Moldy Ass Coffee.

Hey Rhonda here,

How’s it going? Good?


Ya wanna know how I am doing? NO? Cause you didn’t ask. Well, LET ME TELL YOU… how I’m doing then.

I walked into work today and there was no coffee. None. Just a bucket full of mucky brown water filled to the brim with green tiny algae lakes of mold. It looked like the fucking Florida swamps in there. Goddamn assholes.

So, I dumped that shit down the drain and called it a day. No, No I’m not going to wash that shit. Someone else can do that, because SOMEONE else decided they were going to ruin my morning by not cleaning up after themselves and leaving the coffee, in the pot OVER the weekend. Real smart fellas, real fucking smart!

No coffee? Cool.

Let me open the pantry and see what kind of tea I can find… (opens pantry)

TAZO, “Calming Chamomile.”

AWESOME, what’s next?

Celestial, “Tension Tamer.”

At this point, I’m slamming the motherfucking pantry door, thinking to myself that God is just some big kid with a magnifying glass laughing his ass off, while we run around like chickens with our heads cut off, because that’s what life feels like sometimes. Like I’m a chicken with my fucking head cut off.

PS: Rhonda don’t play. If you can’t stand my “fowl” language or cursing, then get lost asshole. I don’t have patience for you or anyone else’s shit.

IN FACT, that’s the whole reason I’m here. Because I don’t have time for shit anymore, any kind of shit. LIKE NO SHIT in fact. Don’t need your drama, your stupid perky looks, your annoying ass voice, your lies, your filthy fucking room, your shitty underwear that you secretly wash in the bathtub at night because you think no one notices the shower running at 2 AM, followed by the loud THUD of the washing machine outside my room. YEA, no time for your shit. Your LITERAL shit. IN fact, I’m so sick of everyone’s shit that I’m here, RANTING, because that’s what RHONDA DOES.. I rant. If you can’t take it, then too bad. Find another comment thread to unleash your bull-SHIT on cause “Rhonda Don’t Play.”

Also, anger management is kind of expensive… So there’s that… until next time bitches.


I call bullshit. I said it, there. BULLSHIT.

You call me at 9 AM when I’m supposed to be working from home and decide to rant at me for an hour.

Okay number one, I get it. We all need to get things off our chest, it’s true. It’s the whole fucking reason why I’m here.

But number two: you have the AUDACITY to call me after a year and tell me to send a picture of myself to you? A picture standing outside, and then ANOTHER picture standing next to a clock. Like, excuse me. Did I just fucking hear you correctly bitch?

Oh, it’s for my brother you say. He’s having an “episode” you say? Well again, I call BULLSHIT.

You mean to tell me… That my brother was “hearing things” in the house and decided to go for a 5 mile walk downtown, to who knows where, only to come home at 3 am with a stab wound… and NOW he’s in the hospital getting CT Scans?  Hmm… Okay. B-B-B-Bullshit.

I get it. I do. Trust me, our mother was Schizophrenic and I know very well… how terrifyingly unstable he can be when he’s not on meds. But let me tell you something… My BROTHER… is not schizophrenic… trust me. He’s not like her… Yes, I know there are different fucking levels to how this works, but I promise you he’s not mentally handicap, he’s just fucking mentally unstable. 

Ya know why? Cause his brain is fried. That’s why.

All that hard meth, and crystal rock will fuck you up. And let me tell you… he’s fucked up.

Do you remember the last time I saw him? Remember when our grandmother died last year and Rita thought it was a good idea to get everyone together with a bottle of booze so we can mourn and say our condolences to or uncle… Yea cause I do.

I remember him slamming the glass on the ground, breaking the guitar in half and trying to stab me with a knife. I remember him flipping the fuck out and screaming that I was a liar and he was going to kill me. I remember everything he did that night. In fact, if it weren’t for our other brother, drunk wrestling him to the ground, while Rita grabbed the knives out of his hands after he slammed me to the wall, then I probably wouldn’t be here. It was a team effort ya see? (there’s four of us siblings, keep the fuck up)

Anyways, it if wasn’t for them stopping that crazy fuck from shanking me, I probably wouldn’t be here today. They gave me just enough time to get out the door and call the mother fucking swat team.

Well, actually I didn’t really say much, dispatchers sent swat all on their own.

