever the topic of food surfaced.  I mean to say she loves food is an understatement. This woman loves food with a penchant of passion. Talkin’ about “You gonna eat that?” The girl need to put on some clothes that fit. Talkin’ about, “McDonald’s don’t know how to make a Big Mac.” So she recreated her own flavorful reinvention of what the Big Mac should be. It comes with a knife and fork. No napkin is needed because she doesn’t plan to miss her mouth. Did you know every picture in her profile has a empty McDonald’s Big Mac box in it? Talking about taking home decor to an unexpected next level. And, why do big people have to touch food? Like you gonna say “Yeah I’m gonna eat it even though you just molested and stuck your finger all in my plate”.

This sistha came at me hard last night and pissed me off.  I’m talkin’ Banana whole swallowing. What neophyte does that? The type that puts hot sauce on everything, just because she can. She talkin’ about she like it spicy like that. This mighty Joe Young, Magilla Gorilla straight out of animal planet type of a sistha launched herself and swung on a leaf out of a tree on my ass, online style. I mean it wasn’t a coincidence. She was focused and came at me huffin’ and puffin hard fogging up my glasses through the computer. The screen name she went by was “Peach Bunny Mama”.  Peach Bunny! SMH. I’m tryin’ to tell you a hot mess is more like it.

Let’s unveil this thorny situation. It’s gonna sting a bit. Black Mamba has to be about 5’- 4” with no neck. (Yeah, I said Mamba) She’s all head and shoulders, with one arm shorter than the other arm. People in the room said that her arm was long because when she was a child she was always reaching for shit.  Like, if she couldn’t reach the milk n cookies she would “will” that muthaphucker down. You know pulling and shaking on the refrigerator door saying out loud “Will you get in my belly.” I’m just sayin’. Don’t look at me funny, I’m only repeating what was told to me. So, lets not get it twisted. Plus, this chick had the nerve to call herself “Peach” knowing she wasn’t from Georgia she was from Ohio.

First of all why your name must begin with food? I’m sorry but a Bunny not suppose to look like that either. I hope I’m not being too critical but her stomach was up where her chest was supposed to be. I mean this girl had a picture on her page that would make you mad just because you clicked on her profile by mistake. Why did I click on her profile? Now she’ll be thinking I was trying to check her out.  Not! I wish there was a “forget about it” button or a “never mind” button. Even a button that says, “Nah I’m Good” would be suffice.  So I’m minding my own business, picked up a banana and started eating it. I swear she must have smelt it across the web cause she came at me out of left field, on a tree.

A Diary of A Single Man: Peach Bunny Mama

Huffin’ and puffin’ smoke circles saying, “You can’t speak when you enter my room, Harlem? Harlem what you doing over there in the corner with that girl? Puffin, she doesn’t want you, Harlem. What you eating? Is it spicy? I want some, Harlem. Harlem you from Harlem cause my big sister lives there?” Wait, you have a “Big Sister?” OK, I can’t take the visual and that’s too much information on an empty stomach. It’s not too difficult to see why she’s enamored of food. Then she came at me asking me do my balls have worms. She had heard that old men be getting worms because their ball sack be hangin’ and old men be sitting on them which causes worms to grow.  I was like,  again like I said before that’s a little bit too much information to be giving so early in the day. So, I said politely, “baby, slow it down a thousand. (Cloud bubble to self… Pump your brakes bitch) I’m talking to my friend if you don’t mind and I don’t know anything about any worms but I would Google it for you”. Now, I don’t want no problems cause girlfriend is huge. Brutha ain’t tryin’ to get body slammed online.  Then she asked me how many Viagra’s does it take to get me hard? Now I’m looking to see which chat room I’m in cause I know I did not click on the “No Panties” room. I was like “Whoa” The entire room started laughing. I even started looking around my house to see if hidden camera’s were secretly installed because the joke was clearly on me.

