What do you do when you begin to serve a sentence at Rikers and you quickly realize that each woman around you is ten times the hardcore thug you only thought (and wanted people to believe) you were? Befriend at least one fellow inmate, stage a scuffle in the yard, and get your poseur behind out of General Population (and into punitive segregation for as long as possible) as quickly as you can without losing face.
You can't tell me that's not what went down here. And to be honest, if I were Foxy Brown, I would've done the same thing. There's a big difference between throwing a cell phone at a complaining neighbor and trying to throw a punch at Big Wanda and her crew.
Note to Ms. Brown: Don't forget to have your manager write and send the check to that inmate's family in return for her role as Punk Inmate No. 2 in your little cellblock "play".
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