Yo, first of all, my black ladies always seem to disappoint me, like, come on queens. Ain't no way you should be driving 100, 200 miles to buy some motherfucking chitlins from Atlanta from this motherfucking, you don't even know. Then they be bringing company. Then they eat this shit there, so your breath and your car stink. There's no logical thinking. Ain't no way I'm eating chitlins, especially from somebody in another state. I ain't wash them, clean it. I ain't. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. Facts weren't.

Well, Poop, your message didn't show up, but what I was saying, like, *****, is some crazy bitch asked you, like, hey, take a road trip with me. And you're like, okay, for what? To buy some chitterlings. I didn't know how to spell chitterlings. But, like, *****, you gonna do that shit? Like, that's retarded. Just for that? Oh, I shouldn't say retarded, y'all.