Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Conditional Pussy

Everyday, the temperature creeps up a little bit the more, the sun stays out a little bit longer, and some women roam the streets wearing clothes that leave little to the imagination. Yes, ladies and gentleman: spring is upon us, and with that comes a solid reminder that it’s time for many seasonal pussy owners to get ready for their summertime hibernation. “What is seasonal pussy?” you may ask. I’ll get into that next, along with other types of conditional pussy.

Seasonal Pussy
Some woman conveniently become celibate during certain times of the year, and it’s not because they can’t get a nigga. They just can’t get a nigga to fit into their normal criteria. Mainly because the dudes they would normally be involved with are out chasing anything but them. A somewhat fat and/or mildly unattractive female with her own place and/or car and one or no kids makes for excellent late fall – early spring pussy, simply because nobody is making major moves during the bad weather months. So you really don’t have to be seen with her, but all the same, her house is the chill spot where a dude can spend 4 to 5 months eating up her groceries and watching her cable. All that in-the-house chilling is probably how she got the first kid. Now, on the other hand, the cute hood unemployed baby mother makes excellent late spring – early fall pussy. She can’t really go out unless her oldest child is old enough to babysit (this is rarity). She has tons of free time. If today is the day you decide to play hooky from work, she’s definitely the one to spend it with. She’s down to fuck and just simply happy to be spending time away from her kids and her other baby momma ass homies.

Dot Com Pussy
You’re the chick with all the jazzy half naked bathroom pics. Yeah, a nigga’s gonna holla. When you look like you’ll come off that pussy after the slightest twitter DM, why not take a shot? But, he doesn’t take you seriously. Can you imagine the conversation with his child about how he met you? “Well son, your mother had an iPhone and a fixation for taking barely clothed pictures in the bathroom. You couldn’t beat the resolution on the iPhone back then. It was so clear. I felt like I knew her. A lot of other guys were trying their hand, but she chose me (and maybe your Uncle Bobby, but I never got to the bottom up that)” You’re pretty much like a short term jump off. Even if on the rare occasion you get dinner and a movie, it’s only considered a necessary evil… all with one goal of getting in them cheeks.

Throw Back Pussy
Your birthday was within the last 30 days and it popped up on his FB notifications or he ran into you at Costco last Sunday and you were way phatter than he previously noticed or he saw you at a Cinco de Mayo happy hour and started flirting again. Yeah, you get the point. Somehow someway, you pop up, and the thought of sampling that pussy again doesn’t seem like a bad idea. No future is in store for you two… just some drinks, some laughs, a meal, and hopefully some sex. Please don’t look too far into that random text from Mr. Yesterday.

Luther Vandross “If Only for One Night” Pussy
Not to be confused with the common term “one night stand pussy”. “Only for one night pussy” normally comes via dire circumstances. Some prime examples are…
1. Taking one for the team pussy - because sometimes the wingman has to go all the way with the “Grenade” in order for his friend to cross the finish line.
2. Binge drinking pussy - Somewhere between your 5th and 17th drink, your standards dropped way lower than usual. In turn, you ended up sticking your dick in a girl that you’d be ashamed to be seen with even in the presence of crackheads.
3. I thought you were better looking in all that shit you had on pussy - you body magic owners, pushup bra wearers, booty pop pretenders, or if liquor and club lights just make you look like a star… this goes out to you. We got you home. We got you naked. It was nowhere near what we expected so after the deed was done, we walked out your door and immediately deleted your number.
All these types of pussy fall under that “if only for one night” pussy.

Are you the owner of conditional pussy?
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Monday, May 23, 2011

I Don’t Support Black Businesses

I Don’t Support Black Businesses

Yeah… That title might put you coons off a bit, but stick with me for a minute or two while I break it down.

You know how you can walk into GAP, buy a red T-shirt, and proceeds go to babies dying of AIDS in Africa. Although you really didn’t want or need a red T-shirt, (not to mention Target got Hanes 3-packs for half the price of that solo T) you got it from GAP. Just knowing that some of the money from your purchase went to a good cause warmed your heart. Nothing like that ever happens to me when I buy black. Ok, maybe the bucks I spend are going to Ray-Ray Jr’s college fund, but let’s be realistic most likely my bucks are going to P Diddy’s drop top MayBach fund.

