I'm watching "Sex and the City" for the second time in my life... Who in the FUCK would date someone named Mr. Pussy? IJS. Like seriously, y'all. Seriously.
Which brings me to my next topic.
So, I like to fuck. This shouldn't come as a shock to anyone. I'm relatively cute, I'm a woman in the 21st century, and I don't really give two fucks if it offends you, but let's face it: pussy runs the world.
Now while I'm relatively selective about who I fuck (i.e. you gotta be at least 6'4" or taller, know how to play music and fucking love it, and be a motorcycle enthusiast like WHOA), every now and again me and ol Jim Beam slip up and shit happens. Now, here's where some people seem to lose track and/or judge me:
If I hook up with you in a drunken stupor or after doing multiple types of illegal drugs in one sitting, PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE JUST A HOOK-UP. More than likely, none of my preferred regulars were answering my texts/unavailable/etc. and you just happened to be there, so I threw it on ya, and wham, bam, thank you ma'am, get the fuck out so I can sober up and get my beauty rest.
Now if you are the unfortunate victim of this situation, I do apologize, but seriously, dude, take a hint. You were used. I'm sure you've done it before to some poor, unfortunate soul, but it happens. If you're suddenly blocked from any form of social media and my cell phone, then realize what you were, shrug it off, and go on about your life. DO NOT do any of the following:
1) Call me from your best friend's phone and proceed to say, "Why you gon' block me, why ain't you fuckin' with me anymore?"
Answer: Learn fucking English and stop talking like an inbred fuckhole.
2) Use the excuse that you're trying to build a clientele for your drug business by calling me, AND THEN reverting right back to the original question.
Why? Cause I'm gonna have to crush your fucking ego like a nuclear warhead.
3) Tell me, "Imma hit you up later" after we've already established that I clearly don't want anything to do with you.
Allow me to break this down for any male that might be guilty of such behavior:
Men have acted this way for centuries. And there is no fucking rule book. If I want to use you for a one-time hook-up and then delete you from my life, I motherfucking can. You do it, so can I. Pussy runs this world, motherfucker. Hate to break it to ya.
As for, "Why don't you ever talk to me anymore? Why you gotta block my number?" Um, maybe - and I'll go really, REALLY slow with this so that you understand what I'm about to say - just MAYBE I don't wanna talk to you. Maybe you irritate me. Maybe your voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Hell, maybe you just wore the wrong outfit one day and I developed a taste of utter disdain in my fucking PORES at the sight of you. IT REALLY DOESN'T MATTER WHY. What matters is I did, so take the hint. You aren't being romantic by calling me from another number; you're just making yourself look thirstier than you already are and have been. You served your purpose, and now I'm done with you. Clearly, you've been dismissed.
And see here's the other point to make: this is partly the fault of females. Some of us hook up with guys and convince ourselves, "OMG HE'S SO AMAZING" when really we just can't accept the fact that all we were is a fuck. LADIES OF THE WORLD, I REPEAT: You own the pussy. You choose whether or not to keep the kitty on lock or let her sniff some catnip and go off into the world to be somebody. This is not rocket science. If you wanna fuck, then FINE, fuck. And if you don't wanna talk to him afterwards, then FINE. You can.
Because it doesn't matter if you're a man or woman; as long as your intentions are clear sexually, then you can do whatever you want (just please use protection for fuck's sake, y'all). You are not required to talk to the motherfucker again. Yes, we've all been burned before, and yes, it sucks, but let's just accept the fact that everyone has blown off a hook-up at least once in their lives and then let's just move on.
So, listen, douchenozzle, you were fun for the thirty minutes it lasted... Actually, no you weren't, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, you served your purpose. You auditioned for the role, and you didn't get a callback. Not only did you not get a callback, but you blew me up for days afterward and were so obnoxious that I had to resort to drastic measures and block you from my cell. And fb. And twitter. And every other social network you felt the need to grope when you weren't invited to do so. Just cause you got lucky one time doesn't mean it's gonna happen again. I'm sure you've treated a girl the exact same way I'm treating you since you pride yourself on being such a "player". Recognize the signs, numbnuts.
I need a man, damn it. Not a little boy that's PRETENDING to woo me because his pride is hurt that I'm not fawning over him like all the other bitches that EVERYBODY KNOWS he's feeding the same lines he feeds me. Difference is, I don't care what he says; you're not my type, sweet pea. You were a drunken mishap. Like rear ending a tree stump or stubbing my toe. It happened, and it's over. So leave me the fuck alone before I have to get really goddamn mean.
It takes a real man to tame a real woman. And it takes a real woman to let a man do so.
