Pimptation's blog: "Random Musings and Filth!!!"

So I have this dear friend of mine..... I havent really known her that long.....but I care about her deeply.......and she probably knows a little too much about my twisted sexual deviance....than i care to admit. Well..... this friend and I talk about a lot of things that I wouldnt talk about with most friends...and Im pretty sure she doesnt talk about the stuff she talks about with me with most of her other friends. Well getting to the point.....we share a lot of sexual fantasy information.....not so much about the fact that we are going to sleep together,....as much as what we are both into..... one of the topics that has emerged in oour conversations as of late is swinging.... You heard that in Quebec a law was recently passed that made swinging clubs legal?? Well obviously.....memphis has had them joints for years!!! Basically, there are, shall we say, establishments, where you and your spouse can roll up on and get your stroke on with another married couple who are complete strangers to ya'll. Readers, that's a double date for that azz — literally. Now, though I've been to Montreal, I don't know the exact location of these establishments, but I think it's a safe bet that if you just follow the smell of Old Spice and ass hairs, you'll probably locate the joints with much ease. I've never been in a swinging club in Canada, but Ive been to two here in this city of Memphis.....and if the Memphis Clubs are any indication of the racial polarization of the lifestyle......you can betcha by golly wow that 99% of the muhfukkas in there are white. "Give it a rest Kav! You always talking about White people! Or the Japs!!" Hey, I'm not being judgmental here, I'm just stating facts! Nyggas don't swing, unless you one of them Lisa Bonet/Dennis Rodman type Negroes. Oh, we might fukk your spouse, but it'll be on some down low shyt!! You won't find us trading dizzles and coochies like some damn baseball cards and Beanie Babies!! And then go back to our spouse, whom YOU just skeet-skeeted on, and resume life as normal!! Fugga no. This is one note you'll never see on the refrigerator in a Black home or hear on the voicemail of a Black person's phone: "Hey Boo, I'm going to run to the store for some hot sauce and pork rinds, and then stop off at Deacon Jackson's crib and break Sistah Debra off. Remember? Tonight is swap night! He should be over here to anoint yo' ass too, so be sure and wash up before I get back…. He always leaves you smelling like grape juice and kosher crackers. I should be back by 8 so I can tuck the kids in and help you with the dishes. Love you!" No. Never. Could you imagine swapping coochies with the next door neighbors? How do muhfukkas function after such an occurrence?? You surely can't invite them over for a 4th of July picnic! I'm sorry, but I can't picture me grilling up some ribeyes for a dude who had my lady face down, ass up with some knee boots and a clown suit! Hey man, fantasies are healthy, even if your fantasy may not be about the one you're with. I'm sure many a woman was NOT thinking about me when I was on top pumpin my ass off!! I'm sure one or more women closed their eyes and made believe I was Usher or Boris Kujo (LOL) or that light-skinned nygga from Soul Train that had heffas' panties wetter than your grandma's Depends. Whatever floats your boat, jack. But use the fantasy as fuel … just because you picture Mrs. So-and-so's big, round, beautiful buttocks puttin apple-shaped dents in your couch doesn't mean you should propose to Mr. So-and-so that he let you stroke his woman. I mean, how do you even approach the shyt?? "Hey man… is that your wife?? DAYUM! .......Lemme hit that!...... C'mon man… lemme hit!!! Stop being stingy!!....... What?!?........ Why you looking at me like that?? You gon' get something out of it too!! See my wife in there with them pink rollers in her head and that red moo moo covering up them tore up toes sticking out her Jerusalem Cruisin' sandals?? That's all you my nygga!!" But leave it to Memphis — America's Whopper Jr — to set up places where you can bounce in a club and get butt-nekkid and oily on some old dirty ass beanbag — one that would blind your ass if you ever put a black light to it — with somebody else's spouse. Blame Memphis!! Not only that, but a recently released article from a certain Memphis magazine also told men the way to a woman's heart. It is American folklore that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. That, my friends, is gutter bullshyt! Yes gutter! That bullshyt is so "utter", I had to put a "g" on it! Get it? I put a G on it… as in letter… as well as money… thereby increasing the value of its utterness! Double entendre? See? *sigh* you guys are tragically unhip sometimes..... Let me tell ya, of the women I've dated that could throw down in the kitchen, none of them hoes captured my heart. I'm supposed to be hooked because you know how to crock-pot some neckbones?? Nah shawty. T'aint that easy. (*snicker* I said taint.....LOL) I'll put it to you like this: Aunt Jemima does wonders for your breakfast, but you ever seen that hoe with a man?? Exactly. The way to a man's heart…. and lean in close ladies because I'm about to hip you to some shyt you'd betta already know…. the way to a man's heart…. is …… ….making him feel more like a man. It's that simple. A man loves a woman who makes him feel stronger… more manly… And for women?? How do you get to their hearts?? Well, I've been saying for years now that the way to woman's heart is through laughter. And the good swingin MemphriKKKans along with their Canuck bretheren just confirmed that with some new research. They basically say that, from their survey, women are more likely to be with a man who can make them laugh. A woman likes her bone tickled too! Now, this is the way to their HEARTS. If you have a 10-figure bank account, then sure you'll have more women than an Oprah audience, but you won't have their HEARTS. This isn't to say that if you're a funny muhfukka but look like Biggie Smalls and Shabba Ranks' gay-love ass child that you'll be beatin hoes off with a stick. But it is to say that if two men are equally appealing to a woman, the one that makes her laugh is probably going to win out. This can NOT be said for the stomach-heart maxim of men. If two women are equally appealing, the one who makes the better banana pudding doesn't get the edge just for that reason. In fact, that shyt ain't even a factor. But please, lest you go out blaspheming me with my own quotes, please take note that if a woman CAN'T cook — I'm talking about she can't even spa some ghetti — this is grounds for reconsideration of all dealings less convenient assage and booty callage. So then, what can we conclude from today's discussion?? Every Black man should propose to his significant other that they go swingin and stroke some strange monogamously coupled asses. "Why?" you ask. Because she will laugh at you. And by tickling her funny bone, she will tickle your funny-looking bone. But more importantly, you shall win another corner of her heart.* *Advice for entertainment purposes only…. adhere to at your own peril. that is all....