How my money is spent
When I go out and spend my hard-earned money, (by the way I’m on the clock sitting at my desk right now listening to Cee-Lo, watching Game of Thrones via HBO Go, texting Ms. New Pussy, and writing this blog) I look for a few factors: (1) quality, (2) service, (3) price, and (4) convenience. If your business covers 3 out of those 4, my money’s with you. Normally, when it comes to black products or business, none of my criteria are met. Only in Spike Lee movies are corner stores in the hood actually owned and/or operated by blacks. The Asian nigga from the Hangover cousins got the corner store game locked in real life. The last time I set foot in a black corner store, they had a bevy of hair care products, salt & vinegar potato chips, orange soda, sunflower seeds, cigarettes, 4Loko, and not shit else. Not that I have anything against those products, but when I’m looking for a roll of toilet paper and a carton of eggs, ain’t shit a Dark-n-Lovely perm can do for me. Not to mention people that work in black owned businesses always act like you’re bothering them… as if you forced that motherfucker to quit high school and get a felony so that the corner store is his only option for employment.
Customer - Excuse me; do have any copies left of today’s paper?
Store employee - Did you look by the sign that says “Newspapers”?
Customer - Yes, but I didn’t see any.
Store employee - Well, there’s your answer. **returns to rolling J on counter***
*For the white people who have tuned into this blog because they agree with the title: a “J” is a marijuana cigarette*

Blacks can only really sell food, drugs, and sneakers well
I don’t know who owns DTLR, but every time I set foot in the store, there’s a black person collecting the money. With that said, I buy almost entirely all my sneakers there because they always have the styles I’m interested in. Right across the street, there’s a Footlocker. Now, 90% of the time, there’s a black person behind the counter, but I know for a fact a black person isn’t running the show because they have a devastating shortage of Jordan’s and niggas love Jordan’s. I haven’t sold a drug in long long longgggg time, (well at least not on the hand to hand level) but without fail, every week a person (no matter what their race is) asks me for drugs. Today, I’m wearing a slim fitting V-neck white T-shirt, grey Rock & Republic jeans, Dolce & Gabbana eyeglasses because I’m blind as fuck, and Louis Vuitton shoes. When I looked in the mirror this morning, I didn’t look a damn thing like Gucci Mane, Young Jeezy, or any other drug dealing rapper, but that didn’t stop a teenaged Hispanic girl from asking me, “Where the loud at?” You want to know why? Because black people are known for selling drugs probably via stereotypes started by “New York Undercover,” “The Wire,” and of course your neighborhood corner boy. You ever notice that Popeye’s fried chicken has absolutely nothing to do with “Popeye” Doyle from “The French Connection” or “Popeye the sailor”? Those two dudes can’t sell fried chicken. Instead you see that random black woman holding a bucket of chicken and yelling coonish shit about her “special” mix of spices in every commercial. I’m sure she’s of no relation to Alvin Copeland (the white man that started this). All of this because black people can sell fried chicken and soul food; I don’t think a Sailor with a corn pipe and deformed forearms slanging chicken would have the same effect.
What’s in it for me?
If I go out and drop 100 bucks on a fresh RocaWear sweatsuit, I can’t write that shit off at the end of the year (not that I would wear RocaWear, Sean John, or any other ├╝ber coon label, but I might be slightly more motivated to if I knew it was coming back to me). Is the government giving me a tax write-off for these Rock & Republics I have on? Fuck no… but, the $250 spent is worth the 5+ years I can wear them. That RocaWear sweatsuit is guaranteed to (1) go outta style by then or (2) fade and shrink in the washing machine. When I roll up in a Tyler Perry flick to see a good old-fashioned male bashing or even worse a grown man dressed as a gun toting Grandmother jumping around and acting a fool, there is no payoff other than the embarrassment I feel being seen walking out of the theatre. The money I spend on black products, entertainment, and businesses doesn’t trickle back down to me or my community, contrary to you coons’ beliefs. How many times has the soul food spot in your neighborhood sent a child from your neighborhood to college off the money they make? ... Yeah, I’ll wait. There is no incentive to buy black besides the fact that we all share a similar skin color… unfortunately, the only color I’m interested in is green… money green to be precise.

