How to Get Him to Stop Calling

Ok ladies, bitches, and hoes, I’m back with more advice to help you get out of another predicament women often find themselves in: when you’re not interested, and a guy just won’t get the message. There’re a few ways to tackle this situation depending on The Thirst level he exhibits, financial status, and whether he knows where you work or live.

***Disclaimer: This only works if you haven’t given him the cheeks. If he’s already smashed or even come close to smashing, (i.e. you let him suck your left titty) you may just have to sacrifice a farm animal to The Thirst Gods because JD can’t help you.***
 

Option 1: Ask him for money
A dude can damn near be in love with you, but when you try to get at those pockets without him even getting to second base that “love” takes a left. Don’t ask for any short shit like 100 bucks. Tell him you’re fucked up and facing eviction, need money for an emergency pinky toe transplant, trying to get your lacefront off of lay-a-way, or anything that comes to mind at the time. You’ve got to make it a large sum, 2 grand or better. (Sidenote: If you’ll spend 2 stacks on a lacefront, aka hair helmet, you have way bigger problems than this thirsty nigga on your back.)  Will he give you money? Fuck no, but you better believe those calls, texts, and FaceBook pokes will calm all the way down. Actually, if he’s a baller type-of nigga, or fronting to be such like most of these lames, you may get your 2 grand, but I’ll guarantee you, he will start calling you much less. When he does call just say, “I hope you have some good news for me”. I guarantee it will be a really short conversation.

Option 2: Tell him your ex is about to come home from jail, and you want to work it out with him
The run-of-the-mill Simp will try to talk you out of being with your ex if your ex is just a regular around-the-way dude, but having an ex-con ex-boyfriend is a totally different ball game. He’s coming home from jail, which means no matter what you decide to do, he’s still coming home, and no dude wants to be the guy keeping a recently incarcerated nigga from getting some pussy. The fallback will be imminent.
 

Option 3: Your baby daddy is crazy
Since most black women over 25 have at least one kid, most of you chicks can use this. Shit, even if you don’t have kids, you probably could still use this. After all, if you aren’t interested, I’m sure you haven’t talked to the nigga about such details of your life; so just lie and say you have a baby or two… and a crazy baby daddy or two. A crazy baby daddy is some of the heaviest baggage a woman can have, especially since baby daddies are permanent and all. You can never gage the craziness of a baby daddy. He could be the “don’t have no nigga around my kids” crazy all the way up to the “sitting in your living room with the lights out waiting for you to come home to ask what’s your business with his lady” crazy. You may think the thirsty nigga is about that life, but real talk, no dude wants any parts of that.

Option 4: Be brutally honest
There’re only a handful of women who are going to give a dude that real talk; regrettably, most of those women are gold digging bitches. If you tell that nigga straight up, “Look here, me and you are never going to happen, and no I don’t want to be friends, not even on FaceBook. Don’t follow me on twitter; don’t Skype me; don’t call; don’t text; don’t even think about me nigga,” his pride won’t let him contact you again. I know you’re thinking, “But, I don’t want to be mean.” Cool, don’t be mean. Just have this dude irking the shit out of you until he finally decides to call it quits. According to published reports; The Thirst normally lasts anywhere between 3 months and 10 years. Please believe me; telling him to fuck off is the easy way out.

If you know he isn’t going to get the point on his own, it’s time to get creative.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

How to Cancel That Nigga

“It’s rules to this shit. I wrote me a manual.” – Biggie “The 10 Crack Commandments”

Women have a nasty habit of letting a dude hang around way… way… way after the relationship has died. For example, I know chicks that still pick up the phone for dudes they can’t stand (or at least they claim they can’t stand). I know chicks in relationships with dudes they hate, like that “consider fucking his best friends” or “suffocating him in his sleep” type of hate, but still hang in there off some Sam Cooke shit… but a change ain’t coming. I’m kind of an expert on this cancellation shit. (Please refer back to my “Perks of Being a Prick” blog.) So since most women seem incapable of cancelling niggas on their own, here’s the Jean DeGrate guide to cancelling that nigga…

