Alicia Keys’ Letter to Mashonda
June 19, 2010
This letter is completely fabricated. But, I wouldn’t be surprised if Alicia would do this.
Who Not to Date Volume II
May 8, 2010
Special thanks to Paulee Davis (@leeleepotatoes on Twitter) for the ideas.
Mr. Stop Calling My Phone
“I go to University of Phoenix and I’m majoring in Geography with a minor in Photocopying.”
This character is the guy that buys you a cheap Martini and stares you down all night because he bought you one drink. He doesn’t understand that one drink gets you small conversation, two gets you the opportunity to grab a titty, and three drinks means you can swim in the vagina ocean. You’d never give him the time of day, Here is how he got your phone number: There was another fine guy in the club who bought you some Vodka shots and you ended up almost sweating a track out when you was twerking on him during Don’t Hide That by DJ Unk. As your girlfriend was escorting your drunk ass to your car, he rushed up to you and asked for your number, and you were drunk enough to give it to him.
He swears up and down that he is educated, and he tries to use multi-syllabled words in the wrong context. “My baby mama always be running up to me justifying me for some money. I be wanted to get my gun and infiltrate her ass.”
You won’t give him the time of day because he is about five grand behind in child support, has a Metro or Cricket phone (That just screams bad credit.), and every time he comes by to see you in his ’92 Honda Accord, he smells like Cool Water cologne and is rocking a mix of South Pole and US Polo Association from head to toe. But, it doesn’t stop there, he is constantly calling your cell phone and texting you. He ends up getting his phone cut off every other week, so he text you from his TracPhone asking you “do U want 2 hng owt” and “wat u don 2day bbygrl.” After about a month or so, you end up telling him that you’re a female impersonator. 9/10 he will disappear like Cheri Dennis’ career, but there is a slight chance he is into that kinky ish.
Miss Puppy Litter
“I told I had kids when we first met”
So, you go out on a date with a woman for the sixth time, and one night you end up trying to get some cutty. You have wined and dined this woman, and when you get into the house, you see a teenager on the couch playing Grand Theft Auto Vice City. You ask your date, “This your little cousin?” And she slyly responds, “Naw. That’s my son.”
Now, she’s been hiding the fact that she had kids very well, and she expects you to be okay with she has 5 kids by three different men and has never been married. This is a burden on you as you’re probably single, attractive, employed, and don’t wanna play step daddy nobodies kids, especially if they look “unfortunate” in the face.
When you on the phone and you hear a baby in the background, she tells you that she works at a daycare downtown, but this chick really works as a shift supervisor at Rainbow. Yeah, she’s pretty, and you’d have never guessed she had kids; you never looked at her stomach through (or even had the chance to) because she’s had so many Cesarean sections that it looks like she got into a fight with a pack of swisher blades!
Then you find out the niggas that was calling your phone, threatening to “fuck you up if they find out who you are” are actually her gang banging baby fathers who don’t pay child support. These are hardcore niggas. They make money through drug deals and temp jobs (For example: packing up Honey Dew Passion Mist Fruit Body Wash from Victoria’s Secret) and take good care of they kids. So, it’s best you not mess with this chick. Don’t even try to cuss her out for not telling you that she had a litter of children running around her house with snotty noses and nappy heads. She’s gonna get her baby daddies Siphon, Kamal, and Dirty Chicago to run up in your spot and hang you by a rope-a.
Mr. I’m Going to Get Back On My Feet
“My credit score gets a disability check!”
Ever met that nigga who just ain’t shit? He don’t do nothing with his life but live off his unemployment checks and extra money from his momma Bingo winnings? Dass dis nigga rie’ heyah. Not only is his main form of communication Ebonics but he swears up and down that he’s the finest thing walking and expects you to baby him.
He drives a nice truck that he is supposed to pay $499 a month for. But, he hides it in his homeboys backyard so it won’t get repossessed (If you pay $500 a month on just a car note, that car better transform into a magic carpet!) and only drives it at night or when his mama lets him switch out the tags. The interior of his car is a bit messed up because his baby mama took a butcher knife to his leather seats, and on the roof of his car you can read “Bicth!” written by his girlfriend before you with her car keys and misspelled all at the same time!
He likes to eat and run. He lives off left over Sunday plates of greens, candied yams, ham, and chitterlings from his mama.
He’s got a son that is almost a teenager, but the son stays with his baby mama. His baby mama also ain’t doing nothing with her life. She spends three or four hours a day going through your Facebook and sits around an extra hour putting in CAPTCHA codes (She’s trying to hack into your account.). He also doesn’t talk to him baby mama much because she’s a “gold digging ass bitch.” He has a big casino habit, so every Wednesday, he’s hitting up the slot machines. That sock full of nickels always comes back empty, though.
His hygiene is horrid. He only takes a shower when you’re about to come over, and when you spend a couple of days with him, you end up leaving because you can’t endure his train smoke breath or the hippopotamus butter around his balls.
Every time you ask him to go out to eat, he never suggests to take you anywhere that does not have a dollar menu. The expensive restaurants, to him, are Applebees and Chinese take-out. Red Lobster is four star dining and out of his budget.
