Hey, all my homies and peeps! Now, I know how all the young people like to knock boots around the holidays, and to all of them, I say, "Kudos!" But I also must warn all my dawgs and shorties of the dangers of such illicit activities. Sho 'nuff, I'm talking about babies; rugrats, chillins', those things your Baby-Mama keeps producing. Now, I'm not here to diss on no player, but I just want to make a few suggestions to keep this shizzle rizzle, because some of you might not be quite ready to up the duff any time soon.
First, children should not be born when either parent has an inheritable disease, such as insanity, epilepsy, clam chowder, or when the mother is jacked up, torn down, or straight up dauncey. And if older grommets are not mint, even though both parents are scooby snacks, keep them shawty's off the streets.
In respect to maturity, at twenty-three, a swamp-donkey got what it takes to be a 'rent, however, twenty-five is the proper age for a mack-daddy to hang it up, and not until the wain got three yo can you properly care for a second grass-hopper. It will take that long just for hoochie to get the balcony and gam back straight.
Also, children should not be born to ass-out bag ladies and broke dicks whose economic circumstances do not guarantee enough to provide all the swag and cheddar of life. At the same time, a cronk need not bust a nut being a booth babe for her fam, but should be allowed to beat back and marinate at her leisure.
Lastly, bun-bun and home skillet should post up for a grip before finna kick a dinky. Otherwise, it's a fat fingered beef for the bairn, breezie, and the broham.
OMG!!! After a lifetime of of yo-yo dieting, gaining back even more weight every time I quit, getting shot and killed and spending the next 12 years being dead, I was about to give up on any chance of weight loss. I knew the risks associated with gastric bypass, and even though I was dead, I was still concerned with the long term side effects. 