Step 1: Keep track of the dumb shit

Chances are this isn’t the first time you’ve wanted to tell that nigga to kick rocks, but women have a funny kind of memory; it’s like when they are happy with a dude, they forget all the shit they were previously unhappy about. So I need you to write down all the reasons you want him to be gone. Don’t forget about the time he got those parking tickets on your car that he never told you about only for you to walk out of the nail shop to find a boot on your car. And, don’t forget his “play sister” from FB was sending all those freaked out pics to his cell during booty call hours for like a month last summer. Oh, and don’t let it slip your mind that he had dinner with his ex twice when he told you he was working late, and if wasn’t for Keisha sitting at the bar, you wouldn’t have ever known. All of a sudden when some new dumb shit comes out, it’s a deal breaker as if all those things in the past weren’t. If you keep track of the dumb shit, “enough” will be “enough” much sooner.  You wouldn’t even have to wait until the lease is up because you would have never moved in with the fool to start with.

Step 2: Delete, Delete, Delete… then BLOCK

“Out of sight… out of mind” really works. Delete him from your contacts. I know what you’re thinking, but no, it doesn’t matter if you have his home, work, and cell numbers and email addresses memorized. Delete it all the same. If you don’t see it when you’re scrolling thru your contacts, there will be less of a temptation to call him up. I know how you women do when you all just sit there looking at his number while debating to hit the send button or not. Block his number as well; with the help of Android software and multiple apps, you can even send his number straight to voicemail without even knowing he called. Delete and block him from FB, Twitter, Google+, MySpace, and even BlackPlanet. (I don’t care if you don’t log onto MySpace or BlackPlanet anymore; make the special trip to delete his ass.) Block all of his email addresses, even the one that he set up just for party promotion spam because a desperate nigga will start pulling out all the tricks to contact you once he’s cancelled. Delete and block his mother’s numbers, his sister’s numbers, and everybody else’s number you saved when you were trying to slide yourself into his circle of friends and family. Delete all of his text messages, even those really sweet ones that you look at from time to time before you go to bed just to make yourself smile. Delete all of his old emails; even delete the ones you sent him. Discard the contents of his drawer at your house; his boxers, socks, and T-shirts all need to go. If it makes you feel better, take yourself on a shopping spree just to fill up that empty drawer with your own shit. Delete all of his pics from your FaceBook, in your digital camera, and in your cell phone. This is probably the hardest set of instructions to follow. If you leave any one of these things undone, it will probably come back to haunt you in the future. You don’t need to be randomly searching for a work email and stumble across the “I love Mario” folder in Outlook three months from now. I know it seems harmless, but 89% of rekindled flames are sparked that exact way (real talk 89% is a made up number, but it sounds good and I know of enough cases to justify it).

Step 3: Go find something do with yourself

There’s nothing like a break-up to truly let you know how much time you spent with your ex. It almost seems as if days get way longer. In order for this cancellation to work, you will need to start filling up that void quickly. The best way to keep somebody off your mind is to keep yourself occupied. Hit the gym, and if you already hit the gym today, hit the gym again…harder. Get a hobby. Take an online class or two. Go on some dates. I’m very pro “single chicks dating even if they don’t really care for the dude.” Fuck it... Fake it. You bitches be faking whole orgasms, but can’t fake a genuine conversation to get free dinners, movies, and drinks. Shit; if chicks were asking me out and footing the bill, I’d be on a date every single night. Since that’s the case for females, now that you are freshly single, it’s time to capitalize on it. And, on the bright side of things, you might even find a decent replacement, and get your lonely ass some dick.

Step 4: Ignore, Ignore, Ignore

I’ve personally witnessed The Thirst of dudes that wanted that old thing back. They call back to back to back, leave 5 minute long messages, then wait 15 minutes, and leave another one. Don’t even let those voicemails get any airtime; delete it the second it starts to play.  Thirsty niggas be leaving, “Baby, please come back to me,” notes on windshields. Thirsty niggas be calling their ex’s parents, friends, and siblings pleading their case for reconciliation.  You’ve got to ignore all that shit. When he calls from a number you don’t know, the second you hear his voice, hang up, and add that number to the blocked list. The second you give him a chance to start back up communications with you is the second he’ll start to work his way back into your life.