Ladies, you've been hoodwinked…. hornswoggled… led astray..... Now I know Im gonna sound like someone's grand mother. This right here is old lady speak. So parlay for a minute while my inner-granny pokes throught the surface for this entry I know you THINK you know your man. I know you THINK that you know what your man wants. I know you THINK you have shit figured out when it comes to men. I know you THINK that if you just had a man who would act right, you basically have what it takes to keep his ass home. Bamboozled!!.....and in a big muhfuckin way!!! Whether you can or not is another question entirely and is not the subject of this entry. The subject of this entry is that in the theoretical world you live in, you feel like you pretty much know what a man wants. But oh!........ Oh how you have been misled…. Now sure....... dudes like beer and sex and sports and food and all that shit. And of course you know that doing all those things don't ensure that you'll get, or keep, your man.......... Despite how simplified ya'll make men sound when you sit around after watching a bullshit ass movie on Lifetime and talking trash about men around a second empty bottle of some cheap ass White Zinfandel......dudes aren't really all that simple. Just because your macaroni and cheese is better than his mamma's…. just because you go drinking with him … just because you give him his space and let him watch the game with his boys.....or you watch it with him and know when to ask an insightful question and when to shut the fuck up…. and just because you give him bomb ass birthday sex every night of the week with special surprises on the 5th, 14th, 23rd, and 30th of every month…. none of that shit means you understand men, or you've figured out how to snag — and keep — them. Now. With that shit said, I could take this entry in two directions: 1) I could philosophically discuss relationships from a male point of view and enlighten you with facts and opinions that may be new to you.... or 2) I could break down some bullshit ass shit you've heard over the years and make fun of you muhfuckas that actually believed it.... Now which one do you think I'll choose? ****Jepoardy Music**** If you said #1, then you are on the wrong fuckin blog for that bullshit. Please click the "x" and carry your pensive, yearnin-for-insight-ass to Technorati.com and search on "why come he don't like me?" If you said #2, then welcome…. now sit tight because I got some shit to explain to you. The biggest lie the devil ever told was convincing the world he didn't exist. Whoops…. wrong quote. The biggest lie men have ever told was convincing women that we want a "lady in the streets, but a freak in the bed." Niggas have ya'll walkin around actually believing that we actually want a woman in public but a hoe in the bedroom. Fellas, don't shoot me on this one…. I know I'm giving away some of the Code, but fuck it…. this shit needs to be said. When a man wants to keep a woman around…. and place himself in a position where he could fall in love with her….. when he is serious about her and is thinking about being with her long-term, if not forever…. he does NOT want a freak or a hoe in the bedroom. Period. Unless, of course, he wants a freak or a hoe…. Period. Now me.....I'm a different breed of man entirely....so as with everything....Im the exception to this and every other rule....that being said.....I only have myself to blame.....when said freak or hoe.....cheats on me....like they always do..... anyways...back to the "regular guys"..... Go ahead......be stunned........ I know your mouth just dropped. I know you're shocked....... but just gone ahead and blink that shit out. If your man has ever told you this, then he wants YOU to be a freak and a hoe, but NOT his lady for life. That's just game, especially if it's workin. You walk around in the day in that banging ass skirt suit you got from Saddle Creek with a D&B handbag and fly ass pumps. You wow'in muhfuckas in meetings at work and making a nice little chunk of change. You read the newspaper and read books and listen to BBC on the radio to keep yourself socially aware and intellectual. You keep your hair and nails done…. all that shit. And you feel like you're the "lady" — the "woman" — that dude has been searchin for. He brings you around his boys and shows you off to his co-workers. They all tell him how pretty you are and his mamma remarks at how intelligent you are. Everybody that loves him, likes and wants you in his life. And then when you get him home and close the bedroom door, you attack his ass. You do all that little freaky shit he likes. You have his toes curlin' and he screams your name and he passes out as soon you finish rockin his world. You do all the shit that none of his ex-girls would do. And you know what?? And this is the shit that is just going to send your ass to altar call on Sunday asking the Lawd to "habba lil muhcy on meh Lawd…. fo' I'se known not what I'se do."……… After a little while of you being his hoe and his freak….. next time he looks at you while you're out with him and his co-workers explaining why you think that today's congressmen/congresswomen pale in intellect, foresight, and vision of those congressmen in the Reconstruction era, you know what he is gonna think: *wait for it… it's coming* (Panama, 2005) "You'se a freak hoe…. I hope my colleagues don't smell it on your breath." When you see his family next and you kiss his mamma on the cheek, he's gonna think: "EWWWW!!! Don't kiss my mamma with that mouth! Them lips were tossin my salad with balsamic vinagrette just last night!" He is going to see you as that nasty little freak AROUND.THE.CLOCK. It's inevitable…. don't fight it…. you'll only hurt yourself. See, the thing about doing nasty shit behind closed doors is that it doesn't have to come to light for him to know what the fuck you are REALLY like when no one's watching… he was THERE when your nasty ass was doing it! Yeah sure..... he was there too.......but when a man does some freaky shit......nobody gives a fuck because they figure his game was tight enough to dupe your silly ass to do it. Yeah yeah yeah…. double standard… blah blah blah…. hey man, I don't make the rules, I just referee. Question: Then what's a hoe to do?? My research tells me that once a hoe is a hoe, she has hoe needs. Does she not get her hoe needs met for fear of being forever seen in the eyes of her man (if she can get one) as the hoe she really is?? And are hoes not relationship/marriage worthy?? Because the men will see through the hoe with the lady mask on? Well..... All she needs to do is break her hoe habit… or at least tone it down. Sounds easy, but I suspect it takes a little bit of work. Kinda like crack and Pookie on New Jack City. I think if the hoedom is a thing of the past, she can become a lady. But as long as she is intent on getting hoe needs fulfilled, she will not catch the type of man that a lady wants… UNLESS… She tricks dude…. which happens all the time… and is normally the fault of both parties (dude has on blinders or chooses to ignore the obvious and the hoe is into the game of trickery). In the wise words of Too Short, don't try to turn a hoe into a housewife. Words never rang truer. Because this man is going to picture you being responsible for being the mother of his children, and as soon as he flashes to you driving the SUV to the kids' soccer practice...... he'll flash to your butt-nekkidness with a dildo in your ass, him in your mouth...... and you hog-tied in the middle of the kitchen like a damned baby calf in a rodeo exhibition....... And please believe me when I say that this is NOT the picture he wants of the mother of his children. You know why? Because HIS mother is the best mother on earth and SHE would never do any bullshit like that. In fact, his ex-girl — the one who got away that he is secretly comparing you to — would never do that shit. But your hoe-self??? All it took was a request and three shots of tequila. The end. Add your name to the stories he will tell at his boy's house five years from the date of your impending break-up. Embellished, of course. Hoes do hoe-shit....... Ladies do lady-shit......... Hoes can do lady shit, but still be hoes........ But if a lady does hoe-shit......... by definition she can't be a lady until the hoe shit ceases.... If a hoe does lady shit, does that make her a lady?...... Hell no. Well, if a lady does hoe-shit, does that make her a hoe?...... Fuck yes. And this is why. When a gay dude does straight shit (i.e. sex a woman), does that make him straight?.........Hell no. Ok......so then when a straight dude does gay shit (i.e. strokes a dude), does that make the him gay?....... Fuck yes. Resolve the correlation on your own, I don't have time…. I got an entry to write. Now, this is not to say dude's want some punk ass strictly missionary heffa, but you have to fulfill your man's needs without succumbing to all of his wants. It's basic Relationship 101........ If you do all the things he asks...... or simply the things he asks just to see if you'll do it....... you diminish the potential. And diminishing the potential means you reduce the amount of things he has to look forward to. Which means, he gets bored because the shit ain't exciting anymore and he finds someone else who is. Here's an example: I dated a girl once who I asked to dress up in some sexy ass stripper shit and give me a full-blown lap dance, complete with a happy, cream-filled ending. But she kept putting it off and putting it off. BUT.......she would give me little pieces of it incrementally…. dress sexy as fuck one night…. grind on me when we went out to the club… play around on a pole sporadically when we passed one while out and about…. but never the full deal. Just tastes of it here and there. And you know, she never did it because she realized a few things: 1) She never wanted me to look at her like a stripper; 2) She knew that it was more of a request than an actual fantasy I wanted fulfilled; and 3) She knew not to give me everything I asked for. Yet, at the same time, she took me to heights I've seldom been by doing "regular, everyday" 21st century shit. But most folks adhere to the logic, "Girl, if you don't do it, some other heffa will." Let her.......... Let that other heffa be the hoe, not you. "Damn. So what you sayin' Kav? That I should never acquiesce???" Fuck no........ You gotta give to get......... But you have to be able to separate the shit he asks you to do from the shit he sincerely wants you to do. And if the method to doing this shit was easy to articulate and implement, I'd be rich. And I ain't rich.......... Do the math. Bottom line: If you want to keep that man, rock all of his world… some of his dreams…. and none of his fantasies. However.....If you decide to fuck with me.....I want the Freak and the Hoe.....and the Lady....cuz that just how I roll.....so forget and ignore everything you read.....I dont judge....but I do get bored easily.....but those average dudes will never look at you the same....But again speaking for only me.....I say Do what you want and to hell with those that don't like it. Ladie's sometimes you can follow ALL the rules (and drive yourself crazy in the process) and guess what he still leaves.......But so what....... People do what they want to do....... they leave cause they want to leave and they stay cause they want to stay...... If you have to try to keep him is he really yours? then again maybe I just need some new poon...... I'm jus sayin.... *Ahhhhh….. I LOVE the smell of bullshit in the morning….*

I have been wanting to talk about this for a while now, but I’ve been putting the shit off for whatever reason. But since I don’t have shit else to talk about, and folx is starting to threaten my ass again if I don’t update, I’ll tackle the shit now…. I remember when the song “Superwoman” by Karyn White came out. Women all across the erf were singing that shit in unison! With tears welling up in their eyes!! Finally a song that basically says, “Look nigga, get off yo’ ass and start actin right or ya gonna fuck around and lose me!” This was, and arguably still is, the anthem for women who do everything for her man, but he don’t do a damn thing for her besides “occasional hugs” …. …in addition to a well-placed, quickly spent nut every now and then…. I’m sure. When the song came out, it seemed like everywhere I went, heffas were saying “I ain’t your superwoman!” And on the surface, there seems to be nothing wrong with that, right? Music and the messages contained therein can be quite infectious. But, ummmm…. there WAS something wrong with it. You know what it was??? The song came out in 1993. Now, I know SOME of you *cough*X*cough* were 43 years old in 1990. But as for ME, I was 15. FIF– TEEN!! So tell me why in the Sam Hill — whoever the fuck Sam is and whatever Hill that nigga came from — was I hearing girls sing that shit in HIGH SCHOOL???? Them bitches wasn’t grown!! Walking around after homeroom singing shit like they lived it: “Early in the morning, I put breakfast on the table….” “I fought my way through rush hour, just to make it home to you….” “You said you’d rather read the paper and don’t want to talk…” “I’m not your superwoman!!” Heffa… and listen with your spirit to this…. PUH-HUH-HUH-LEEEZZE!! You ain’t never made me breakfast!! In fact, you ain’t never made YOU breakfast! Just ’cause you shared some of that punk ass Pop Tart with me last week don’t mean a damn thing. Fought your way through rush hour?? Are you serious???? You can’t be… I refuse to believe it. A dozen buses leaving the parking lot afterschool…. including that damn Sweet Pickles short ass bus you rode in on…. does NOT constitute rush hour! Me? Reading the paper and not wanting to talk?? First of all, at 15, the only paper I was reading was torn from a notebook and written in purple ink with some damn hearts replacing all the dots on the i’s and j’s! And I LOVED to talk… that’s the only reason I was on the phone at 2 am on a school night talking to your ass…. … let me re-phrase that…. SLEEPING on the phone with your ass because we were both playing that “you hang up first” bullshit! I was on the phone talking ’bout “if I get quiet, it’s just ’cause I’m thinking about something.” NO!! I WAS SLEEP NUKKA!! So you damn right you ain’t my superwoman. In fact, you ain’t no kind of woman! You’re in the tenth grade!! Don’t go around singing grown woman shit when you ain’t grown and you’re just a girl. Just ’cause you fast … and I ain’t talking about in the 50 yard dash … doesn’t make you grown. *sigh* See, when I ran around mimicking music I heard on the radio, I could really relate!! “Never trust a big butt and smile”…. that shit meant something to me, because I had seen smiles and big butts on girls and they hurt me….. not the smiles…. nor the big butts…. but the owner of said smile and said big butt. Therefore, I KNEW your ass was “Poison” in the first place. YOU — on the other hand — don’t know shit about making a nigga some breakfast and trying to be some damn superwoman….. …. not at FIF- TEEN!!! So anyway, the reason I brought this shit up is because a while back girls, and women, got riled up about that “Cater 2 U” song. And little ass girls were singing that shit talking about, “Girl I caters to ma man jus’ like them hoes say.” Ummm… no you don’t. You? Cater 2 who?? You untie his shoes?? You run his bathwater?? You rub his feet?? And put on his doorag?? And give him a manicure?? And when he comes home late as hell smelling like cigarrettes with beer breath, and his drunk ass taps you on the shoulder in the middle of some good ass sleep, you gon’ roll over huh?? Umm, what’s sign language for BULL.SHIT. First of all, if your man takes baths and gets manicures…. ummm… check the FRONT of his draws for “skid marks”… Baths ain’t man-shit…. I’m just sayin…. Once again, I have an issue with them screamin ass heffas on 106&Park and MTV that don’t know the first thing about catering shit!! They can’t even spell 106!! *LMAO… now THAT shit is funny… “nigga spell 106!” LOL* I know the concept is a lovely one, but again… little girls shouldn’t be singing about shit they have no idea about: “Talaleequa: I be catering to my man. I gave that nigga my chocolate milk at lunch; I let him get his finger stinky at recess; I let him hold my cell phone; I put our picture up on my myspace page. Shoooo….. I’m good to him!” This, ladies and gentleman, is the future of your people. Talaleequa granting stinky finger rights to the boy next door just to spoil him. Well, I guess SOMEBODY gotta clean my hotel room in 2020, right??? And lest you think I’m just pickin on little girls acting grown, I know little boys do the shit just as damn much. But you rarely hear dudes singing Brian McKnight and Babyface songs at 12 years old. Now sure, they run around rapping shit about how they gon’ shoot niggas and sell drugs and fuck hoes and buy some damn overpriced shiny shit for their neck, but they don’t sing about love no more. Their version of a love song is Bow Wow shit like “Let Me Hold You Down” or them niggas talking ’bout “Ooh I think they like me.” Personally, I think they DIS-like you…. lil niggas. See when I was young, though I could understand Poison because there was a big butt smiling heffa that was a sneaky lil thang I couldn’t trust, I also sang that whole BBD album… and ummm… though I sang that shit like I knew it, I didn’t. Like “Do Me.” I mean, sure, I knew what they were singing about — as in the topic — but I didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about — as in the words. For example, I’m damn near outta my twenties....... And I still haven’t figured out what the fuck this means: “Slap it up! Flip it! Rub it down! OOOHH NOOOOO!!! I think I need a body bag…” WTF? Ok, I know how to slap a booty. But how do you FLIP a booty? I mean, you can flip her body. You can flip a pancake. You can even flip a key of coke. But how in Darnell Hill — that’s Sam’s little brother — do you FLIP a BOOTY???!!! Rub it down, I got. But know you need a body bag?? What the fuck for?? What the hell a body bag got to do with rubbing and slapping booty??? Oh oh oh I get it…… you killed the heffa when you were trying to flip her booty….. just her booty, nothing else…. and the bitch bled to death from the booty removal??? I’m confussed…. yes, confussed. But I sang the shit out that song!! Even did the little hand motions and shit….. jumping around in rain puddles outside and shit trying to mimick the video… *smh* But you know what, now that I think about it, I’d rather hear little girls sing about loving one man than hear little boys rappin about hoes, money, rims, and guns. Go ‘head Talaleequa…. cater to Jamal. And if he don’t act right, tell that little knotty head Negro that you ain’t his superwoman. Then smile at him… and carry your big butt on.

