By now, everyone knows about the whole Chris Brown whaling on Rihanna. It's been weeks and finally someone released (leaked?) the picture the cops took after the beating. Here it is:
Bruised Rihanna
This is why I have almost no faith left in men. There are a few exceptions, but for the most part they are sleezy scumbags who think it's okay to do this to a woman! Why is it okay for you to put your hands on another person? I know every boy has heard from their mother or significant woman figure in their lives that they aren't to hit girls. The same goes for everyone...just keep your hands to yourself! Why is that so damn hard? I'm really sick that someone could harm another human being in such a manner.
Maybe back in the day it was more acceptable to hit a woman if she disobeyed you. If dinner wasn't on the table or the laundry wasn't folded correctly. Drunk men everywhere abused their loving wives, or shall I say, doormats. Sorry men, that isn't in our definition anymore. You can't touch us. You will go to jail and worse, our fathers will beat you to a pulp. Our brothers, male friends, and family members will kill you for laying your dirty hands on us in any inappropriate manner. And we will too. We won't take it anymore.
So next time, before you do something, sit your 40 down and gain some self-control. Don't take your hate for your lowlife self out on your innocent girlfriend who is most likely just upset that you're a pig in every sense of the word.
Here's a big F**K YOU! to Chris Brown. I hope you go to jail you asshole.
Showing posts with label angry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angry. Show all posts
Friday, February 20, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
crappy weekend
I think I have a lot of these. Here's a run down, just so I can skip to the point.
Friday: I get picked up by my boyfriend, and it was fine. We missed each other. Toward the end of the night we get into an argument (surprise, surprise) and then we're pissed. He drops me off at the restaurant I'm meeting my friend David at, as planned. He gets better.
Saturday: Valentine's Day. I'm not being picked up by my boyfriend until 3:30. He's supposed to be preparing a super delicious meal for us. I scurry around my house trying to find dessert recipes. We're out of eggs. I make a mayonnaise cake with fudge icing and it takes forever. I get ready and he comes to get me. When I arrive back at his house, a pretty table is set up with rose petals and heart shaped candles. I get a lot of candy, a stuffed bear, and two pink roses. Dinner is not even started and I'm starving. I end up making everything but the steaks (I thought he was supposed to cook for me?). I don't mind helping, but the whole reason why he picked me up at 3:30 was so the food could be almost ready by the time I get there. That aside, we eat dinner, which was delicious, and then watch Mean Girls. At 10:00 he wants to take me home (wtf?)! I say okay because he agrees to come to my house at 10:30 the next morning so we can hang out. We get into a huge argument. There are tears. I get dropped off at David's dorm room, and a flurry of phone calls/texts, waterworks of tears, and 2 hours later, I go home and crash in my bed. By this time, my roses are dead, my eyes are swollen, and my feet hurt from the heels I wore. Perfect Valentine's Day turns into Worst Valentine's Day EVER.
Sunday (today): I'm sitting in my bed, miserable, not really wanting to do anything at all except sleep. He's not coming over today. Typical. He's avoiding my phone calls. Typical. I want to discuss our relationship and the obvious end it needs to come to, but he thinks I'm lying. Also typical. There's a woodpecker on the chimney outside of my bedroom window and it's annoying the crap out of me because every time I try to go to sleep, he starts banging into the wood. I'm pissed. Today's going to be awesome...right.
Friday: I get picked up by my boyfriend, and it was fine. We missed each other. Toward the end of the night we get into an argument (surprise, surprise) and then we're pissed. He drops me off at the restaurant I'm meeting my friend David at, as planned. He gets better.
Saturday: Valentine's Day. I'm not being picked up by my boyfriend until 3:30. He's supposed to be preparing a super delicious meal for us. I scurry around my house trying to find dessert recipes. We're out of eggs. I make a mayonnaise cake with fudge icing and it takes forever. I get ready and he comes to get me. When I arrive back at his house, a pretty table is set up with rose petals and heart shaped candles. I get a lot of candy, a stuffed bear, and two pink roses. Dinner is not even started and I'm starving. I end up making everything but the steaks (I thought he was supposed to cook for me?). I don't mind helping, but the whole reason why he picked me up at 3:30 was so the food could be almost ready by the time I get there. That aside, we eat dinner, which was delicious, and then watch Mean Girls. At 10:00 he wants to take me home (wtf?)! I say okay because he agrees to come to my house at 10:30 the next morning so we can hang out. We get into a huge argument. There are tears. I get dropped off at David's dorm room, and a flurry of phone calls/texts, waterworks of tears, and 2 hours later, I go home and crash in my bed. By this time, my roses are dead, my eyes are swollen, and my feet hurt from the heels I wore. Perfect Valentine's Day turns into Worst Valentine's Day EVER.
Sunday (today): I'm sitting in my bed, miserable, not really wanting to do anything at all except sleep. He's not coming over today. Typical. He's avoiding my phone calls. Typical. I want to discuss our relationship and the obvious end it needs to come to, but he thinks I'm lying. Also typical. There's a woodpecker on the chimney outside of my bedroom window and it's annoying the crap out of me because every time I try to go to sleep, he starts banging into the wood. I'm pissed. Today's going to be awesome...right.
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