Dear BM,

You kno I love u right. You had my child. I mean you wake up and take care of him/her everyday and u do a pretty good job. I mean I can’t complain. fuck that! Yes I can. Woman why are you so damn crazy? I’ve lost count of how many times you have added the child support, only to take it off, and then turn that shit back on again. or how u only let me see my kid when u kno I’m not date’n anyone. OR how u messaged all the girls on my facebook and told’em I have a nice size dick but I can’t kiss. (PAUSE). ahahha. that one is classic. Woman read this letter and take heed. ur my bm for a reason. but just because u had my kid doesn’t mean ur obligated to make my life hell. We should be a team. Work’n as a Coach and General Manager. Teacher and Principal. President and Vice President. Not work’n against each other like Terrell Owens and Donovan Mcnabb. Ike and Tina Turner. South Park and Celebrities. Lil Wayne and condoms. (PAUSE). Gucci Mane and chapstick. (I could truely go all day. sorry.) I’m just say’n. I kno there is emotions + bitterness x anger = hell on earth. but come on. stop wit the childishness. Let’s raise this kid to kno even thru differences two ppl can come together and do the right thing.

love,
baby daddy #2

P.S. “key’n my car is sooo 1999 ish of u. step ur game up. gosh.”