Call 911. I dyin’. I outta shape from winter snugglin’. I played fetch in the yard an’ ready to croak. I better start doin’ Zuma wif Mama now. Somebody, CPR, CPR, CPR! I can’t BREATHE! 
It bewy exhausting watchin’ Mama clean. Zzzzz. That dog what looks like a rug on my blankie. But I sharin’ I guess. What, Mama? I tink my ball iz in dat purse a yerz. Dat’s all. I didna know nufin ‘bout crackerz. Honest. 
I bored. Write, write, write, dat all Mama duz. An’ I gotta sit here da whole time make sure her do it write. (See what I done dare?) 
Mama at a conference so I just chillin’ at home wif da boyz listenin’ ta tunez. (My skin brutha texted Mama dis photo.) 
I iz a happy boy. I gots a new ball from my new buddy, Ollie. Mama likes it cuz its little an’ don’t get slobber all ober her. Hi, Ollie! Thanks for the ball! Woof! 
Can we talk? I am very disappointed in my Mom. She gonna sign a writing contract. You know what that means, don’t you? Less ball time for me. Someone please. Talk to her. She needs to get her priorities straight. |