So much for Ray-Ray’s scholarship fund
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Friday, May 13, 2011

Dude Face, Facial Hair, and Other Female Physical Tragedies

I know it’s hard enough being a woman already between mechanics trying to take advantage, PMS, and bunions from high heeled shoes. (Yeah, ya’ll got it tough.) Even having to deal with all that, sometimes your bodies do strange and downright horrible things. Here’re my top 5 female physical tragedies…

1) Dude Face
I think the Latin name for it is something like “Vir Visio”. There’re a lot chicks walking the streets with bodies that could rival most video vixens but faces that could rival most professional boxers. I blogged “Ass is Forever” a while ago. ((, and what I said still holds true… ass is still immortal. But, that doesn’t mean shit if you’re walking around looking like Sugar Shane Mosley in the face. You all have seen a dude face bitch before… the joint that steps out of the store in front of you as you’re walking down the street, and everything about her body says “yes”. So you walk a little faster to get in front of her, turn around slyly, and at first glace… the dude face says “nooooo”. It’s unfortunate that these women can’t just be plain old ugly but instead have been cursed to look like drag queens for the rest of their natural lives. Actually, on second thought being straight out busted is way worse than having a dude face… at least dude face bitches give you something good to look at from the back.

2) Muffin Top
I don’t know the exact cause of muffin top, but that shit is just rough looking. I mean, how do you get a wraparound gut that just oozes over your waistline? I’ve never seen a nude muffin top, but I can only guess it might invoke a gag reflex. I’ve also never seen a chick recover from a muffin top. Once a muffin top… always a muffin a top unless it transforms into a full out FUPA (fat upper pussy area). Either way, that mushroom shape belly can’t be sexy.

3) Raisin Belly
Out of the miracle of childbirth comes raisin belly. Whoever thought something so beautiful could result in a midsection that looks as if it has been mauled by a tiger? The fucked up thing about raisin belly is it catches you by surprise. You’ll be midway thru putting the moves on Ms. New Pussy, and when that shirt comes off, a stomach that strongly resembles worn-in shoe leather pops out at you. You try to play it cool so you don’t fuck up your chances cracking the joint, but surely disgust is written all over your face. Yeah, raisin belly’s some sad shit. Does anybody know if that jazzy stretch mark cream actually works? As expensive as it may be, ladies please realize that a kissable midsection is priceless, and go head cop that shit.

4) The Bearded Lady
There may be nothing less appealing than a bitch with a goatee… well unless she has a full beard (no Rick Ross). I’m puzzled by the lack of motivation of females to shave, wax, tweeze, or laser that shit off. It really baffles me how a chick’s pussy will be perfectly shaven, Mr. Miyagi style, but the amount of hair on her face shits on mine. Even worse is to see a woman with perfectly arched eyebrows but a hairy top lip. Bitch, you got your priorities fucked up. Let that unibrow ride, at least until you tackle that 5 o’clock shadow kicking it around your mouth.

5) Third World Titties and The Other Assortment of Subpar Breast
Due to Victoria’s “Secret” chances are you won’t know what those fun bags are hitting on before the actual moment of truth, unless you’re lucky enough to get pre-sex freaky pics. Sidenote: I love you exhibitionist bitches. Finding consistent nice titties while dating women over the age of 25 is like finding black people in the hood with good credit… the chances aren’t that great. I’ve had sex with at least 10 women who have never revealed their subpar titties to me. In retrospect, I thank them, especially after all the horrible titties I witnessed, excluding shitty porn and National Geographic tribal documentaries. There’s a plethora of bad breast out here… triangle flat titties, long skinny stretch mark boobs, baseball-in-a-sock knockers, and all other types of 2nd rate tits. So I ran out of things to call breast… fuck it; sue me.