The key to life is enjoying its simple pleasures. And you know, there are tons of simple pleasures in life. Like watching a movie under a blanket when it's raining outside. Like eating tomato soup and grilled cheese when it's freezing cold. Like barbecuing on a summer day. Like taking a long ass, hot ass shower. Well, I've just discovered another simple pleasure that I think I've always appreciated, but never quite realized. Draws. No, not draws as in the verb, but draws as in britches… underwear… skivvies…. umentionables…. though I'm about to mention the hell out these shits. Dude, draws are simply fantastic! I mean, really, is there anything like sliding on a fresh pair of draws after getting out the shower?? Is there anything like sleeping in draws between a bed with fresh sheets?? Is there anything like a fresh, perfectly fitting pair of draws?? I think not. Nor should you. There's nothing like a fresh pair of draws. A fresh pair of draws is like a smile that hugs you throughout the day! I know women understand because they roll up in Vicky's Secret and spend three arms, two assholes, and an ovary for a matching set of underwear. In fact, I've read that if a woman has on some fucked up draws, the likelihood of her giving up ass is damn near non-existant. They go and buy all that frilly lace shit with ass cheeks all caged up behind the mesh. But to me, the best shits that women wear are them sport type shits…. ya'll know'em…. the cotton draws that are tight and look like some biking shorts, but with the draws' legs stopping at the upper thigh??? WHEW!! That shit make a nigga wanna leave the one I'm with, and start a new relationship with you… so whatcha gonna do?? And clearly that's an Usher quote, and even more clear is the fact that Usher is only quotable when talking about women's draws. And most clear is that I will never quote that monkey-looking muhfucka again… But dude…. DRAWS! I love'em! But not ALL draws. For example, thongs??....... I'm sorry, but them shits just don't appeal to me. Well, let me clarify, THONGS don't appeal to me, but the ASS that a thong showcases appeals like a muhfuckas to me!......But the thong itself? Fuck that. First of all, all I can think of when I see a thong is, "I bet that damn string in the back smells like puretee SHIT when they come off!" You can't even get "skid mark"s on a thong! Them shits just get blacked out! LOL Ass cheeks smothering them shits like pork chops… sweating and stanking up ALL the yarn in that bitch. Ugh! I know, I know…. YOUR ass don't stink, and YOUR thong smells like yellow stars and green clovers with just a hint of Spring Freshness. Right right right…. I'm talking to everybody else, not you. *smh* Newsflash! It's ass. They don't call it ass 'cause it smells like cinammon potpourri and Yankee candles!! If that was the case, niggas would be like, " Yo, honey got a phat ass Yankee!!" But no! You have an ass…. an ass not coincidentally with the same name as a fuckin mule…. and mules? yeah, they smell…. bad. "Yo, honey got a phat ass Yankee!!" LOL I kinda like that shit........ New slang alert!!! You can bite, just give credit!! Like the other new slang shit I came up with…. check it: "Man, you can holla at that heffa if you want to, but it'll be to no avail! You know she swoopin right???" What is swoopin, you ask?? Swoopin… as in Cheryl Swoopes…. as in gay…. as in if she "swoopin" it means she don't like dudes…. no more. Yeah, dope, I know. So anyway, thongs ain't draws. In order for draws to be draws they must cover a portion of the ass cheeks for women, and support the nuts for men (ass cheek coverage for men is a given…. anything else is uncivilized.) Thus, with this thereom, speedos ain't draws either. Yeah, I know you THINK they support nuts, but they don't. They assault nuts. Assault in the first degree an' shit........ There is no reason on God's green earth that nuts should be strangled and suffocated like speedos do… unless of course you're trying to spade yourself or you just like nut congestion… which is another problem in and of itself…. Boxers?? Nope. NOT draws. Sorry ya'll. Boxers are shorts. That's it. They may be some short ass shorts… but they're shorts none the less. There is no nut support, and more importantly, if you get a stiffy while wearing boxers?..... Dude, problems ensue. Well, at least they do for me. You little dick muhfuckas may not have any issue, but I'm not really concerned with your "small world." As for me, I've been in situations where I've worn boxers and gotten an untimely boner. And trust me, the last thing people wanna see when they are on their way to the copying machine is your damn dingaling poking out the front of your pants. Not sexy. Not the hotness. At all......(Despite what you may think.) Plus, and this is a little graphic, but still true…. boxers don't catch those little droplets. See, when a dude goes to the bathroom, when he finishes peeing, he has to get his Mariah Carey on…. he's gotta "shake it off." *note: new slang:* You gotta wiggle the muhfucka a little bit to get all the droplets out. If you're in a rush, or your forget to shake, or your shit just ain't cooperating…. a drop or two may decide to show up after the party's over. Boxers don't catch that shit…. and next thing you know, you're wondering why your damn thigh or calf feels a little wet and shit. Thus, boxers don't fulfill their role and are disqaulified from drawdom. The good draws are the ones widely known as tight whiteys. I love'em.....I don't wear em....but for purposes opf this blog....just bear with me....... They just support like nothing else can! They are like an old friend that I see for the first time in years every morning. And the cousin of tight whiteys?? Boxer Briefs. Those, my dear friends, are the truth!!! Boxer Briefs are the best draws that mankind has ever seen. And I salute thee. And I bring this entire topic up because I had to retire a pair of my favorite draws today. I'd been hanging on to these muhfuckas forever because we've been through so much!! College!..... Military Training!...... Three moves around three states!.... Overseas trips to over a dozen countries!..... My first house! But somewhere along the way, the draws got beyond salvage. They had holes. There was paint on them that wouldn't come out. Some of the elasticity had gone. It is a sad, sad day in the Kaviar drawer of draws. So I shall hang, and frame, these draws. And they shall be hung from the rafters so that all who come, shall see. 1997 BVD Tighty Whiteys Boxer Briefs, we've had a great run, but your retirement is nigh. Thank you. If the key to life is simple pleasures… you, my holey, worn out friend, were the key to life. And this is my song to you…. a song in the key of life, in fact. Hmmm….."song in the key of life"… I kinda like that… I may have to copyright that shit before someone else discovers it…. like say … oh, I don't know… a blind dude with braids, a piano, and a harmonica. "What's the fuss!!"