Don’t say I never gave y’all nothing for free.
Who Not To Date [Volume I]
May 6, 2010
I haven’t watched America’s Next Top Model since last week’s episode, and I was going to actually blog about how I think that girl from New York, Angelea, got high and tried to play it off with a random club walk. Tyra pro’lly knew she was smoking on that kush as she walked through the doe and didn’t wanna disqualify her.
But first, I want to show you something that I found on Twitter. I love it.
I support this Twitter account more than Mo’nique can get support from her girdle.
I got some request from the three people that take the time to read my blog to do a blog post on the types of people that you should not date. If you know someone in a relationship with someone like this, please pull an Angela Bassett-getcho shit and get out!
First up.
Mister Mount Missionary Position Evangelical Baptist
“All thanks and glory be to God who is the head of my life.”
This guy is one of the most talented me you will ever meet. He’s single. He drives a nice car. He ain’t got no bad ass kids. He looks like a squirrel with down syndrome, but you get over it because his resumé makes Ke$ha look like she has talent. But, the only problem is that he exudes Jesus Christ. You can’t get anything across to him because not only has he read the Bible backwards, he has been anointed with the sweat of Jesus Christ that makes all things possible through the Lord which is his strength and you’re a normal human being and thou shalt never be on the same pedestal as the man that died for our sins. All conversations end in an argument about living a Christian life. Even worse, he’s using his spirituality to hide that he is a closeted homosexual. Snap in a circle three times.
How Stella Got Her Prada Purse
“Sponsor this pussy.”
She was the high school prom queen, dating the star football player and basketball player simultaneously, and now she’s ready to settle down after living her baller lifestyle. She thinks she’s ready to settle down. You can’t tell this girl shit. You’re only with her because she looks good on your arm, and it makes you feel good when your homies are slobbering at the mouth when she comes around. You know she’s probably smashed a couple homies before, but you don’t care. Not only has she withheld the nookie from you, she’s an added utility bill: new shoes every paycheck, fine dining every meal, wants to wipe her ass with silk toilet paper from Cambodia. She wants it all. She’s not a gold digger, she’s just too high classed for you. Her Mozilla Firefox history is full of Mediatakeout and Necolebitchie. She’ll suck your homeboys dick before she sucks yours. Agent Double Oh Seven, meet Mission Impossible. Once your cash flow starts running short and you can no longer afford those $200 monthly sew-ins, she’s on to the next nigga. Pussy don’t come for free. Ask Kelis.
The Internet Barbie
“Shantalyeshé Fuccaniccamoneymakemecum Jefferson-Minaj”
She thinks she’s a model because she takes pictures in her molly mirror with her Kyocera phone with her face turned to the side with “five star bitch” plastered on top of it. She’s making big moves because she has over 12,000 friends on Myspace, but she also creates groups with 6,000 or more members on Facebook like “Not Throwing Out the Chicken Grease” and “Looking at the Toilet Paper When You Get Through Wiping.” She’s constantly on her phone checking her Facebook status and making sure that she doesn’t lose any followers on Twitter cause “My followers be waiting on me to tweet some retweetable ish.” Nicki Minaj is her biggest influence as she has chosen to glue in some 3-tone fluorescent Plython Yaki to the back of her head and most of her pictures are of her pouting with Times New Roman font plastered all over them. She is more likely to break up with you through texting, Facebook, Myspace, Twitter, BlackPlanet, GoDaddy, Hotmail, AND through pigeon mail before she is to do it in person.
Don’t never say I ain’t do nothing for y’all for free.
What Chilli Wants? A Bottle of Brown Gel.
April 29, 2010
Babyhairs don’t come cheap when it comes to Chilli. She knows she has the best babies in the game. Brandy knows Chilli has the best babies in the game. Lil Kim knows Chilli has the best babies in the game.
Ginuwine knows Chilli has the best babies in the game.
All this brown gel from Beauty and Beyond wasted. Chilli should have flipped the table over and walked up out that bitch and screamed, “I coulda had a V8!” Then, just out of nowhere, she could have performed a medley of “No Scrubs” and “And It Kills Me,” regardless of copyright laws and all that gibberhoo.
To be stood up on national television is a clutchfuckery of proportions that madness cannot handle. The producers edited out Chilli calling back and telling Floyd, “I hate you Jody!” and texting him random obscenities and pleading afterward to delete the naked pictures out of his phone.
Like the good friend that she is, of course, Tionna was there to comfort Chilli with words of common sense, co-signing, and wearing a random sequin hat that should have stayed on that rack at Burlington.
“Gurr, Floyd wasn’t right foe you. Look at my hat. I knew he was gone do this, so I woe this hat to cheer you up. Yoon need a nun ass nucka in yo life. Chilli fuck that nucka… Unpop yo pussy and move on. He wasn’t right foe you anteeway. “
Chilli felt much better after the she thought about Tionna’s invisble lace front hair line.
“This ain’t obvious at all. Chilli bought this for me at the mufucking Mardi Graw.”
Chilli wasted no time putting those baby hairs to use, however, as she went out to the club with Tionna and got really busy on some random dance floor.
Or maybe that was Toni Braxton.
The Shug Avery Piss Pot 