Your relationship is fucked up and shit almost certainly won’t get better. With these 4 easy steps, get out while you can.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

We Really Don't Care About That Shit

Somewhere between getting the right to vote and 2011, the things that women have to do to impress men got lost in translation. So I’m going just lay a few things out there that we (men) don’t give a flying fuck about.

Your credit rating
I know Yo Gotti may have led you to believe that good credit is part of the credentials of a 5 star bitch, and it probably is, but half you chicks are 3 stars at best. Trust me, your credit is not what we were looking at when you hopped out of that 98 Camry. Unless he’s a D boy, and he’s tired of getting everything in his momma’s name, your credit won’t be an issue. No need to rush and pay off that overdue Discovery card balance just yet.

Designer handbags and shoes
When I see a chick with Louis, Gucci, Hermes, Nine West, Michael Kors, Jimmy Cho or whatever the fuck else hanging from her arm or strapped to her feet, I always think the same thing, “Oh ok; that’s nice.” To be completely honest, I have never been in the presence of my male friends, and the topic of female designer bags or shoes came up. Honestly speaking, if I see a cute chick standing over there with a Louis Vuitton bag on her arm and red bottoms on her feet, chances are I’m gonna keep it moving. History has shown me that women on all that designer shit are 9 times out of 10 either (1) in debt, (2) fucking for dollars on the side, (3) spoiled as fuck by their parents, or (4) shopping at the flea market. Either way, JD wants no parts of that shit. So that cute little basic bag you saw at Zara last weekend go ahead and pick that up; we aren’t paying attention anyway. More than anything, ya’ll are impressing each other. You’re not a lesbian, but you’re spending your rent money on Louboutins to wear out with your girls? Yeah, you might need to re-evaluate some shit.

Your nails
My favorite nail polish color is clear, and that’s only because I can’t think of any color I’d like to see a woman’s nails painted. I complimented a chick’s nails once in my life; she had a French manicure… go figure. I’m almost sure that every dude I know wouldn’t give a fuck if your nails were painted shit green. That’s not something we’re checking for. Two-inch long acrylic nails definitely won’t bring all the boys to the yard. I very well may be on my third date with a chick before I notice she’s missing a finger, let alone the amount of money she donated to the Asian shop on the corner to keep her nails looking tiptop.

What you do for a living
There’re only a handful of jobs women might have that would prevent me from dating them: drug mule, parking enforcement, prostitute, assassin, and porn star. There might be one or two jobs I’m drawing a blank on right now, but that about sums it up. Pretty much, if you can handle your own lifestyle, why should your career choice interest me in the slightest? The chances of finding and marrying a balling ass chick, who will allow a guy to quit his job and become a house husband, are extremely slim. Let’s just use Steadman as a prime example; that dude still hasn’t married Oprah. If he can’t do it, then, nobody can. With the assumption that I’ll keep paying my own bills, and since most women expect men to be providers anyway, your day job really does nothing for me.

Your dreams and aspirations
Not saying that we are looking for ain’t shit bitches, but being that men are logical creatures, we invest in what’s happening here and now. We aren’t dating the future you. Although future you will be in great shape, because future you works out regularly, and you’ll also own a chain of nail shops all up and down the east coast… Present you could stand to do a sit-up or two, lives in a 2 bedroom rent-controlled apartment, and takes Strayer University classes online; that’s who we’re dating here and now. So we’ll listen and nod our heads every 2 or 3 minutes in agreement as you paint the vivid picture of your future, but it really doesn’t mean shit to us.

Your Ability to cook
There was a time when a man didn’t even touch the stove in his own home. If he didn’t have a wife, he would either starve or live off of lunchmeat sandwiches. Those days are far behind us. Besides the fact that most men can maneuver around the kitchen enough to produce an edible meal, TV dinners have come a long way. I can cook, like I can do a lot more than boil water, but those Bertolli frozen pasta dinners keep a nigga’s cooking skills at bay. Today, all you need to know is the number to the closest carryout, your way around the freezer aisle, and how to operate a microwave… you don’t need a girl for any of that.

