You see that jovial and inviting grandmotherly grin? Doesn’t she look pleasant, like someone who smells of Icy/Hot and ginger snaps? Doesn’t she look like a sweet person you would perhaps smile warmly at as she grandmotheringly cuts you a big chunk of Wal-Mart lemon pound cake and serves you hot chocolate down pon de fireplace?
Remember that face. That there is Diane Stretton. And if you haven’t heard, she is a professional scoundrel and shiftless nigga extraordinaire.
She is the Chris Brown of White women.
The Bracamonte family of Upland, California hired Diane the Super Thug (from Craigslist) as a live-in nanny for their three children and to help with light housework. According to Marcella Bracamonte, everything was all sunshine and mayonnaise for the first month. After a month, she stopped working and decided to stay in her room, citing health concerns, yet demanded that the family bring her meals and provide her with air conditioning.
She had colonized the Bracamonte household.
This went on for a month. Then, she was fired. And that is how you know the employers are not Black. As hard as we have to work for a nice-sized piece of the motherfuckin’ pie, ain’t no way a Negro family would allow a vagabondly White woman to attempt to squat in their home without swiftly catching a Crown Royal bag of Sacagawea dollar coins to the face in the middle of the night. Hell the fuck no.
“She quit working about a month before I ever fired her. She would just stay in her room,” said Marcella Bracamonte, non-African-Americanly.
And just like an extraordinarily shiftless shiftless nigga who initially wins you over with good dick and promises, Diane quickly mastered the art of telling you what she ain’t gonna do, while laying out her demands.
After the Bracamontes fired her and cut off her Internet, cable, and air conditioning, they discovered that they could not legally force her out without a proper eviction notice. She would then have 30 days to vacate.
Diane threatened to sue them if they tried to push her out. She called Marcella Bracamonte a drama queen in an interview. She demanded that the family leave the house daily between 8 a.m. and 5 p.m., whether Diane is home or not, and that they provide her with a fully stocked bathroom and money for food.
Then, she informed her former employers that she may move out over 4th of July weekend, if it’s not too hot, and if the media leaves her alone.
“The media needs to be completely gone. If the media stays away, I will be out by the 4th of July. But that depends on the circus not continuing,” said Diane Stretton, super thuggingly.
As of Monday, July 8, Diane is still White privileging in the Bracamonte’s home, miraculously not yet set on fire, alive, with all of her teeth intact, to tell the tale of how she got over.
The Bracamontes tell the media that they have not spoken to her in weeks. But. She. Still. Lives. There.
Diane is ‘bout it, ‘bout it.
As herpes deserving as she may be, I hope to one day wake up with the same level of nerve possessed by both Diane and the young man who turned it out in that one-man New Way hand performance vogue battle at Nelson Mandela’s memorial. These two have Mariah-level nerve. And that’s a whole lot of nerve. Mucho.
People like Post-Menopausal Conquistadora Barbie are my worst nightmare. They are more upsetting than encountering a baggy magnum condom. More treacherous than green bean casserole at a Negroidian Thanksgiving dinner. She is a scandalous White woman who sues any and every person that poots in her direction and has made a living off of Ann Coulter-level trolling and Olympic-caliber victimization. Her history of judicial fuckshit has landed her a spot on California’s Vexatious Litigant List, which contains people known for bringing repetitive and frivolous lawsuits.
Reportedly, the Bracamontes incorrectly filed a three-day notice to get the fuck out, and it’s unsure when, or if, Diane has to leave. Diane Stretton must be decommissioned and disassembled at once. The show is over, say goodbye.