Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

You remember that childhood rhyme, right? "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, sittin' on a fence, tryna make a dollar out of fifteen cents..." Yeah, now you remember. I hate that bitch. Well, I don't hate her so much as I hate that I've become her.
 I don't know what the fuck this pic is about. Just found it on Google images.

Wait...is CCBB a prostitute? I just realized mid-thought, that I'm pretty sure that bitch was a whore. I mean, who the hell else sits on a fence? Tryna make a dollar out of fifteen cents? And how would anyone else, who had nothing better to do than hang out on fences actually make any money? She has to be a whore! I can see it all in my head (insert dream sequence)...

An eighty-two pound crackhead dressed in skinny jeans, a dirty lime green t-shirt that says I ♥ the 80's, high top Reeboks, and a red feather boa sits atop a rusted and damaged chain-link fence. Her legs swing side to side as the tremors begin to kick in. It has been two whole hours since her last hit and in that time, she hasn't managed to convince anyone to let her earn the money she needs via a toothless blowjob. She absentmindedly rubs her front right pocket. The dirty imprint of the only money she has in the world strains against the denim of her tight jeans: three nickels. She must be losing her touch. A toothless BJ used to be like, well, crack.

A familiar cloud of smoke engulfs her. She raises her head to the Heavens and inhales deeply. Damn! She simultaneously loved and hated the smell of crack smoke. Burning diamonds and poverty. It was both titillating and depressing; exhilarating and sickening. Her tremors, a combination of crack cocaine withdrawal and the sting of the cold night air against her bare arms, grow increasingly violent. She watches impatiently the stupid whores who jump at their pimps' becks and calls. Yes, daddy this and no, daddy that. She hated them.

"Stupid bitches," she thinks. "Why would any sane whore work so hard just to give her money to some clown-ass pimp? Fuck that. That money could be pulsing through my veins right now. Must be nice to be so mutha fuckin' smooth that you can charm a bitch into working to feed your ass...clothe your ass. Must be one sweet mutha fuckin' ride..."

Inspiration strikes as she begins to think about just how nice a gig pimping must really be. She could smoke crack and shoot heroin all day and all she'd have to do in return is protect her whores. "I can do that! I protect my damn self all day everyday. It ain't no easy task, either. These mutha fuckas try to catch a bitch slipping every chance they get."

She hops down from the rusty fence and takes off in the direction of the neighborhood. The gears in her head work furiously as she calculates both her brilliant plan and all the rewards she will surely reap. She races past overflowing dumpsters, crying babies, city buses, and an illegal craps game. She sees none of those things. Her focus and attention are on her new business venture.

"Hey, Chitty! Chitty! Bitch, don't you hear me calling you? Oh, that's how you goin' be? I was bout to pay your crackhead ass to hook me up with one of them toothless brain drains, but fuck you now! I'll spend my money elsewhere."

Somewhere in the recesses of her brain, she hears this one-sided exchange and thinks to herself, Why would I suck your nasty dick when I can get some dummy to do it for me? Then she spots her. The one woman in the neighborhood that's worse off than she is. Sure, Chitty was a crackhead, but Little Red Riding Hood was a stupid crackhead.

"Hey, Red! What you up to tonight?" she asks as she sidles up to the unsuspecting Little Red.

"Girl, not a damn thing. Jonesing like a motha fucka, though. These dudes ain't tryna do nothin' to help me out.   I need my shit, Chitty. I don't know what I'ma do if things don't turn around tonight."

Music to Chitty's ears.

"I was having a bad night, too, 'til I came up with my idea. That shit worked like a charm, too."

"Chit, please tell me what it is. I need some help. Hook me up, bitch."

"All you gotta do is go fuck one of these young dope boys for money to get your hit."

"Bitch, that ain't new! What the fuck you think my ass been out here tryna do all night? I been walking these streets practically begging these dudes to fuck me. I told you that shit ain't working."

"Naw, bitch, you doin' it wrong. You can't beg mutha fuckas; you gotta make them beg you."

"How I'ma do that, Chitty?" Little Red asks, scratching her lice-infested weave. Her face bears an unexpected air of innocence.

"It's all about confidence, bitch. If you think you're the sexiest whore in the world, so will they. Dudes'll be coming out of the woodwork tryna fuck you. You might be desperate and at your wit's end, but you can't let them know that. You gotta be confident."

"Well, it's not exactly easy being confident when you ain't washed your ass or shampooed your hair in a week. Ms. Johnson at the halfway house used to let the whores come in there to get clean and fresh a couple times a week, but now you gotta pay her. You know that bitch charging fifteen cents a day now?"

"Is that so? You know, I just so happen to have fifteen cents left to my name. I already been to Ms. Johnson's today so I'm good. I could lend it to you...if you want."

"And what do I have to give you in return? Bitch, don't say you want me to eat your pussy, 'cause I don't swing that way."

"No, nothing like that. I'm all dick, all the time myself. Come on. Let's talk about it on the way to the halfway house."

And that, my friends, is how Chitty Chitty Bang Bang finally got her ass off that fence and turned her fifteen cents into a dollar. For several years to come.

I hope you enjoyed my impromptu story. I really did come on here with something completely different to bitch about. I guess the gods got tired of my ass complaining and decided to give me something different to say.

I am truly grateful to them.