Honorable Mention: Deep Voice
Every once in a while I’ll get blinded by a chick’s phatness or fineness or the venue will just deafen out the actual sound of her voice. Then after a couple days of random texting back and forth (since people nowadays rarely talk on the phone), a phone call finally occurs…
JD – Hello; can I speak to Keisha?
Keisha – This is her (in her Rick Ross voice).
JD – You got a cold or something?
Keisha – No; why did you say that?
JD – It must be my phone. Let me call you right back.
But, the whole time I’m thinking this bitch sound way more like a Tyrone than a Keisha… Yeah, I won’t be calling her back.

Sorry ladies; in some aspects, men just got it easier.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Hold up We Ain’t Fucking

There’re certain things members of the opposite sex shouldn’t do if they aren’t having sex. And by “not having sex”, I mean don’t be expecting any of the following shit if I haven’t recently stuck my penis in you OR by simply dialing your number, I could currently stick my penis in you…

The Come Over and “Chill” move
Ok, prior to the age of 17 (unless you are/were a broke college student) there is no reason to just be sitting in the house looking at each other unless some fucking is about to take place. If I invite a girl over, who’s not just my homie, trust and believe I fully plan on sticking my penis in her sometime during that visit. Believe it or not, I’m not the only one that feels that way. Just think of all the times you’ve been invited to a dude’s house, thought you were going over for casual conversation, and ended up getting fucked. It seems like “oh, we just hit it off that night.” Sorry to burst your bubble, but he orchestrated that whole visit thinking about the sex or the possibility of it. It’s 2011, the era of Skype and all that jazzy shit; if I want to see you minus fucking, I can just call you. Why the fuck do I need to invite you over, waste my good liquor, and watch a boring ass movie if there’s no chance of getting my dick wet?

Making out for the sake of making out
I don’t know about you, but I’m grown. It’s been a very long time since I’ve embarked on a mean game of kissy face just for the sake of rounding bases. I won’t even kiss a girl if I’m not at least 95% sure it will lead up to fucking within the next 20 minutes. You know how your parents used to tell you not to kiss boys because “kissing leads to other things”? Well, call them and tell them they were right; kissing almost always leads to fucking in Jean DeGrate’s world.

The “I’m home” text
Nothing blows my life more than a random ass 4am, “I’m home. Goodnight,” text. I’m always tempted to reply, “I was sleep, but now I’m wide awake. So fuck you.” I don’t even understand the purpose of the “I’m home” text. Trust me, I’m not sitting around, in the wee hours of the night, holding my phone waiting on you to get home from the club, my crib or where ever else the night has taken you. You’ll never get a response that reads, “Thank Sweet Baby Jesus. Something in my heart told me you might not make it. Lord only knows how I ever made it through the night without getting a confirmation of your safe passage.” Unless that half-drunken text at 4AM says, “I’m home. Come over so I can suck your dick,” JD’s not checking for that shit.

The after 11pm weekday phone call
The possibility of me being awake around 11pm is relatively high no matter what day of the week it is. Shit, I don’t even put my daughter to bed until about 10. Still, I absolutely don’t look forward to that 11 o’clock just shooting the breeze conversation. Any non-emergency, non-the-meanest-story-ever convo should start with, “Hey, are you sleep? Because I’m about to try on this new lingerie, and I was wondering if you would swing through to tell me what you think.”

The “Hey stranger” text or the “Where you been?” call
If you text me, “Hey stranger,” there’s a 1 out of a million chance that you’ll get a response. I honestly don’t believe I’ve ever responded to one, but I’m leaving that possibility open for when a super fine joint I forgot existed decides to hit me up out of the blue. It’s safe to assume if you’ve sent that text, but still haven’t heard from me that chick ain’t you… Sorry. Now, there’s nothing more annoying than answering the phone to, “Where you been?” Did we have plans and I stood you up? I haven’t been out of town, and I’ve been relatively active on FaceBook and Twitter so I haven’t went into recluse mode either. So when asked where I been, I guess I’ve been everywhere but with you… Now get the fuck off my phone with that dumb shit.

