i just showed some people three consecutive death drabbles and theyre all mad at me
Maya, darlin’, maybe ya’ oughtta come get a drink wit’ me instead?
…I’d like that very much.
Men d’en come alon’, zoli, rounds are on me.
What’s bod’erin’ ya’?
What are your thoughts on other African nations being quite misogynistic?
I d’ink it’s some shit.
Been goin’ on forever, too, lemme tell ya’ - ya’ll know d’at’s why d’a Malagasy walked outta d’a mainland coast and settled in Madagscar, yeah? Madagascar was founded by a load of women, and Madagascar my mum.
…Er. Of sorts. Our biology is still a lil bit weird, and Lord knows it was long ago.
Men yeah, plentya my neighbours- Hell, people I’m supposedly related to- be under some delusion d’at we are second class, or some shit. D’a worst bit is, most of it ain’t even outta malice- just straight up ignorance, and d’at’s a much harder fight.
I mean, damn. Even people I like got nod’in’ but men runnin’ d’a place. Ya’ ever been to Russia? Ladies ain’t supposed to speak up, and he’s my favourite. France? People singin’ all d’a damn day about how progressive d’ey are, and I laugh out loud. Nah, zoli, nah.
Sometimes ya’ gotta end up forgivin’ people for d’ey ignorance, much as it sucks- take it from me, I wouldn’t have a friend in d’is world if I didn’t. Y’all know what I’m talkin’ about, don’t try to say ya’ don’t.
Way I see it, man come from woman and man can run from woman until he learn how to treat her right. Let d’at be a lesson.
This might be very personal, but what do you make of the climate change problem? Are you going to be vastly effected by it or are you going to make it, do you think?
What do I make of it?
I d’ink it’s d’ree different shades of Ridonculous d’at we even dealin’ wit’ it. Bondye. Y’all tellin’ me d’at ya’ can’t quit ya’ bitchin’ an’ moanin’ ‘bout taxes long enough to make sure ya’ rubbish go somewhere od’er d’an into d’a air? Cain’t even chuck it in d’a bin, halfa’ y’all be d’rowin’ ya’ trash all up on my beaches like ya’ got no care in d’a world.
Ya’ stewin’ in ya’ own filt’, and d’en halfa y’all complainin’ bout d’em damn yuppies yappin’ bout climate change. Nasty asses.
Men it’s disgustin’, d’at’s what it is. We got a big problem wit’ it in my place- d’ere’s a reason my home ranked as d’a second cleanest ocean waters in d’a world for five years runnin’, and d’ree ain’t bad, eid’er. Ecotourism is my d’ing- y’all can fuck ya’ own places over, men I like bein’ d’is fine, d’anks. Who don’t care about d’a environment?
Nasty asses, d’at’s who.
Men as for d’a water… gonna say, I’m worried. I mean, most of my land is mountains, men waters risin’ means d’a deat’ of a lot of fish d’at d’rive in perfect conditions, fish an’ animals d’at don’t live anywhere outside’a my place. Not to mention d’a way I live.
I’ll make it, ‘cause I’m too damn stubborn not to, men it’ll be rough, and y’all can be sure d’at if I don’t I’ll be back from d’a afterlife to crinkle chip wrappers loudly when ya’ tryna get some an’ bash ya’ over d’a head wit’ a Diet Pepsi can.
Trying out different styles.
Angelique, you’ve come just in the nick of time! Help me sort these papers, won’t you please? There’s too many and I feel my desk is drowning.
Get to workin’?
Bondye, where ya’ been, sleepin’ on d’a job? D’a sounds of Agitated British Sensibilities can be heard round d’a world. How are we even to sort all d’is, Wrinkled, Crushed, and Might Be Scrap, Might Be Declarations of War?
If it’s not too much to ask…
Not…not exactly sleeping on the job. I may have procrastinated a little (which you know as well as I do is a very unusual thing for me to do!) but I’ve come to catch up. I didn’t ‘slack off’ without a good reason, but I can’t say why. I merely need a little help is all. - Sheepish smile. -
Oh, ya’ can’t say why- men ya’ did it anyway? Sounds skeeeetchy.
Men fair enough. Old man’s allowed a few lazy as days, no? After d’ousands of years of bein’ sorrrrt of on toppa his shit, I mean. Men maybe ya’ oughtta give sleepin’ a go, mm? -She grins, teasing, and pops his cheek- Putta little bitta spry back into d’a wrinkles?
“Siran, you know me well enough to know what I would prefer to imbibe!” Ivan laughed merrily, shaking his head and tossing his platinum blonde hair to and fro. He pat the lioness Yeran gently on her large head, as he stepped towards Angelique “Easy, proud queen.”
To the Seselwa herself he tenderly examined her head, having spotted Mitsuru half-heartedly attempt something to that effect, and frowned over it “You are healing well my dear. I suppose the reason for the wound will be lost to me, since you aren’t in any danger.”
He gently tapped her nose and winked “And suggesting juice for Mitsuru? Please, Angelique… one of her grandparents called my land home! There will be no need for simple fruit juice, she can handle the harder stuff just fine, I believe.”
Hopping back theatrically, he gestured towards Mitsuru dramatically, extending his arms towards her “Look! She is built almost like she is of full Russian heritage, sturdy and hard to fell be it by violence or by alcohol. I would almost assign her a passport simply on that alone. What do you think?”
The giant of a personification seemed to reconsider momentarily, tapping his chin in thought. “Although… I may need to deduct marks for squeamishness, but that is probably because of the other genetics filtering in.”
“I’ll heal fine when I get a bitta my own kinda juice in me, don’t even play,” she muttered in rather a proud fashion for one that was currently incapable of walking and talking at the same time. Blinking erratically, she lifted a hand to point vaguely in Mittens’ general direction (her true name, of course, had long vanished from Angelique’s mind to make room for what ostensibly was cranial fluid and vodka, which we may consider to be equally important.)
“Bah, she be alright. Men look at her! She got some Asian rubbish up in d’ere, ya’ know,” she continued in her usual affording manner, “She may not look it, but up in d’ose Hips of Fury she got some serious lacka booze control. Give her some juice, for God’s Sake- haaaa, get it?”
That absolutely brilliant joke aside, of course, Angelique could be found to be doing precisely what any self-respecting woman in her situation would do: prodding a large lioness with her foot and whispering “Heeeere, kitty kitty kitty!”
This may or may not have been at least partly due to the fact that she was hovering in the stages of Drunk rather than Mentally Altered- those of certain nationalities may appreciate the difference more so as the interim between McCain’s White Boy Shuffle and The Grey Nutrient Broth That Sustans Mint Romney- and that she was really very ready for some form of booze to further exacerbate the entertainment.
“Siraaaaan, ya’ pussy be poppin’ all over d’is place and she won’t gimme vodka,” she complained loudly, before collapsing into giggles. “Haaaa, pussy. Get it? Bondye, I’m a fuckin’ genius.”