I Ain’t Your Mr. Grape

I hate when I get caught up in the ever ending struggle between the love I have for my lady and the stuff I have to put up with when she is having one of her moments.   Telling her girl friends how she is running thangs in her house.  Last time I checked a few of my dead presidents kept Mr. Foreclose from ringing her doorbell, which I might add I bought from Home Depot a few years ago.  Getting on me when I come home from a hard days work saying, “ baby why don’t you rub my feet to make them feel good”.  Why she get mad cause I said, “ if her shoes were the right size in the first damn place your feet wouldn’t hurt”.   I don’t have big stinky feet my ass!  Anyway, if she would treat her feet to some good old fashion Vaseline, a brother would be at ease.  Sometimes them joints a little rough to the touch.  One night I thought I needed a Band-Aid cause something on her toe cut me.  She said it was an accident. Accident my ass!

 Any who!

 Talking about I make her sick cause I always leave the toilet seat up.  Woman I told her, if as big as that ass is, how you going to tell me you gone fall through one night.  If you see that the seat is up. What goes up must come down. All she got to do is reach down and flip.  Now most brothers know all about reaching down and flipping.  Baby!  It all comes with practice I told her.  Man!  Why did I say that!  Next thing!  O girl started looking at me like she never looked before.  She had the gaze of ten thousand angry pitbulls in her eyes.  The air started turning cold and the skies began to darken.  And she said, “if the ass is to big then guess who ain’t getting none”.   That’s all right it’s OK.  I got’s mine!  And then I felt this burning sensation on the side of my head. O Man the pain was intense.  It felt like somebody chin checked a brother with brick.  The woman done hit me.  But I guess I deserved that.  Then I told her something that rocked her world.  Baby!  I thought that I was like a fine wine to you. I started out like a fat and juicy one, and then you stomped on me with your shoes, you mashed me with your hammer, and you squeezed me with your lock pliers. But guess what? I am still the same old man!  So that means I Ain’t Your Mr. Grape. 

By Some Crazy Old Man!

We Wonder Who???