I’m sorry; we ain’t fucking so you aren’t privy to such things.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Cheaters: The 3 Divisions

Before I start this blog, I must disclaim that everyone isn’t a cheater. But, this blog is about the 95% of people that are. I know we like to think that “a cheater is a cheater”, but the fact of the matter is that all cheaters aren’t built the same. Cheaters normally come in 3 divisions: (1) the professional, (2) the opportunist, and (3) the “something like a relationship” cheater.

1 The Professional
He is normally very attractive, financially well off, and/or benefits from some sort of privileges that render him more desirable to females than the average nigga. These powerful attributes often give him the “Bitches are like buses. Miss one next 15 one coming” attitude. Even if a quality chick left, another would be along shortly; so regardless of his relationship status, he continues to seek out other women. He has a main chick, a mistress, and a ton of random women sitting on the sideline. No matter how great his number 1 is or how bomb her pussy may be, this dude will almost always have a number 2 or 3 or 4 and sometimes a 5. You may very well wonder, “Why settle down if all he’s gonna do is cheat?” Well, the answer is… he’s simply locking down the starting girl on his roster all the while making sure the girls on the sideline don’t get restless. To professional cheaters, girlfriends are just guaranteed pussy. At the end of the night, if Ms. New Pussy decides not to fuck, he knows he can always go home to his girl. There is also a girl version of the professional cheater. She usually isn’t super paid, incredibly good looking, or in any position of influence, and society plainly refers to her as a “hoe”. The female professional cheater need not have a lot going for them; they simply have to be in possession of an extremely friendly pussy.

2 The Opportunist
Unlike the professional, the opportunist isn’t a serial cheater. He’s not looking for a sideline chick. In fact, the dude is actually happy with his girlfriend, no matter how basic she may be. (Yea, for some reason, these niggas always play the weakest joints close, but hey… that’s another blog.) In order for this guy to cheat pretty much everything just has to be going in his favor within a particular moment. For example, it’s a guys’ night out and some attractive female is giving him the eye... the eye turns into flirting…and the flirting turns into a one night stand. Or he just happened to be at a crazy bachelor party where the stripper decided the best man should get a “freebie”. The catch here is that he fucks ‘em and leaves ‘em. Unlike Mr. Professional Cheater, he’s not entertaining several bitches simultaneously, and Ms. New Pussy doesn’t ever have the option of being “girlfriend # 2”. He is arguably the hardest cheater to catch because it’s hard to leave a trail after one shot of ass with no strings attached. He answers numbers that he doesn’t know with confidence and leaves his phone facing up while unlocked because he’s sure there are no skeletons waiting to pop out.

3 The “Something Like a Relationship” Cheater
This is the most reckless form of the cheater, and most of them are women. The two parties work together or play on the same co-ed flag football team (totally random, but why the fuck is flag football so damn popular?) or even belong to the same gym. Either way, they are guaranteed to cross each other’s paths and interact in some form or fashion. It goes from casual conversation to flirting to lunches to drinks to fucking to an entire mini top secret relationship. Fights, feelings, breaks, and breakups are all included. This type of cheater is typically female for a couple reasons: (1) Men don’t have the time or the “give a fuck” to hold down two relationships at once. (2) Men, even professional cheaters, aren’t looking for love on the side. It’s strictly about the pussy. Men don’t care to date outside of their relationship. They just want to fuck. Women initially think they just want to fuck too, but it never fails that they fall in love with that outside dick, and their main relationship is affected.