All they heard was a jumble of screams, cries, panicked begging and shit breaking, followed by more shit breaking and yelps. 911 didn’t send one car to come clean house, they sent a goddamn charade of SUVS and officers. I’m still surprised they didn’t just lay bullets into him. It’s probably cause he’s white, because lord know we got some racist motherfuckers in the PD and if he were black he wouldn’t have been dead. No commination, no negation, no patience. Straight dead. HAD my brother been black, they wouldn’t pull the trigger on his dumb ass cause that’s what they do. Lord knows its true, look at all the goddamn murders and riots because of the racial divide our country faces. Because he’s white AND a veteran, He was allowed to throw all kinds of things though. arms flailing, knives drawn, glass breaking, acting like a savage beating our uncle while holding him hostage. I made it out just in time, but poor old man didn’t have time to get off the couch, so I guess he got the brunt end of it all but oh well. It’s not like he didn’t deserve it… different story for a different time.

Instead of shooting they decided to let him calm down before handcuffing him, throwing him in the squad car and locking him up in the mental ward.

Do you know WHY it happened? Cause our grandma died. The only woman in the world who ever stood by our side through all the terror and shit our mom drug us through. The ONLY woman, strong enough to call it like it is died. We lost her, and he lost his shit and then we lost him. Completely.

He isn’t schizophrenic, he was drunk. Bitch, he’s a goddamn alcoholic. He’s a motherfucking drug attic that tries to sooth his PTSD by fighting, fucking, using and abusing everyone and everything around him. Now don’t get me wrong, I love my brother, I do. Even after that motherfucker tried to stab me, how twisted is that? I still love him.  But let’s get something straight, HE TRIED TO KILL ME.

Motherfucking K- I DOUBLE L ME.

I WANT ABSOLUTELY nothing to do with him anymore. Yanno why? Cause I have kids. Because he’s fucking crazy, because we are all fucking crazy in our own ways and we can’t seem to figure out how to be functional with each other. In fact, I don’t want anything to do with any one person in my family, except my crazy ass sister of course, I like that bitch Rita. (Check out her rants) Rita’s so crazy, she thinks I’m crazy, so don’t believe anything that crazy bitch says.

Guess we are all just a bunch of crazy ass ravens ranting on about how fucking crazy our life is because we are all too broke to afford healthcare, and our momma fucked us up so much that we can’t walk a straight line without someone thinking we’re drunk.

Now, listen here Linda, cause if you call me again talking about how my brother is having an episode… I’m going to tell you to fuck right off thank you very much.

He’s not having an episode.

He’s fucking bored in the house during quarantine, so he secretly stopped taking his meds because he doesn’t need them and decided to get drunk and walk his ass downtown to collect some of that good-good stash that trashes his veins and leaves skid marks on his arms, looking like my dirty underwear when I haven’t changed my panties for a week.

That’s what he done diddley did, OKAY? He went out and got high. Got fucked up, probably got into a fight with someone who stabbed him and then made his stupid ass way back home. You know he never takes those knives out of his pockets so it’s a good thing you told the nurses to have security remove them when they did during his “episode”

I mean who the fuck carries like 10-inch military grade blades in their pockets? Someone who’s looking for trouble that’s who. Oh… ya you can say “for self-defense” but chicken noodle, listen up cause here’s the soup, the ONLY defense that boys needs is a good defense lawyer cause one day he won’t be setting buildings on fire, or beating up police officers, ONE day he’s going to commit some kind of crazy ass murder because his unstable ass won’t get the REAL kind of help he needs, and I’ll be over here like, look hoe. I told you.

You scraggly tooth hooker, stop playing momma. Just cause your 20 years older than him doesn’t mean you need to baby him, that man is a full-grown fuck up, so let him be. He’ll hit rock bottom soon enough. And stop calling me to rant OH-KAY? Submit your inquiries by clicking here and maybe Ill feature your cap ass on my new blog.

OH, and delete those pictures I sent you, yanno the ones that you asked for before this rant started, because I look fucking fat and don’t need him trying to stalk me and inspect element that shit for location services or whatever. I don’t need him trying to find out where I live. Delete those pictures now. Life has been good this past year without him in it. Guess I’ll go back to work now, thanks for ruining my day.