Ya'll may remember a few days ago I was lamenting about how I wished I was fine…. Like "Damn, who is that dude?" fine. And the natural extension........if not actually the root......of this fleeting desire was that I wanted to know what it's like to be approached and/or propositioned by women in random places for no other reason than the very sight of me makes her panties sticky. Well…. be careful what the fuck you ask for… Before I start, I don't even want to convey the impression that I'm suddenly the shit and have become Mr. Desirable… 'cause that couldn't be further from the truth. I'm still pretty much that average nigga that is easily overlooked in a room of crowded muhfuckas. I mean, just a day or two ago I wrote about my belly girth and shit! And just how sexy can a dude who lost his dizzle after stepping out the shower be??? Exactly. But, with that said, I got a taste of what it's like on the other side of average… and dude…. it ain't pretty… nor sexy… nor fun…. nor the hotness. In fact, it's pretty damn annoying. So check it.......last Friday was my first night in a bar in Cooper young since Ne Years Eve......so I decided to go kick it with some whitefolx at this local ass pub. I didnt tell anyone about this cuz i was embarrassed....and i dont usually go to these place....but before i came to the Irish Bar...I went to a hole in the wall juke joint in South Memphis..... Now this is one of those clubs where everyone from 21 to 70 is up in that bitch. You could have Grandpa, mamma, and junior all up in that muhfucka jammin doing the damn cha-cha slide. And, this is no bullshit, I saw a dude who had to be around 70 or so dancing with some chick in her 40's and he actually had her cornered against the wall and LIFTED.HIS.LEG.UP and started pumpin her ass!! I coulda swore I heard his hips squeakin, but he was workin.that.shit.OUT! You hear me???!!! And, it's for this same reason, the place had a nice feel/vibe going on. Everybody was just out to have a good time…. all ages. Not only could you get your jam on, but you could also go to the back and get some catfish right out the fryer…. ….with hot sauce. Need I say more? Getting to my point…. I got hit on. HARD. I'm talking about beaten about the head, shoulders, and dizzle region with game harder than biscuits prepared by a woman born after '75!! (cuz I maintain that ya'll know they can't cook) The chick that holla'd had long hair…. grey eyes…. a shortie…. thick…. and was 'bout it 'bout it…. already! *southern slang is the shit* Oh,.......and she was old........... Like, old as hell. Like......... so old that Moses was her prom date and they danced to "Wade in the Water." Like......... so old that she farts dust and cobwebs and a damn Genie comes out that shit. Like.........so old that her titties have arthritis. Like.......... so old that her first ride was a chariot on spinners. Like...... so old she did Betty Rubble and Wilma Flinstone's nails. This heffa had to be at least 55. ......And that long hair?.... A wig. And not one of them "stylish" neon green wigs that Shonqueesha.....or Tinkerbell the raver wears to the club…. this heffa had on one of them "Grandma's day to teach Sunday School" wigs with a big ass church hat… cocked to the side…COGIC style.....knockin over drinks and pokin niggas in the temple an' shit. LOL I'm jus sayin..... Hey man, ain't shit wrong with a good wig or a good weave… but her shit won't nan bit o' good. I bet up under that shit, her hair was on some Ms. Jerry from Martin type shit… bald-headed and gray as fuck. Thick? Yeah, old woman Aunt Jemima thick. Grey eyes?...... Contacts........ And what the fuck is a 50+ year old woman doing with colored contacts?? pray for huh ya'll..... And man, she rolled up on me with a 55 year old body in a teenage outfit. Vericose veins and mini-skirts?? That's like peanut butter and salami….. or navy blue socks and black shoes…. they.just.dont.match. And a sleeveless dress!! Her wrinkeled ass triceps were swingin with the wind everytime somebody walked past. With some 1963 Easter shoes! She probably Marched on Washington with them shits. "I have a dream…. that one day… all bingo playing hoes will stay out the club trying to mack on niggas their son's age!" Dude!......... honey rolled up on me lookin at me like she was a 5 year old on a sugar high and I had Chuck E. Cheese written on my damn forehead. She lookin at me like I was a damn Scooby snack an' shit. She straight looked me in the eye and spit old woman game. She was flirtin with me like it was 1826. Talkin about "courtin" and could I sneak off the plantation on the weekend to pay her a visit. And she was intent! She was lookin me in the eye the whole time and trying her best to be sexy while suckin on some old bitch ass drink with an umbrella in it….. obviously five or six drinks past her limit. Have you ever had a old woman try to grab your dizzle? Oh Lawd… I cringed!......Like literally..... And gave her that "what in the fuck is WRONG with you" look. And I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth…. it tasted like catfish and hot sauce.....and I smelled Ben Gay......I.HAVE.NOT.BEEN.THE.SAME.SINCE! But you know...... even if she had been fine as fuck...... I wouldn't have been with it. My granddaddy told me long ago that "older women give you worms." LOL That is some old country ass philosophy right there, but that shit stuck with me. Like, for example, if Pam "Foxy Brown" Grier tried to holla…. as fine as she is… for 56, that is…. I wouldn't be with it. She's just too old man… for me. Plus, she gotta flat ass…. that's always a minus. My name ain't Marcus Graham…. Lady Eloise gets no dizzle 'round here. "Marrrrrcussss." Ya'll gotta see boomerang white people.....Eddie Murphy at his finest....I maean comedy wise of course.....(Nulles Perez Hilton) Ew. Ugh. And all other two and three-letter words conveying disgust. I just couldn't do it. A woman older than my mamma?? No! That's just nasty… So I was polite…. maybe even a little flattered that out of all the dudes in the club around my age, that she rolled up on me. Of course, she had probably been shot down before she got to me… I'm sure I wasn't choice #1…. Or maybe, she just thought I was an easy mark…I probably look horny these days.... Or maybe she was just drunk and had no clue of what the hell she was really doin…which happened again when I finally did make it to Celtic crossing....but thats an entirely different story..... But shortie… (is it still kosher to call old women "shortie")…. straight spit game at me and made no bones about the fact that she was trying to bump uglies THAT.NIGHT. And at 55, I bet her shit is uglier than mine. LOL But she WAS kinda cute… and I WAS kinda drunk… soooo…… So what did I do?? I did what any red-blooded Negro would do! I slapped it up, flipped it and rubbed it down!!! KIDDING!!! KIDDING!!! While she was up in my ear talking about how she needed a "ripe, young man with stamina," my dudes phone rang… or rather it vibrated and I politely excused myself to the patio out back. Saved by the bell buzzer! Thank da Lawd!! I don't blame her for being out having a good time…. nor going after what she wanted…. nor living her life the way she fuckin wanted to… in fact, I commend her for it…. she's a grown ass woman…. get yours girl! But not here… it'd just be a waste of your time. If this is what fine people have to endure daily, unwanted advances, then I will sit here quietly in the land of mediocrity and hum quietly to myself. say word....

