This be Wanda Lust and I tell ya we all done went out on the town this past Friday. There was me and Fat Harold, Seymour and Lady Lynda, and Auntie Carol and Herman. We done eat I-talian with the spaghetti lookin’ like white worms we be slurpin’ up. Then I notice Auntie Carol and Herman both disappear into the same restroom and come back grinnin’ like a fox in the hen house. It aint seemly that high fallutin’ people gone act all freaky deaky. When I gits people all figured out, I likes it if they stays that way and not go all change up on me. A lady should stay a lady and a “Ho”, A “Ho”. And Lady Lynda stimulatin’ Seynour under that table with her bare toes on his damn crotch. Ya git me or is I bitchin’ fo’ nothin’?
I sure D likin’ the Lady shit they usta’ lay on me and the presence of God playin’ peekaboo wid’ me, smilin’ from behind a damn cloud. They done convince me that I be Hell bound and this make me be real kind to all the beggars in the hope I gone git’ into heaven in some kinda way. Now they don’ bitch me out cuz I sells my ass fo’ profit no more and I misses all that shit. I guess they thinks I be some kinda poor unfortunate whut can’t help they lot in life. It called “The Great Unwashed.” Funny thing, Ho’s always be washin’ they things all the time as it git’ real stinky if ya don’t’. They always lets me know they be a cut above me but still love me like hellfire. Then I thinks maybe all womins be “Hos” some kind of way. Otherwise the man aint gone love and support ya.
I charges fifty fo’ a blow job and a hunnert for a slam bang unless it be some kinda freaky: then they gots to shell out more. I can’t count the times I dressed up like a Nazi matron and whup they asses wid’ a cat o’ nine tails. The money’s in fuckin’ the ones wid’ head problems. My specialty. I done been they moms, they teachers, even they own sisters. In short, I be a therapist of sorts and make just as much as they do. Fat Harold and me got a stone palace in Chestnut Hill, and all the neighbors think I be an Avon sales lady. What the fuck, I goes along wid’ all that horse shit. I always had my own money: don’t like to rely on no man. Then he be tellin’ me whut to do and I aint like that, not one little bit.
Auntie Carol still workin’ wid’ them rough girls, Las Cabronas. Got ‘em all wearin’ pearls and navy blue suits and crossin’ they legs at all times, college bound ya know. Lady Lynda tourin’ the country teachin’ Proper Ettiquit. Such as quit be’in a Ho, ya damn strumpet, but not in them words. But ya git it. Close yer damn legs ‘til ya sees a diamond ring dangling from a man’s hands, and wear a girdle so yer ass don’t jiggle like a mouNd of jello. Ya know the drill, and close yer mouth when ya chews, you aint no damn cow wid’ a cud. I says it different’ than them but ya see where I go’in wid’ it. I know all they beliefs and I respec’ ‘em. Now something revolutionary, Auntie Carol want to start a detective agency like that old lady in “Murder She Wrote” or the old Columbo series. She tell me that and I bust out laughin’. It so improbable. See I know some educated words. The sun aint go down on Ol’ Wanda, bitch. They gone call it the Primrose Agency and that be a whole ‘nother Joke on some level. Prim Rose, so fittin’ it would seem.
I sez, “Don’ do it. How ya know you aint get some damned serial killer on yer asses?” They both think this is powerful funny, and Lady Lynda give what she always call a “little witticism.” She say Raisen Bran never hurt nobody and laugh her ass off. Git it, cereal killer. Well, I aint give up so easy and I launches into a description of this real evil looney called Ed Gein, who used to skin womins and wear they skins around. Ya sho’ aint git’ that in Neiman Marcus! He also keep they body parts in his fridge to snack on. It give new meaning to the word, head cheese. And he got they lips dryin’ on his lampshades. When I gits to this part they all breakin’ up laughin’. I guess it funny in a kind of dark way. Then I tell ‘em how ya know you aint catch some I’talian mobster and his fambly’ aint gone execute ya, bullet in the head.
They say they gone specialize in cat burglars and diamond thieves, and I say, “Ya think this like college where ya chooses which course you gone take? Both of yal aint qualified fo’ this kind of work. You gone git injured or kilt!” And Auntie Carol pat me on the cheek and say, “There’s nothing in life that a good English degree can’t prepare you for, Dear.”
I decides I can’t fly in the face of logic and I orders ‘nother blackberry brandy. God love a hard livin’ woman.
By CAROL ANN bond writer of Catfish Joe & Double, Double, Toil & Trouble @ Amazon & BM.com