I’ll continue you to smile and say that’s nice but I don’t give a fuck for real
Jean DeGrate has spoken

What Really Grinds My Gears: Dot.com Edition

Everybody is a fucking model
Just because you took some half-naked pictures and posted them on FaceBook or some folks retweeted you on #TittyTuesday, doesn’t make you a model. It makes you a nothing ass chick, with decent ass and titties, who has the time to partake in random bathroom photo shoots. Trust and believe; those blotchy ass cell phone pictures will not earn you a spot on “America’s Next Top Model”.  I'm sorry pumpkin; that's just the way it is. Even you chicks with the halfway professional photos (you know this ones your cousin’s friend’s boyfriend took with his Kodak digital camera?) don’t have a chance. Yeah, I see you. I might even like your picture or throw you a twitter compliment, but you’re still not a fucking model. Please don’t let these thirsty niggas have you thinking you’re something when you’re not.

Body part profile pictures
A headshot from a funny angle (slightly to the left, with your head tilted, and your cell phone adjusted to 32.5 degrees), or a picture of only your ass or titties… with no full body shots only tells me one thing: you're probably busted and very attention deprived. I could be wrong, but I'll take my chances. You won't trick me.

Preaching rollers on FB and Twitter
Yesterday, a half naked chick got retweeted on my timeline saying, “God only gives you what you ask for so be careful what you ask for.” What bible scripture is that? It might be right under, “Only God can judge me,” in the book of Thug verse Ak-47. Even worse are the bitches who stay tweeting about sucking dick Mon – Sat, but switch to tweeting from church on Sundays talking about “Awesome sermon. Pastor Joe just inspired me with the word.” Stop it 5! I don’t want to see any positivity out of you whore-ish bitches; just stick to showing your private parts on the internet. That’s what we follow and befriend you for anyhow.

Busted ass bodies in bikinis
If you’re an Ashley Steward shopper, please don't put that Monique-esque body in anything Victoria’s Secret and post it all over FB and Twitter. Victoria might sell you a 44DD, but I guarantee she wanted you to keep that secret to yourself. You have no right to unleash that shit on the world. If that stomach is not quite flat or the stretch marks aren't as faded as you hoped, stay off the beach, and if that isn’t possible, throw a cover-up on that bitch. I’m just saying, overweight chicks should know their limitations. Two words; one piece.

Folks getting tagged in pictures of fake Nikes and Louboutins
This is all a direct result of The Thirst. Every third person in your friends list is a pretty chick posing with her ass poked out wearing lace boy shorts. You know you don’t know those bitches, but their pictures were so nice, you just had to send her a friend request. Newsflash: These bitches are not real! You’d think you’d get hip after you got tagged in the first picture of hot pink Jordan pumps. But no, even the coons I grew up with often let The Thirst overpower good judgment in search of dot.com pussy, and now my FB News Feed looks like a page out of an Eastbay catalog.

If I offended you, I probably meant to. Stop the Dot.com foolishness
Jean DeGrate has spoken

5 Instant Red Flags

The following list contains things about women that should signify immediate warning signs… and by “warning sign,” I mean, “As soon as you notice any of these things… leave that bitch alone.” (For my female readers, I can only assume most of these things are equally true about men.) 

1. She doesn't do FaceBook, Twitter, BlackPlanet, MySpace, Google+ (or the internet period)

When you Google that bitch’s name, the only thing that Larry Page (CEO of Google) responds with are “find your old classmate” ads. It’s almost like the bitch doesn’t exist. I know a lot of people that don't do social sites. 90% of them are criminals, players, pimps, hoes, shady individuals, and women with stalkers on the witness protection services level. I know some of you might think the dot.com thugs that we all know and love fit into this category, but I put those guys in same category with the dudes who take pictures with drugs, money, and guns…  Yeah, I can't take them seriously either. Honestly, if you won't even do a Monster.com profile, there has to be something gravely wrong with you, and I'm not going to stick around to find out what it might be. Last thing I need is a Mexican gun squad kicking in my door looking for you because your father stole 11 kilos back in in 88, and you just happened to be in a picture I was tagged in on FaceBook.