I was watching a website called SOHH.com....and they were talking about the rapper E 40's death rumors. In it they were saying that he was killed in a car accident on the way to Vegas for the NBA all star game .....and how many arrests were made at his party when viloence broke out or some shyt. Anyway....dude is not dead....and he was cracking on the media and the rumor mill and inconsistencies in the story and all other types of bullshit.... anyway....one of the inconsitiencies *cough*lies*cough* was the fact that he died in a car crash on the route he took to get to Vegas.....which is not even the route you travel to go from the Bay Area to Vegas.... Even more ridiculous was the fact that he FLEW not DROVE to Vegas.....so there was no car accident involving him to speak of.... well anyway...he flew on Southwest Airlines.....and he was calling it Soul Plane....hahahaha....which reminded me of my bootleg flights on SWA....which made me think of this..... Ya'll know I gets my world travel on, right? Well I remember about four years ago... Plane Ride So you've flown Southwest and think that you know all there is to know about ghetto airlines, huh? You've hitched a few rides on AirTrain and fathom that it doesn't get much ghettoer than that, eh? Well, folks, let me introduce you to the most ghettoest airlines on the planet: Philippine Airlines. Lawdy. Lawdy. Lawdy. I could rant and rave about just how ghetto this airlines is, but if I tell you this one thing, it'll sum the shyt up without one of my typical Kaviar rants that seem to go nowhere, and often do…. or, don't… or, whatever. You know how once the plane gets in the air and the flight attendants push the drink cart around?? Well, like most airlines, they had beer on the cart for your enjoyment. The Philippines is most known for its very popular beer called San Miguel. And they had that… you can get a bottle here for 29 Philippine pesos, which is equivalent to about 60 cents. But next to the San Miguel??? Colt 45. COLT.FORTY.FUGGIN.FIVE!!!! ON AN AIRLINE!!!! What in the hells?!?!? I didn't even know they still made that stuff!! How you gon' serve some malt-azz liquor on the airplane??! LMAO And do you know what the third option of beer was?? A drink called Beer Na Beer! That roughly translates from Tagalog to mean: "It's really beer." LOL If you have print, "Nah, like fa real, this really is beer!!" on the front of the damn can, then I'm gonna say that you're probably in the wrong business!! LOL Ghettoness confirmed. The Hobbit House I was taken out to eat one night at this place called The Hobbit House. And when I tell you that the dollar in the Philippines goes a long way, the shyt goes a long damn way. I had two snifters of Johnnie Walker Black, two bottles of San Miguel Pilsner, soup, salad, bread, and filet mignon for …. drumroll please... 500 pesos! Ten daggum dollars! 'Twas good as hell too! But check this, the reason they call this place the Hobbit House is because everybody who works there is a damn midget!! YES! Midgets!! The waitresses??? Midgets. The cooks??? Midgets. The bartender??? Midget on a gatdayum stool! SECURITY!!!!???? A muhfukkin midget! LOL Oh wait… my bad… not midget, but little person. They all was some little azz people around there. And that even the half of it… **cringing at that horrible pun** Do you know they had a dayum MIDGET TOSS during the course of the meal?!? And yes, they call it a "midget toss" and it is exactly what it sounds like…. two big azz Samoan looking dudes TOSSED some damn MIDGETS like a game of catch! They were throwin this little dude over tables and chairs an' shyt!! I was just waitin for one of them to drop dude! LOL Or overthrow the little muhfukka and break a lamp or some shyt!! LMAO It was crazy. I just wonder where they found all these folks. I mean, are there midget job fairs and shyt? How the hell do you round up enough midgets to open up a damn restaurant? LOL But, truthfully, the food was great and so was service. Whoever opened that joint should get an award!! And you know who he would thank first right?!?? All the little people. Booooo!! HISSSSS!!!! LOL… what a great joke. I set that up so perfectly. Movies Let me just put it like this: I bought 20 movies on DVD, a couple of which just opened up in the States like a few weeks prior, for $7. Them nyggas selling fake Gucci bags out their trunks at the liquor store?!? They ain't got shyt on the Philippinos. Now THEY are some hustlas. Anything Goes So I went to a restaurant/lounge/club for dinner and drinks the other night called the LA Cafe. I learned a few things here that I'd like to share: 1) Apparently this is where all the single women looking to make some extra cash go in order to pick up Japanese businessmen out for a good time. And apparently the word has gotten all up and through Japan. There were women EVERYWHERE cat-callin every Japanese man that walked through the door! One muhfukka was sitting at his table with a dozen girls!!! AND LEFT WITH ALL OF THEM! I'd hate to be the housekeeping maid at his hotel the next day after that shyt! There'll be soy sauce and the shyt that only black lights pick up all OVER the place! And check this: One Japanese dude brought his SON with him. I don't mean like a 50 year old man and his 20 year old son. I mean like a 40 year old man and his 15 year old son!! And then his dad LEFT him there with a couple slant-eyed lovelies from the bar! That little boy was smoking cigarettes and drinking Coronas like the shyt was about to expire. I was staring at him giving that "damn lil' man, take it easy!" look. He looked at me like I was the damn help! The Negro gets no respect. 2) These muhfukkas can not make a drink to save their life!! Tell me what this means to you: Henny XO with no ice. Sounds like I want, oh, I don't know… some Hennessy XO in the appropriate glass with no ice, maybe? This heffa comes back with Henny in a shot glass with one ice cube and a big azz McDonald's straw!! ICE?!?! In a shot glass?!? With a straw?!?!? Lawd, somebody pray for'em. So when I asked her to make me another drink, she comes back with the SAME SHOT GLASS — condensation all on the shyt — and some cloudy ass Henny which means she just scooped the ice out…. And then had the nerve to tell me "Sir, this is a brand new cup and a new pour." Right, right. And I'm Bill O'Reilly. 3) A young lady rolled up on me and asked me to say the following words: Holla. It's murder. I was puzzled for two seconds and then it hit me… she thought I was Ja Rule. LOL She is now the proud owner of a LA Cafe t-shirt signed by none other than "Ja." What?!? He would have done the same for me!! I'm sure he gets rolled up on all the time by people asking him: "Um… excuse me, but are you Kaviar?!?" And I don't even trip. International Incidentage I've narrowly escaped many incidents overseas that could bring shame to the United States. There was the time I almost swung on a ten year old boy in Thailand because he reached in my pocket to see if I had money to buy his box of Chiclets. There was the time in Bahrain where we almost gangbanged an Arab club owner because he kicked us out his club and used an Arabic word that sounded an awful lot like "dirty nyggras." There was the time where I had to prevent my drunk, white co-worker from getting his azz thrashed by some Russians in Dubai after he holla'd at one of their girlfriends. There was the alleged graffiti incident where an unsuspecting hotel bartender aided and abetted the "creative liberty" I took with a wall in Switzerland. And there was the time when I and some of my frat brosthers almost drug a Japanese dude up and down street at the back street yoshihara. I could go on… but suffice it to say that despite these close calls, I have been a shining example of the perfect American citizen. And finally, someone took notice. Ever since I was on C-Span 3 a couple years ago, the media loves me. I'm a darling. Hell, I was on the radio in Tokyo my last year of College gettin' my ghetto Black American on! International relations!! I be relatin'! And the Philippinos have jumped on the bandwagon, baby. That's right… yes that was me. I know I know… you probably couldn't believe your eyes when you caught that local Philippino news channel where I shook hands with a Philippino General in a staged photo op where he feigned interest in my Black azz, but it really was me… Or as the locals would say: Kaviar na Kaviar! Hold your applause! I'll give you my autograph later! here's just something I have to do first before I continue my international celebrityage: I just gotta thank the little people.

