I absolutely love Bonnie. Old ladies who don’t take any shit can sit with me at my local Cracker Barrel any day of the week. We’d order the Old Timer’s Breakfast and split the bill because Bonnie wouldn’t need some charity breakfast from a tattooed ginger-bearded fuck like me.
She’d tell me all about growing up in the South Side of Chicago and how everyone thinks they are so tough with their guns and violence now but that’s a cowards way out. She’d remind me that back her day, people used to settle shit with their fists and they’d either give a whoopin or they’d take one. She’s then take a long pull on her PBR and rip a cowboy killer and blow that leafy smoke right in my mug. She’s smoking in this Cracker Barrel. Does.not.give.a.fuck. I love it. Back to the story.
Either way, Bonnie reminds me, they’d be back to fight again another day. That’s the old school way and some blonde bitch was about to make her turn back into the old her. I wish a mother fucker would. I truly do. Anyway, take it ease. OS for lyfe.