2. Her phone is always silent and facedown

My phone is always facedown; even when I'm at home alone, my phone is facedown. Why? Because, I have dealings with a couple of freelance freak joints. With that said, I don't know what will pop up on that screen at any given moment. Just last week I got a text from a number I don't even know, which read, "I wanna suck your dick right now." I didn't even respond, but when I saw it, I paused for a second; my daughter looked over my shoulder to see what I was looking at, and I moved the phone. She can't read yet, but hey kids these days catch on quickly; I'm not taking any chances. Now, just imagine if any girl was sitting next to my phone when that popped up; whether the girl is Ms. New Pussy or Mrs. Jean DeGrate, shit would definitely go left. At the very least, you can cancel the cheeks you thought you were about to get, and on the worst end, she could go full out psycho, and the police might have to get involved. With knowledge of the type of text messages that are liable to pop up on my phone at any given time, I'm not down to see what a female might be hiding behind her facedown iPhone that never rings aloud.

 
3. She never answers the phone, but always calls back

You ever call a chick and it goes to voicemail every single time you dial her number; no matter what time of day or night, you're going to hear that, "You have reached..." But, 5 to 10 minutes later, her number is flashing across your cell phone screen. “Oh did you just call me?” is the first thing she says as if it’s not obvious she is screening your calls. Chances are (1) she has a boyfriend so your number is blocked entirely, and she calls back ONLY if she’s not in his presence or (2) 5-10 minutes ago she was doing something (i.e. fucking) that made it impossible to pick up the phone. Almost makes you want to say, "What the fuck you been doing?" but since I just explained what she was doing, there is no need to ask… either accept the fact that you’re her side dick or leave that bitch alone.

4. She sent you a naked picture prior to you getting them cheeks

There is nothing cooler and equally puzzling than waking up to an ass shot from Ms. I've-Yet-To-Smash sitting in your text inbox. You might think you're special… Sorry dude; you're not. Chances are your homie from uptown got the same text message this morning. She has a catalog of naked pictures sitting on standby and issues them out like fliers after the club. I’m not talking about these pseudo professional shots from the dot.com model. I’m talking the bent over, playing in her pussy, taken in the bathroom mirror, Amber Rose amateur shot. You may ask yourself what made her send you the picture. The answer is simple: she's a hoe sir. Yes, a hoe (a whore, a roller, a slut), and you've officially been warned.

5. She shares her "deepest darkest secrets" way too soon

You met her last week, and without going on one date, you know damn near everything about her. You know that her Uncle Junebug is really her brother, but her mother had him when she was super young so her grandmother raised him. You can't quite remember how she worked that tidbit of information into the conversation, but you know it all the same. You know that her first boyfriend from the 8th grade got some head with her former best friend when they were in college, and she still feels a little betrayed. Now, you also know she’s crazy because any woman who openly over-shares things, which she should really only be sharing with her psychologist, is typically insane. Run. Fast.

You might want to save this list in your smartphone for quick reference purposes
DeGrate has spoken

7 Signs That She Might Be Crazy

Nowadays crazy women roam the streets blending in with regular women. Ok hold up… all women are crazy to some degree, but some women are “A Thin Line Between Love and Hate” crazy. You could very well be dating that crazy woman and not have the foggiest idea because she disguises it so well. Here are just a few tips to clear up that fog…

She might be crazy if… she remembers accurate times and dates

Remember when you told her that the last time you called was right after you left the gym at about 7pm last night? Then, she immediately corrected you, almost as if she had a list of dates and times on standby waiting for that exact moment, replying, “No baby; the last time you called me was at 4:32pm.” That’s when you checked your call log, only to realize that she’s dead on. The amount of attention to such a miniscule detail of your life is the first hint of her inner stalker and explicit confirmation that she is crazy as all outdoors.

She might be crazy if… she makes friends with large quantities of your FB friends within days of becoming your FB friend

Since we live in a digital age, almost everybody is on FaceBook. It’s even a common icebreaker for a female to ask, “Are you on FaceBook?” Some of the more “player” type dudes may refrain from sending a friend request to Ms. New Booty, but most other men would welcome her into the fold. Now that she’s on your FaceBook, she’s sending friend requests to every 3rd chick you know, especially the ones that have commented on your wall or status. In 2 days, you went from having 3 mutual friends with her to having 28. This is a early sign of her trying to integrate herself into your life, and before long her and your homies will be meeting up at happy hour. It would be in your best interest to push this chick into the friend zone fast.

