Her stubborn ass not getting out of the car was light work. Had it come to it, all four tires would've been blown out, and I would've sold the engine for parts. Doing that wasn't crazy in my book. It was proactive. Having to snatch the deejay from the booth 'cause the nigga was making googly eyes at my fucking wife was crazy. The party was gon' up too. I didn't give a fuck. He had witnessed my other half wiggling the fuck outta that little pound cake, so by my logic, it was grounds to die.
