Ain't no cracka-ass Russian gone touch MY shit growled Plebeia as she filed her rhinestone-studded fake fingernails to a deadly edge. She rolled her enormous seething mass to the edge of the sofa and glared, like a feral heifer, at the massive TV screen from which Vladimir P. beamed forth like an avatar of Orthodoxy.
Y'all betta shut yo' punk-ass mouth, bitch howled Plebeia.
All y'all Russian girls so damn UGLY Ima hafta git me some shades so don't hafta SEE dat nasty shit.
Plebeia then gathered her senatorial notes and prepared to present the accusations at the Russian collusion hearings. (My homegirl be crushin' the illusion of Russian collusion.)