The other day, Mama T and I were walking and 2 girls were yellin at each other down the  street. One said, “Hey, B*tch. Where you think you goin?” I stopped cos I’m curious like that, though Mama T says I must be THE nosiest dog that ever lived. Whatever.

The scene was pure ratchedness! One girl had blue and red hair and her booty coolers were so tight her stuff looked like it was screaming for air: “Help me! I can’t breathe. Somebody, please!” The other girl had on a pink bonnet, like the one that Mama T sleeps in, and she was matching from head to toe. Even her nails were pink. I thought those bonnet things were just for sleeping. Who knew they could be accessorized?

And the way they were yellin at each other…I’m telling you, I thought they were gonna fight. Then they started laughin and stuff and I looked at Mama T. She just shook her head and said, “Young people today. Lawd, help us.” Tsk tsk tsk . . . hot ghetto mess, yes sirree.

Y’all know I’mma real b*tch and I don’t appreciate them girls associating themselves wid me. They may think they’re ghetto fabulous but really they’re a bunch a hood rats and not classy enuf to even hang with us canines.

Dictionary.com says that a b*tch is a female dog or a female of canines, generally. Down the list it does say that a b*tch is also a lewd woman or a malicious, unpleasant, selfish person. Humph . . . that does not describe me (though it could be applied to many of the female canines I know. Fo sho.) so I’ve convinced Mama T to type this blog for me so y’all can know what life is like for a real b*tch. And I AM the prima of b*tches. That’s right; Mama T didn’t change my name to Prima Donna for nuthin.

I tried to type the blog myself but Mama T said what I typed was just a bunch of gibberish, and I was scratching up her laptop with my paws. Well, I say if she didn’t want me to use the computer, she shouldn’t have put it in my favorite chair. I mean, seriously, how am I supposed to take a nap if her computer is in the way? And laptops are hot so it’s not like I could just lie on it and pretend it wasn’t there like I do when I’m trying to hide some of
my catch of the day from Mama T (she hates it when I bring in animal body parts and carcasses so I have to be careful about letting her see them).  Shhh . . . It’ll be our secret.

Mama T: Uh, excuse me, Miss Donna, but I am typing this for you and you are so busted!

Oh . . . Uh . . . Anyway. . .

I also want this blog to be a way for Mama T’s imaginary family in the Louie to keep up wid what’s goin on in our lives. (If y’all really exist, show yo’selves. Or call me. I’ll be waiting…but not holding my breath.) Sidebar: for those of y’all who didn’t get (or read) the Christmas newsletter, I’ll post it as a separate blog and you’ll be up-to-date.

But first things first . . . I have had some wonderful, and not so great, times since coming to live wid Mama T 19 months ago and I hope y’all enjoy reading about our adventures. Let us know what y’all think.

Peace,
Prima Donna Williams