#pg174

EB: you can peep me, right. EB: tell me what tha fuck is poppin' off wit dis picture.  

TT: Sorry. I keep losin tha wireless signal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. TT: Must be tha drizzle n' shit. TT: I would look fo' a stronger signal up in another part of tha crib yo, but I'd rather not risk a encounta wit mah mutha n' shit. TT: I battled all up in her cloud of gin n' derision once already dis evening. 

EB: haha, yeah I hear you, biatch. 

TT: Yes yes y'all. Cake, jesters, unfalterin ludd n' support. TT: Quite a road ta hoe there, so peek-a-boo, clear tha way, I be comin' thru fo'sho. TT: Though I suppose I be complicit fo' not informin Ghetto Skillz bout yo' thang. 

EB: i know! EB: what tha fuck bout goin outside, biatch? EB: maybe you could catch a neighborz signal. It aint nuthin but tha nick nack patty wack, I still gots tha bigger sack. 

TT: That presents tha same ol' dirty problem. TT: Also, itz raining, remember, biatch? TT: And dark. 

EB: It aint nuthin but dark already, biatch? 

TT: Yes, tha sun has already had its way wit our asses here on tha eastside coast. TT: Its lurid glare has moved on ta younger timezones. 

EB: haha, um, ok.