Now, I like everybody for the most part and I don’t have anything against big women, cause when I was younger I use to check for the big girls and pampered them because my boy Ernst told me that big girls will give you anything and everything. He didn’t tell me that there’s a price that come with the shit.  I’m mad to this day because I have a finite supply of tolerance for the lack of upkeep of personal hygiene. You know if I ever see Ernst again I’m going to fuck his little crack head up. I should’ve known better not to listen to a crack head.  He should have told me that that shit would leave a smell on a Brutha’s shit for 2 weeks no matter what kind of soap you wash with.  In fact, there’s not a bar of soap invented or known to man to this day, that will remove the stench from your genitals.  Damn, come to think about it I still have issues overcoming my fears and I have nightmares of drowning in dirty bathtub water, sometimes. Waking up wondering what the hell is that smell and it would be me smelling like cold hot dog water. I’d be scratching, no clawing at my shit like a dog in heat; thinking I got crabs or something.  Just talking about it makes me itch.

Now back to Mama.  You see I should have known from the very first sign of a rhyme that she was going to continue to be a problem when she entered the room typing “ Walks to the corner and plops on the couch”.  Normally, a person would say something like “Pulls up a chair” and shit but no, not her.  Then she got witty with it and typed, “Cracks open a 2 liter of Sprite, gulp”.  So I’m like “ew” who does that and why so graphic? What does this chick look like?  Only to find that she had visited my page already and had sent me a friend request. Now I’m feeling some type of way cause she just got through molesting a Brutha online. Now she’s pokin’ me and wants to cuddle.  I don’t like cuddling cause if your breath sink, I’m gonna tell ya.  Then this picture came to mind of her rolling on top of me and poor me trying to get away yelling out “Help me, somebody, please help me.”

I’m not trying to have a girl punk me, at least not online. Wait, holdup I think I hear her coming. Okay gotta go. I’ll finish this conversation later. Feet don’t fail me now, I’m out.

10 Minutes Later…

Okay… (Steps out of the hallway closet) That was close. Wait a second. (Looks around to see if she’s circling back) I just have one last statement to make. If you can jump up and down and your belly jumps up and down with you or it does it’s own dance, trust me when I tell you that shit is not sexy. If you stand up straight and look down and you can’t see your own feet or toes cause your stomach is in the way then that too is not sexy. (Cloud bubble to self… Hmm, I haven’t seen my own dick in three years or maybe it’s been five. I gotta stop wolfin’ down those Strawberry Cheesecakes and Checkers Murder Burgers). (Stomach bubbles followed by several uncontrollable farts (sink bombs) as he creeps out of the closet).

(In my Joe Pesci voice) Okay, okay, okay, okay. Get this… If you get out of the shower and you have to bend over to dry the crack of your ass and a whole cup of water comes out of your navel area, then that shit ain’t sexy either. Okaaaay! That was like 3 statements who’s counting here? If you are in your house and you walk to the bathroom and you find yourself out of breath but have enough energy to turn around to carry your greasy, sloppy, pathetic ass to the kitchen to wolf down the last piece of cornbread… Wait, if you put hot sauce on some damn cornbread without any meat riding shot gun, now that’s just too damn greedy.  Wait for the meat. It’s coming.  Well, come to think about it, I ain’t going to say nothing but that should be telling you something. Just a little bit. Ya Think?

A Diary of A Single Man: Peach Bunny Momma

So what’s the first thing you do in the morning? Huh! Some people brush their teeth, some use the bathroom others drink in the morning.  I fart in the mornings.  That’s right I fart all day if I could but its not appropriate to fart when other people are around. I like airing then clearing out a room in a moments notice. The expression on other people’s face is, priceless. Just blow that sucka out and check your shorts later. I figured I’d just share that one with you just in case you smelt a little something that’s not entirely fresh. Yeah. That would be me. I like to eat Creamed Spinach and Split Pea Soup, with Ham in the morning, afternoon and sometimes in the evenings. Then I fart all fuckin’ day. Short ones, long ones and silent but deadly ones. I be stressed. Read my lips through the hot steam, boy. Chef Harlem with the farts in the pots, boy. In the shower mixing it up then out with the steam if you know what I mean, boy. No flush.  Look Ma, no hands. (Ew) Sike! (I think).