She might be crazy if… she compliments herself often

She’s awesome, and she reminds you of it frequently. You’re so lucky to be dating her. Hooray for you, but not really… She’s actually really insecure, and more than trying to convince you of how great she is, she’s trying to convince herself. Somebody did her wrong, she used to be fat and ate her feelings away for years, or some other bullshit led her to the fragile headspace she’s in now. She’s probably past due for some kind of emotional breakdown, and trust me you don’t want to be around, when she starts to fall apart.

 
She might be crazy if… she answers her own questions

“Did I leave my earrings on the nightstand again? No, I left them in the sweatpants I had on last night.” Then she’ll turn to you like she didn’t just have mini conversation with herself, and everything is cool. She is touched, and the longer you stick around the more apparent it will become.

She might be crazy if… she knows things about you that you never told her

Crazy women love to do research. She knows about your DUI from 2001 Spring break and that you worked at Taco Bell for 2 weeks in the summer of 1998 before getting fired for stealing napkins. She won’t hesitate to question you about these newly found facts and will be seriously upset with you for not bringing them up to her on your own accord. Any woman that does unjustifiable probing into your past is a psycho, but you won’t really know until ya’ll break up, and she makes a website detailing all your dirt from yesteryear.

She might be crazy if… you've only known her for week but the important people in her life know who you are

Her mother knows your name and thinks you’re a good guy. Her best friend sent you a friend request on FaceBook and follows you on Twitter. You haven’t even had sex yet, but her inner circle knows all about you… your name, where you work, where you went on your first date, how your lips felt on your first kiss… everything. That’s because in her mind, you’re her boyfriend, and that’s exactly what she’s telling these other folks. As you’re reading this, she’s getting you a spare key to her apartment and clearing out a draw for you in her dresser. Now would be the ideal time to exit.

She might be crazy if… she marks her territory

Oil of Olay body wash is in your soap dish. Her pink towel is hanging on the back of your bathroom door. The tag to the new dress she put on this morning was strategically left on the floor beside the trashcan. She left an unwrapped copy of Beyonce’s 4 sitting in your passenger side car door. Every morning, she says “Good Morning” via your FaceBook wall. Her size 6 red pumps are the first thing you see when you walk into your house. None of this is coincidence. She’s making her presence known in any way she possibly can short of getting a megaphone and standing outside of your house chanting “He’s taken”.  Not only is she letting the world know that she is laying down her claim to you, she’s secretly letting you know that she won’t be leaving without a fight. I see a restraining order in your future.

I know they say crazy bishes have the best pussy, but I’ll settle for mediocre box to avoid being the next victim of a “Snapped” special.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

You Might Be a Simp If...

Simping (via the Jean DeGrate dictionary) – the act of saving hoes and exhibiting characteristics of extreme Thirst; catering to the needs of females who really couldn't give two fucks about you (and vice versa for the opposite sex because women are Simps too)

There seems to be a shitload of confusion when it comes to what “simping” actually is. I guess we can all blame pop culture for blurring the definition; just look at what they did with the terms "Pimp" and "G". I see simping everyday, even from niggas who THINK they are in fact “pimping”… It seems as though this definition needs clarification being that simping is so vast. I know you probably think you’re just off your nice guy shit, but it's truly amazing how much ground simping actually covers. Here are just a few brief examples...

Dot.com Simping
Are you Mr. Direct Message anything halfway decent looking on Twitter? Is a cute avi all you need to start following a chick no matter what she's talking about?  Have you ever tweeted anything like: "What do you have a taste for? RT @KeishaSoDamnFly I really wish somebody would bring me lunch."? Does your Twitter/FaceBook friend list look like 6 issues of Smooth magazine? Have you been tagged in pictures of Jordans, Christian Louboutins, and every type of footwear in-between? Do you go thru the friend lists of good-looking women you've already befriended looking for more good-looking women? Do you consider Twitter/FaceBook free versions of Match.com? Do you still reply to your BlackPlanet messages? If the answer to any ONE of these questions is “yes”, then you sir are a Simp, and you suffer from extreme Thirst.

