Martha Stewart’s Words To The Living
Whaddya know, whaddya hear? Dis is #55170-054.....I mean.....Martha “Ma” Stewart here, and dis is my first day outta da pen after takin da heat for dat little stock deal I did with Sammy the Nose.
Youse guyz benn writin a lotta stuff about me, and now’s da time ta set da record straight, get me? I did hard time, hard time in da big house, a 5 month bid, see? And no sooner do I set foot out in da real woild, when up pulls a big, black SUV, and out pops a coupla goons and they sez, “Ma, you’re going for a ride. Goin’ for a ride? I sez?” Den they sez, “No Ma, not dat kinda ride, justa ride back to yer crib, where ya gonna stay put for a while, understand? Ya gotta lay low so the coppers don’t get sore an send ya back to da joint, capeesh?” “Swell”, I sez.
During da ride back to da crib, tender memories of my childhood came rushing over me. Da drunken fahduh, da demanding mudduh, all dose weeds I hadda pull outta da bricks wid a broken screwdriver. I was only tree, but my ol man knew rightaway I wuz gonna be a somebuddy, and not a Willie Loman nobuddy like him. It musta took 15 minutes justa to go up the driveway to that 25-room flophouse I own. Whadda broken down ol shack dis place has turn inta since I last saw it. Sheez, da coitens haven’t benn washed in 5 months. Da floors are so dull that I can’t see da pores in my skin when I bend down to look at my glamorous mug. “Where’s dem white gloves Consuelo?”, I sez.
“Oh Martha, Martha”, I turns around ta see the “Hair Sweep Hatchet Man”, Donny Trump, waitin ta plant his cold, slimy lips on my formerly chubby mouth. Uuum Waah. “Martha you’ve lost a lot of weight”, he sez. I sez, “It’s Ma to you ya rat. Gruel quiche and water’ll do that to ya hotshot! Maybe ya fuhgot I wuz doin time? “Of course not Martha........er.........Ma, but I.....”, “Pipe down hairbag, before I fire YOU!”
The next thing I see is a coupla flatfoots walking up to me with an ankle bracelet that looks like they picked it up in some broken down old 6th Avenue hockshop. “Miss Stewart give me your ankle so I can fasten this bracelet monitor to you”. “Not so fast copper, you ain’t puttin your mitts on me, I’m not that kinda girl”. Whuuump! They slammed me to the floor and had me spread-eagled faster than Paris Hilton on a first date! What an ugly addition to my white, alabaster ankle. Ya think they wuz clapping one of dese on a crack ‘ho for doin tricks in a back alley or somethin. Wherez the respect?
I gotta lot ta do, like taking speech and enunciation classes. I kinda fell inta some bad habits wit my speech patterns when I wuz in the joint. Hangin out wit hardened criminals’ll do that to ya ya know. All I know is that it won’t sound too good when I get back to hosting my own gig.
That Mark Burnett is a scumbag all right, but he wuzint gonna make a sucker outta me! Nobody does nuttin in dis woild unless there’s somethin in it for ‘em, see? Dismissin and humiliatin people is right up my alley and it serves ‘em right, too. Trump ain’t got nuttin on dis old broad! All I can sayz crime does pay, and damn good too!
By rrlarson (NOTE: This was written in a style that evokes the 1930's New York gangster movies. The speech patterns and expressions are meant as a parody of those movies with no intention of offending anyone except the persons mentioned).
I gotta brother who thinks he's a chicken. We don't try to talk him out of it because we need the eggs.