I just wanted to share that one with you. I don’t know why. I just felt like you should know. I’m still trying to figure out why I live alone. You know, I can’t walk from the living room to the kitchen without blowing a hot one. The ladies call me “Hot Boy”. Oh lawd! You know the one where you gotta check your shorts just to make sure it was only a fart. I don’t like the smell, that’s something I can do without but it’s soothing thou and it’s relaxing to me. The release that is…  I’m just sayin’… Hmm, just call it random thoughts of a lonely soul.

Okay! I’m almost finish 4th statement. Hey what the fuck who’s counting anyway? When you drink a bottle or a can of soda with a straw and you hear that glorious air sound and you feel the air hit your tongue, indicating that’s there’s nothing left (drum roll please) that means it’s all gone, no more is in the can. If I have to tell you that imagine what else one has to tell you. Just put the fuckin’ can down lady, back away slowly and take that look off your face. I own a can of mace and I’m trained to use it as well. Besides, you’re scaring the baby lady. Would you believe this chick use to have a coke bottle figure? Now, she looks more like a 2 litter.

A Diary of A Single Man: Peach Bunny Mama

I’m sorry but I feel sorry for that bucket of chicken. It never had a chance. Anyway, she gonna ask me if I have a problem with big girls. I mean, who am I to ignore or disobey that kind of a question? I told her “No, I’m just tired of replacing the toilet seat each night she comes ova.” That’s all. I told her sometimes I want to sit on the couch too, comfortably. I mean, where’s the gratitude? It’s not like you’re doing me a favor. Don’t get me wrong, I love big girls I just don’t wanna smell that shit anymore and yawl know exactly what I’m talking about. I mean, didn’t’ you smell yourself before you came out of the bathroom?  Yeah, that was you smelling like a walk through the zoo.  Don’t you know that shit don’t wash off easily? It’s the kind of stink that stay with you for about two weeks. Ain’t no soap invented to wash that shit off when you’er in the shower.  It’s the kind of smell that makes you throw away your wash cloth afterwards. Have some sympathy for my laundry, please. The smell that will give you a heart attack and the last thing a heart attack needs is a band aide. When she jumps in the bed there’s no light at the end of the tunnel because that my friend is a train steamrolling ahead. Why does that big bucket of chicken look like a small box of French Fries? You would think she’d offer me at least a wing. She talking about she eat those first. 

Hey! On the bus, a two-seater for normal people is a peculiar tight fitted one-seater for her and she be like come sit next to me and shit. I think not, I’m good over here, all by myself with room to spare. Besides, you look comfortable.  What would I look like cramping your style? I took a Grey Hound with a big chick to Atlantic City. I’ll never do that again. Can you imagine the picture of the two of us sitting in those tiny seats for 3 hours? People behind us was laughing and spilling curry juice the entire trip. Just the thought of getting back on the bus made walking a luxury. Kissing this woman was like putting lipstick on a pig. Awkward is not the word.  I was leaning over to strap her in the seat. She tried to stick her tongue down my throat. Maybe she thought i was suggesting something. Look, just because you watch Grey’s Anatomy doesn’t mean you can conduct surgery and by no means am I a doctor. I mean she was a hard cup to swallow to say the least. Putting her in a dress is like saying miss piggy was cute if that’s possible.

She told me to hurry up and put some hustle in my step. When I finally climbed in the seat she leaned over and said, “There’s no substitution for hustle but if you don’t hustle you will be substituted”.  I was like, “Are we playing basketball or are we just hangin’ out? I’m confused.” Stop the bus, I’ll get off right here, thank you.  She talkin’ bout I’m too ghetto just because I eat my chicken wings with my fingers.  Just because you can pop a whole chicken wing, bone and all, in your mouth like it was popcorn shrimp don’t make me ghetto.  She has this way about herself that makes me feel like I’m six feet under without a shovel? Dealing with her is like trial and measure not trial and error.

A Diary of A Single Man: Peach Bunny Mama

Wait! Do you hear that? It sounds like she just dropped a turkey bone on the floor without a napkin. Okay that’s a sign. Why do I smell pickle juice? I’ve learned to never sweat the petty stuff but I will pet the sweaty stuff.  I may and I may not be back because that right there was another sign, signal and symbol. Either way, here’s the deuces symbol. I’m out.

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A Diary of A Single Man: Peach Bunny Mama

Harlem,

Heaven is at the foot of Mother…

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