Office Simping
Are you the first guy to buy something from Ms. Phat Ass's fundraiser for her kids? You're allergic to chocolate, but you'll gladly buy 10 of those candy bars. Do you email/call the better-looking women on your floor when you're about to make a lunch run? Do you cover lunch when Ms. Phat Ass doesn't have any cash? We all know she's raising those kids alone; it's only right that you step up and save her… right? WRONG! Do the ladies in your office leave home without eating breakfast because they know you, Mr. Breakfast, will surely be walking in with pastries and coffee? If the answer to any ONE of these questions is “yes”, then you sir are a Simp, and you suffer from extreme Thirst.

Regular life
Do you often come to the aid of women you don't know or barely know? Have you ever bought a round of drinks for the friends of the woman you were interested in getting at in the club? Have you ever given up your seat for a perfectly able bodied woman? Have you ever done something for a woman that you are ashamed to tell your friends about? Has a woman ever invited you over just to talk, and you actually went? Has a woman you find attractive (i.e. you’ve been dying to get them cheeks) ever referred to you are her brother, but you don't share any relation whatsoever?  Do you have more than 3 female friends that you wish were something more, and you've never slept with any of their friends? Again… are you Mr. Breakfast?… I’m talking homemade French toast, eggs over easy with organic cheese, and Moet mimosas. Fuck it, if hop out the bed to make a bitch you’re just fucking a boiled egg in the morning, then not only are you a Simp, you're also a hero, and the next vacancy in the Justice League has your name on it.

If you’re feeling like a Simp after reading this… remember there is a cure…  *hands out free water bottles*
Jean DeGrate has spoken

7 Perks of Being a Prick

…and by “Prick” I mean “Asshole”.

I’ve been an asshole since birth. What? You don’t believe me? Well, go ask my mother. Seriously, she’ll confirm it all. I didn’t even know how great it was to be an asshole until I put stern effort into not being one. For about 2 or 3 years, I was a decent human being. Yeah, I know that’s kind of hard to believe especially for all 11 of you that follow me on Twitter. All jokes aside, I honestly put my best foot forward in effort to be a nice fucking guy. That shit was fucking horrendous. In retrospect, I don’t even know what inspired the change. I treated every woman with respect, and they, in turn, treated me like a simp. I forgave and forgot only to be fucked over at a later date. My ex-girlfriend even cheated on me. I’m not implying that she wouldn’t have cheated on the asshole me, but I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a fuck as I did, and I know I wouldn’t have done half the shit that I did for her.

Well that was just a brief synopsis of my nice guy era. Now on to the perks of being an asshole…

I don’t get forced into the friend zone…
Every guy has come across a woman that he was interested in, but she wasn’t really interested in him. (I could go into how that type of situation may come to be, but that would be another blog entirely.) I befriend women on my own terms, not because I’m hoping Lisa will wake up one day and realize I’m really the man of her dreams. I have no problems cutting ties with a chick that’s not talking the shit I want to hear, and that’s because assholes generally don’t believe in hope and winning people over. We’re reality based… i.e. if you aren’t feeling me now, chances are you won’t be feeling me later. There’s really no need to stick around for you to ask me to help you move or wait for the cable guy while you’re at work or change a flat or even vent about your on-again-off-again boyfriend.

My compliments mean more
I dole out about one compliment per season; I’m not due to issue another compliment until winter because I got drunk and told a chick she was cute twice in one night. Shit happens. If you think you’ve gotten a compliment from me this season, you’re probably sadly mistaken. Oh, I told you that you have fantastic titties on twitter? #notarealcompliment. Now, on the other hand, I insult people on an extremely regular basis via any platform: face-to-face, text, FaceBook, email, Twitter, or word of mouth. So being that I don’t run around gassing people up all day, when I do actually part my lips to say something genuinely nice, it’s sincere, and the recipient knows it.