What type of cheater are you?
Jean DeGrate is wondering

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

I’m Not the Pappy

***Yeah a lot of you women aren’t gonna like what I’m about to say, but I’ve had this conversation with a few single mothers lately, and it’s time for it to be a blog.***

My pop was a no show
Real talk, my dad was a deadbeat for no good reason (not that there really is ever a good reason to be a deadbeat dad, but that nigga didn’t even have a halfway decent excuse). He wasn’t on drugs or the bottle. He wasn’t in and out of jail. That nigga was just off doing him and blamed it on my mother for keeping us a part. Technically, my Uncle Glen was my father. He was the only constant male figure in my life. He bought me Christmas gifts, did school pop ups, and cut my hair in the kitchen (Check the Twitter profile pic. That’s his handy work.) He even beat my ass when I fucked up. Retrospectively, I realize he didn’t have to do all that shit. But, I was his blood relative so I can see how he could have felt obligated to step into my deadbeat dad’s shoes. However, what I can’t see is stepping into a deadbeat dad’s shoes to take care of a child you’re not related to all because you fuck with his mama. (And by “fuck with” I mean “are not married to”… so yeah, all you “girlfriend” ass bitches are included.)

Now I’m a daddy
I only ever wanted one child. Granted my reasons for this are selfish, but now I got that one and only, and I’m done. I spoil my child. She’s 3 with an iPad, and 90% of her clothing is Ralph Lauren. She’s expensive and time consuming; I don’t have the budget or the time for another child, especially one that ain’t mine. When a new chick comes along, I always hope she comes along with her own kid(s)… and yeah, I also hope they come along with their own dadd(ies) too.

Take from mine to give to yours
I know this sounds fucked up, but every single dime I spend on another child I feel like I’m stealing from my child; aside from Christmas, birthdays, even a happy meal here and there won’t send me into chapter 11. I just can’t see full out supporting another man’s child to the extent of which I support my own. Oh because your came along with a child, my child is supposed to stop wearing Ralph Lauren and switch to Old Navy? I can’t chance it. Would my child be just fine wearing Old Navy and Children’s Place? Yeah, most likely she would be. Would she be ok if I didn’t buy every DVD or toy she points out while we’re at Target? Chances are she would survive that too. In no form or fashion can I say my daughter needs half the shit that I buy her. But, fuck it. I can afford it, she’s a good kid, and I’M HER DADDY. So as long as I can’t see any reason for her not to have the shit that she wants, she’ll continue to get it all. If a chick came along with a kid, and by some miracle from God I decided to bun her, am I realistically supposed to not give my own child the shit she wants so I can help take care of a kid that I didn’t help make? Honestly, if there are two kids in your household (one biologically yours and the other not) would you opt not to send your child to private school simply because you couldn’t scrap up the money to send the other?

Where that kid daddy at?
Unless that child’s daddy is pushing up daisies somewhere in somebody’s grave yard, he should be actively playing his part. And if not, does it really mean it’s my job to fill in gaps where that man falls short for whatever reason or excuse? With that said, I don’t expect my significant other to pick up the tab on my seed. I had MY kid so I’m going to clothe, feed, discipline, and do whatever else is needed for MY kid... YOUR kid is his/her daddy’s responsibility... period.

“You’re not my daddy”
This little nigglet is dead on with these words every time he utters them. I’ve seen many dudes toting around somebody else’s kid trying to play substitute daddy, and shit. Niggas get attached and comfortable, feeling all father-like, walking around with the kid’s pictures in his wallet, and holding his head up proud... only for deadbeat daddy to have a change of heart and toss that nigga out of the picture like yesterday’s news. Not to mention my personal favorite when substitute daddy lays the smack down on the next man’s kid all of sudden he gets hit with the “Don’t hit my kid. You’re not his daddy.” It’s always not your kid when it’s time to discipline the lil’ nigglet, but it’s your kid when it’s time to foot the bill for the lil’ nigglet’s Christmas gifts. Or even worst, what are you gonna do when deadbeat dad pops up out of thin air to put a foot in your ass for hitting his kid? At that point, it won’t matter who was daddy for 6 birthdays in a row. I’m not trying to rain on these substitute daddies parades; this is just a firm reminder that no matter how much you do, it still doesn’t make you official. At the end of the day, daddy is always going to be the man that contributed to half of the child’s DNA, and if he comes back around no one is going to give a fuck that you’ve been contributing to half of the child’s expenses.

This point a view might keep me single forever, but hey I’m still fine and as of yet, it hasn’t kept baby mamas from giving me the pussy. So I’m good.
Jean DeGrate ain’t that boy daddy