There are some things you just don’t say in some places. In crowded movie theaters........you don’t scream, “FIRE!!” In church..........you don’t yell out, “Dayum!! That usher got a phat azz!!” On an airplane.........you don’t holler, “This PLANE is da BOMB!! Allahu Akbar!!” I mean, you CAN… but doing so will most likely have unpleasant repercussions......... And the same goes for in the office.......there are a multitude of things you don’t say........ And what’s more...... there are a multitude of things you don’t want to hear. I have a pretty good idea of the shyt I don’t like to hear in the office....And the list isn’t that long seeing as how my last office was like 90% male....so the topics can be a bit wild — which makes for a quick day and hilarious conversations. For instance.....I remember once hearing a fairly simple comment that was like a speedo made of sandpaper… meaning… the shyt rubbed me the wrong way. okay.....peep game...... the Australian Open was on, right....and In the office.......we keep the TV’s on because.....mainly we were a bunch of dudes....and aint nothing we like better than videos and ESPN...... A crowd of about 5 of us were talking and half-watching the match......except for me… who was watching intently… as if I had bet 5 grand on it....... One dude says, “Kav, you actually like tennis??” My response, “Hell nahhh! I just like Serena!!” To which someone responds, “It’s ’cause she’s got a big ghetto booty!” Normally, this wouldn’t bother me....except for the fact that the dude who said it was white.....That alone made me cringe and I immediately turned into that smart azz dude that has trouble playing nicely with others: “Actually, no she doesn’t. Ghetto is a term originally used to describe the part of the city predominantly inhabited by Jews. How many azzes you think there are in Tel Aviv that look like Serena’s??” Sensing my discomfort.....white dude.......who really is a good guy, immediately backed down and said the obligatory....“I’m kidding” and “I didn’t mean anything by it.”.... And I actually felt bad for putting him on the spot when I could have easily just let the shyt slide..... I started to wonder if he felt comfortable enough to say that because we all get along so well in this melting pot of an office..... or if I’d some how communicated to him that we were all Digable Planets an’ shyt… ya know....cool like that. And then I realized it wasn’t me.......but it was another dude.......a Black dude.......that worked with us that had opened the door to such “freedom of speech.” Now, I’m not going to say that he’s an “oreo,” because that’s too sophomoric a title to give him.... But suffice it to say that he ain’t a brother’s brother. “What the hell is a brother’s brother?” A brother’s brother is a Black dude who other Black dudes think is a real Black dude.... And the operative word isn’t “real” in that last sentence — it’s “think” as in perception — so don’t even start that real=stereotype crap! Anyways.... Look, it ain’t that he listens to alternative rock exclusively..... It isn’t that he talks like a surfer from Southern California though he is a product of the Hurt Village projects in one of the worst areas of Memphis..... And it isn’t that he says shyt like, “I didn’t know that guy Ty was a rapper…. I saw him in that movie called Alt.” For those of you slow folks at home, he meant T.I. in the movie ATL. None of that..... This brother ain’t a brother’s brother because he doesn’t like Black women. “Awww Kav, that’s some bullshyt!! You’s a stupid muhfukka to think that!!” You may be right......but gotdayum it.... I stand by it. I just don’t understand how a Black man can be 37 years old.....single.......and have never slept with a Black woman…. unless his name is A.C. Green…. or E. Lynn Harris… Nah, scratch that… I STILL don’t understand! Hey, look, I’m all for people having their preferences..... Even as prejudiced as I may come across in this here blog..... I’ve certainly partaken of the interracial nectar. An attractive woman is an attractive woman..... A smart woman is a smart woman...... An ambitious woman is an ambitious woman..... And guess what??.......I like smart, attractive, and ambitious women! Sure, I have my preferences......but I’ve never ruled a woman out for dating simply because of her race....... And skin color certainly means nothing to me since the Black women I’ve dated have been as black as Matchlight charcoal to as light as an Aspen snowbunny...... But for a Black man to go out of his way to NOT date Black women???? To not give a Black woman a chance just because she’s Black?? I be damned if that’s a brother’s brother. Then it hit me........If he had said that “ghetto booty” comment.....I would have had the same level of discomfort I had when my white co-worker said it.......... And it was proven in a conversation a few days later between just him and I while we were discussing his inability to bag the finest Japanese chicks....... He claims he can’t get one because: “The finest Asian girls only want the nyggas!” I cringed..... Though it was just he and I… and we’re both Black… I cringed when HE said the dreaded n-word.... And we ALL know that I’m no stranger to the word! In fact, the statement he made sounds like some shyt I would say! LOL..... Except for one word that, to me, seemed to make all the difference: “The.” He said THE nyggas....... See what I mean?? You don’t?? Well, watch this… Some Black people would say, “Ya know, Blacks are moving to the suburbs now.” Some racist folks would say, “The Blacks are moving to the suburbs now.” Subtle distinction. But the “the” distances the speaker from the group in question. And while I would LOVE to distance myself from the “nyggas,” — like that strippin’ azz heffa who got caught in all kinds of lies in that Duke lacrosse case...and had just as much semen on her draws as that white girl that got Kobe.... .....or those kids interviewed in the Washington Post the other day who thought MLK, Jr helped abolish slavery..... ....or the slew of ig’nant muhfukkas commonly found on that hot ghetto mess website... .....or in your local “look who was at the club last night” photo site.... the reality is you can....but you can’t........ We all in this shyt together… even if we live in different zip codes. ‘Cause for real, one of my prerequisites when buying a home is to ensure it ain’t around a bunch of nyggas....(real talk) A brother’s brother recognizes the collective responsibility in being part of the race and trying to progress it........ Not one revered Black person in history has ever only fought for the “good Negros.” So when I meet Black folks who think of Black folks as “them” folks instead of “us” folks, the comfort level for me drops.....and I'm Cuban...but I'VE ALWAYS CONSIDERED MYSELF BLACK! which is funny cuz I was just talking to my friend Mya....a biracial chick.....who only wants to go to the most ghetto clubs....lives outside of Chicago but hates house.....doesnt like R&B...and thinks Donna Summer is Disco.....and that Luther Vandross didnt do any uptempo joints...and dont get me started on her opinions of Earth, Wind & Fire..... If it aint Lil Jon saying "Snap Yo Fangaz"....she thinks its lame.... which is strange because shes is a fan of the doors and Janis joplin.... pshhh....whatever.... Im not the dude you are gonna find in those spots.....mainly because those "Nyggas" are not like me.....which I guess is wrong on my part.... However....I would like to refrain from getting my ass blown off during a gang fight... anyway....I grew up with those kind of peeps....and I do have love for em..... I’ll drink with them...... I’m cool with them........ Hell, I even genuinely like some of them. But I like Bob from accounting, too. And I’ll be damned if he can shoot the shyt with me about ghetto booties and how nyggas get all the fine women. That’s reserved for a Brutha’s brother.

The battle rages here in America over who is going to own their vagina in the new millenium. I see all kinds of movements afoot to get women to ingest all manner of pills and medications in order to regulate their poons. Some of the medicines make the poon infertile, while others kill the love slot slowly. How much you want to bet me that OPRAH sells some of these drugs on her television show and in her publications? A spearmint dream deferred? Chewable contraception that freshens your breath while your ovaries are shriveled like a raisin in the sun. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16098766/ This birth control patch isn’t just killing eggs. It’s killing egg holders too. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15526078/ And last, but certainly not least, Plan B. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/16077185/ Because someone just forgot that Plan A should only have been some heavy petting. Do you see how many pills are required to have sex? And then you still have to worry about HPV and lord knows what else the neoconservative scientists are incubating in their reichstag labs. Do yourself a favor until you are ready to settle down. Masturbate. At least you won’t become a pill addict. Im Jus Sayin.....