You, little boy, are not a man. Fuck off.
End rant.
Ciao, darling.
Which brings me to my next topic.
So, I like to fuck. This shouldn't come as a shock to anyone. I'm relatively cute, I'm a woman in the 21st century, and I don't really give two fucks if it offends you, but let's face it: pussy runs the world.
Now while I'm relatively selective about who I fuck (i.e. you gotta be at least 6'4" or taller, know how to play music and fucking love it, and be a motorcycle enthusiast like WHOA), every now and again me and ol Jim Beam slip up and shit happens. Now, here's where some people seem to lose track and/or judge me:
If I hook up with you in a drunken stupor or after doing multiple types of illegal drugs in one sitting, PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT YOU ARE JUST A HOOK-UP. More than likely, none of my preferred regulars were answering my texts/unavailable/etc. and you just happened to be there, so I threw it on ya, and wham, bam, thank you ma'am, get the fuck out so I can sober up and get my beauty rest.
Now if you are the unfortunate victim of this situation, I do apologize, but seriously, dude, take a hint. You were used. I'm sure you've done it before to some poor, unfortunate soul, but it happens. If you're suddenly blocked from any form of social media and my cell phone, then realize what you were, shrug it off, and go on about your life. DO NOT do any of the following:
1) Call me from your best friend's phone and proceed to say, "Why you gon' block me, why ain't you fuckin' with me anymore?"
Answer: Learn fucking English and stop talking like an inbred fuckhole.
2) Use the excuse that you're trying to build a clientele for your drug business by calling me, AND THEN reverting right back to the original question.
Why? Cause I'm gonna have to crush your fucking ego like a nuclear warhead.
3) Tell me, "Imma hit you up later" after we've already established that I clearly don't want anything to do with you.
Allow me to break this down for any male that might be guilty of such behavior:
Men have acted this way for centuries. And there is no fucking rule book. If I want to use you for a one-time hook-up and then delete you from my life, I motherfucking can. You do it, so can I. Pussy runs this world, motherfucker. Hate to break it to ya.
As for, "Why don't you ever talk to me anymore? Why you gotta block my number?" Um, maybe - and I'll go really, REALLY slow with this so that you understand what I'm about to say - just MAYBE I don't wanna talk to you. Maybe you irritate me. Maybe your voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Hell, maybe you just wore the wrong outfit one day and I developed a taste of utter disdain in my fucking PORES at the sight of you. IT REALLY DOESN'T MATTER WHY. What matters is I did, so take the hint. You aren't being romantic by calling me from another number; you're just making yourself look thirstier than you already are and have been. You served your purpose, and now I'm done with you. Clearly, you've been dismissed.
And see here's the other point to make: this is partly the fault of females. Some of us hook up with guys and convince ourselves, "OMG HE'S SO AMAZING" when really we just can't accept the fact that all we were is a fuck. LADIES OF THE WORLD, I REPEAT: You own the pussy. You choose whether or not to keep the kitty on lock or let her sniff some catnip and go off into the world to be somebody. This is not rocket science. If you wanna fuck, then FINE, fuck. And if you don't wanna talk to him afterwards, then FINE. You can.
Because it doesn't matter if you're a man or woman; as long as your intentions are clear sexually, then you can do whatever you want (just please use protection for fuck's sake, y'all). You are not required to talk to the motherfucker again. Yes, we've all been burned before, and yes, it sucks, but let's just accept the fact that everyone has blown off a hook-up at least once in their lives and then let's just move on.
So, listen, douchenozzle, you were fun for the thirty minutes it lasted... Actually, no you weren't, but that's neither here nor there. The point is, you served your purpose. You auditioned for the role, and you didn't get a callback. Not only did you not get a callback, but you blew me up for days afterward and were so obnoxious that I had to resort to drastic measures and block you from my cell. And fb. And twitter. And every other social network you felt the need to grope when you weren't invited to do so. Just cause you got lucky one time doesn't mean it's gonna happen again. I'm sure you've treated a girl the exact same way I'm treating you since you pride yourself on being such a "player". Recognize the signs, numbnuts.
I need a man, damn it. Not a little boy that's PRETENDING to woo me because his pride is hurt that I'm not fawning over him like all the other bitches that EVERYBODY KNOWS he's feeding the same lines he feeds me. Difference is, I don't care what he says; you're not my type, sweet pea. You were a drunken mishap. Like rear ending a tree stump or stubbing my toe. It happened, and it's over. So leave me the fuck alone before I have to get really goddamn mean.
It takes a real man to tame a real woman. And it takes a real woman to let a man do so.
You, little boy, are not a man. Fuck off.
End rant.
Ciao, darling.