okay i stole this from one of my frat brothers blogs..... I found it very insightful....and thought provoking.... I know this guy very well.....and knows exactly that what he speaks is the truth.... I will post my experience in another bulletin..... and you guys are welcome to compare and contrast.... here goes: Category: Romance and Relationships Over the years, I've played every game that you can think of when it comes to RELATIONSHIPS. I've lied, cheated, turned the tables to make the woman think that she was the one that was wrong, and Hell, I've even acted a fool before Birthdays, Valentine's, and Christimas and eventually came back right after New Years just so I wouldn't have to buy a gift(ain't that some bull? I know, right). Growing up, I never really knew what a successful relationship was suppose to be about because I never saw one. All I ever thought in relationships was that a man was SUPPOSE to be a mack and if you didn't have more than three girls on your TEAM, you were considered LAME. Me, being naive to that fact went out with that frame of mind and tried to get every woman that I saw. Even though I had a girlfriend who loved me dearly and loved my dirty drawers, I still had 3 other women all at the same time thinking that I was the "ONE" and they couldn't seem themselves living without me. Little did they know that everything I was telling them, I was telling to the other ladies. I was the star quarterback in college, a Nupe, I stood out a lot from the other guys on campus because of the way I dressed and the way I acted, so that sparked a lot of women's interest and I was more than happy to oblige. After college, I played pro ball, had a nice car, money, my OWN spot, and it just didn't get any better than that. The easier it got, the more my hunger grew and I just had to have the best, so therefore, I went after the socialites, the lawyers, teachers who were my coworkers, the so called models, etc. I just had to have to ONE with the pretty face, the big booty or the sexy lips or the one who had a walk that just wouldn't quit. But after awhile I started feeling guilty and ashamed of who I had become. I was an insensitive, thoughtless, careless, uncaring so-called man and I only thought of my needs and wants instead of others. The girl who I was with left me after we had been together for 7 years and after that, I had nothing left. After countless attempts to get her back in my life, she completely turned her back on me and now we're no longer friends. No matter what I did, she refused to speak to me and even though I asked her to marry me, she just walked away from me with me down on one knee and the ring still in my hand(I bet you're thinking he got exactly what he deserved and you're absolutely right). As men, it is truly up to us to hold ourselves accountable for our actions and stop blaming our women. As men, we have to stand up for our women, be real to them, be real for them, protect them, cherish them, love them, pray for them, pray with them, etc. I'm not writing any of this for cool points or because I feel that I am obligated to uplift women after having broken their hearts and spirits in my past, it's mainly because I care. Our women have so much to offer, but we're too dumb to realize it until it's too late. Fellas, we gotta get our shit together before we realize that it's too late to make that change. Ladies, don't keep blaming yourselves for our faults and transgressions. Keep being the strong, sensitive, loving, giving, nurturing creatures that you are and have always been. Now that I'm older, I've matured a lot and in my quest to be a better MAN, I hope that it's not too late for me to find that ONE whom I've longed for. After 2 years of being single, I've had more than enough time to sit back and take a look at who I was and who I want to be. The person that I use to be is definitely not someone I want to be now or in the future. I'm not in a hurry, but now I understand how a woman needs to be nurtured and cared for the same way a man does. Dating several women at the same time allowed me to compare and contrast, but it never let me cherish any of them and I never got the chance to see them for who they truly were and now I just hope that I don't continue to reap what I've sowed in the past.

Those of you who know me are aware of the fairly ridiculous time I've had in the Memphis dating scene. I have had one hell of a tumultuous ride with a fascinating array of women through casual dating coupled with the seemingly endless pursuit of carnal pleasure, and ultimately, love. The last one of course has remained unfulfilled, otherwise I wouldn't be bitching about my trials and tribulations, but for the most part I've kept that aspect of my life private; as this is a humor post first and foremost and I doubt most of you give a rat's ass about who I'm dating. (or not) However, I recently came across a site through the magic of Technorati that I probably never would have found otherwise. It seems a girl I dated back at the beginning of the summer for all of a week or two apparently felt so scorned by me that after looking me up on Myspace and discovering my blog, in turn decided to start her own blog, Suddenly Everything Has Changed. She clearly wasn't that creatively juiced as the blog folded after two posts, but the narcissist in me can't help but feel a perverse satisfaction that I was the impetus behind this girl's decision to air out her feelings on the Internet. Nothing in there's particularly earth-shattering, although I like her sugar-coating of certain details: "After a few hang out sessions (give or take a few make out sessions), a hundred missed calls, and about as many empty promises later, things just didn't pan out for us. We were both busy with work, it was summer in Memphis, and naturally we were both out meeting/hooking up with other potentially more attractive/interesting people." AHEM *blank stare* Bitch Please! Im only gonna put this shit on front street cuz her psycho and deranged ass is not on my friends list and I dont have to worry about her reading this.....then again....Im gonna put it in my blog section so.....she can E stalk my shit till her panties soak..... I mean.....She was a perfectly nice girl, but upon hanging out with her a second time sans the sweet, sweet deception of alcohol, I realized I just wasn't attracted to her. Hence the missed calls and empty promises, which is a proud way of saying I completely blew her off. What??? Dont act like you havent done it! I know for a fact that Ive been the victim of at least 4 chicks on my friends list blow-offs myself. The difference between them and myself.... is the simple fact that....if i dont like your ass....I tell you that I dont like your ass.... Im not a nonconfrontational person in the slightest. I dont play games with affairs of the heart. And being in the city where chicks throw hot pots of scalding grits on your ass....I ain't goin...... Word to the Rev. Dr. Minister Al Green! This is my thing....i can respect your gangsta...if you arent interested in me.....Im not the best looking mofo around....(but Im far from the worst)....However....tell me that shit off top.....and since im dense sometimes....be explicitly clear about it! Cuz im kinda persistent....and I hit homers a lot more than I strike out....so i may not be used to rejection..... I dont step to too many chicks.....cuz i really dont like ya'll broads....I just hate dudes even more......and Im psuedo homo phobic....not that any gay dude would ever like my ass....(not my ass....but my ASS)....ya'll know what Im tryin to say..... and if it wasnt for a exhaustingly need to get laid.....and to do so with a consistent sex partner.....cuz my bar skank hunting days are over.....I'd probably never say a word to most women.... Besides...... Im still not sure of the difference between stalking and romantic sometines...... so I may just think you are playing hard to get and kick it up (my mack Game) a notch....which makes me come off like a bully and over aggressive.....but..... fuck that Im a commodity! If you dont see it ....I do my best to make sure you see it....cuz the chick that findeth me....findeth a good thing.....or something like that.... So like i said....if i am trying to get at you....and you arent feeling it.....say that.....dont put me in a friend box or none of that shit....cuz then ill never talk to your ass again..... If I wanna be your FRIEND.....I'll place myself in the friend zone.....not saying I still wont try to hit it....but since that is all I'd want to do with your ass.....I dont care if you are down or not...hahaha....no bruised ego on my part.....and then if you should find yourself drunk and horny with me.......it wont make you feel bad if we end up scraping......and we'd still be friends the next day NO STRINGS ATTACHED! *wink* but dont ever use that friendship shit as your excuse for not holla'n back....naah mean? anyways.....back to the story...... Still, the last time I even saw the poor girl was mid-June (around my birthday party), and she decided to write about me over six months later at the end of December. Not even I have that much of an effect on myself, and I'm one of the most self-absorbed people I know. Another interesting point arises near the end - "Contrary to who I thought I pseudo-dated, this online persona was rude, narcissistic, cocky, and came with a link to his myspace blog. Granted, his asshole status was truly secured upon reading an entry or two, but it got me to thinking. If this guy can circulate his dating escapades, moan about his life after college, and gain an online following larger than a third world country- couldn't a girl like me do the same?" AHEM *blank stare* Now that's a scary thought - this girl had one opinion of me in person, but completely changed her mind after reading a few entries on my blog. I feel like it's usually the opposite - a person perceives an individual's online persona as being a dick, but in the event they meet the person, their opinion is generally reversed. I have pissed a lot of people off because of my blogs and bulletins....but I assure you all....Im far from Racist, Bigoted, Close Minded or any of that bolshevik! I crack jokes on black folx & Nikras, white devils, pillow biters, jew fros, spics and wet backs, towel heads, nutbushites, rednecks, ho bags, bar skanks, and any other sub genre of humanoids. And I crack all of those jokes with the same amount of regularity and viciousness.....cuz thats how i get down....yeen know? Anyone with half a brain knows a lot of my writing is simply that - a persona. I'll say just about anything to try and get a laugh. if it aint funny....dont laugh and delete thyself....trust me a lot of folx have.....hahahaha Sure, a lot of it might be something I'm thinking, but for the most part anyone who comes to this site should take what they read with a grain of salt. And what the fizzle is she doing saying "granted"...thats my edifier.....is nothing sacred trick? *sigh* Hey, I'm the first person to admit I can ocassionally be an ass, especially if your only perception of my personality was through this blog, but as a rule I'm pretty damn charming in person. Unless we've dated and you're not pretty/funny/smart/have sex with me enough. Then, and only then, might I be an asshole. and that my dear people..... is all....