I’m the last person people ask to borrow money from
Can I afford to loan a homie 5, 10, 20, 50, 100 or even 1000 dollars? Yes I can. Only a select few can call me ask for a few bucks, and my answer will always be yes. Other folks can eat a dick, and they know they can eat a dick because although I may not have said, “your chances of eating a dick are greater than your chances of borrowing money from me” out loud, my asshole demeanor has made it clear. My money is more important than your issues and hardships. Fuck your troubles.

I care about way less so I’m stressed way less
I honestly believe the less you care about the better off you are. Andre from 3rd street got shot 8 times last night and died. I don’t care; people die all the time, and I don’t personally know Andre. Kim sits at her desk all day talking on the phone, while playing Words with Friends and doesn’t do any work. Big fucking deal; Kim doesn’t work for me, and her paycheck doesn’t come out of my bank account. Casey Anthony beat the murder beef. She was judged by a jury (12 grown ass men and women) that knew a shitload more about the case than I do, and real talk, whatever happened between her and that child is now between her and God.

No unwanted company
I never get the “You in the house… Cool, I’m around the corner I’m about to swing thru” call. I have about 40 bottles of top shelf alcohol, 36 of which haven’t even been opened; my spot is just a happy hour waiting to happen. If I were a nice guy, my apartment would be the pregame spot before the club; folks would slide thru and leave me with empty bottles and a sink full of cups. Shit, if I knew a nice guy with a stocked bar, I’d probably visit twice a week just off of general principal.

I get away with a lot of shit
When I get drunk, I feel women up, and I mean borderline rape… hands going under bras and under skirts type feel up. Check pictures from my 30th birthday happy hour if you think I’m bluffing. For some strange reason, I haven’t been arrested, smacked, or stopped by my friends who were looking on. This may happen because I’m good looking, but let’s just stick with the asshole trend. I insult people within earshot. I talk shit to my bosses. I speak well above a whisper in libraries. I plank on sick people in hospital beds. I ride solo in HOV lanes. I take candy from babies. Ok, a few of these things I don’t do, but if I did people would just brush it off and say the same thing they say when I do the asshole-ish things I do now, “That’s Jean; he’s an asshole.”

People expect less of me
It may sound like a bad thing, but it’s actually really liberating. Your birthday dinner starts at 6pm sharp; I’ll show up at 7:30, and then just eat some of what you’re having, but you’ll just be glad I actually showed up. Ms. New Pussy never expects a real date from me. My idea of courting is a couple emails back and forth during the day about whose house we’re fucking at that night. I break all the rules and never get punished.

Of course, there are more perks, but I’ll save all that for another blog.
Jean DeGrate is an asshole

We Might Not Make it if...

It’s been a while since I did one of these funny lists and this is just a clever way to tie in some of my criteria of the opposite sex.

We might not make it if you ask for one of my shirts to sleep in, and the moment you put it on you get to gasping for air and turning blue. Sorry, I can’t fuck with them big body chicks.

We might not make it if we’re out on the first date, and I notice your arms are bigger than mine. Can’t deal with a chick with them huge arms, especially those big flabby biker arms.

We might not make it if you can name all of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, but you can’t name the 3 branches of government.

We might not make it if you don’t take pride in your appearance. I can’t be walking thru Target with a chick rocking a shower cap and flip flops; I don’t care what time of day it is.

We might not make it if any of your kid’(s) father(s) are found out via blood test because you were fucking way too many dudes raw at one time. You’re taking too many chances with that pussy for my liking.

We might not make it if you use coon shorthand in your text messages i.e. “I mizz u w3 c@n go out 2nite”

We might not make it if you put your children on the phone to talk to me. First, I called to talk to you, and second, I’m sure your 2 year old can recite the alphabet flawlessly, but I’m not interested in that shit in the slightest.

We might not make it if you got a tattoo on your face. I know that tattooing the entirety of your body is the in thing, but that facial tat is a super deal breaker for me.

We might not make it if you got two or more kids by ain’t shit niggas. It’s obvious that you’re used to less, and I don’t want any part of that life.

We might not make it if our relationship is based on how things are going with your ex who is currently in jail for smacking you out. Can’t date a bitch that’s down for the beat down; me and Ike Turner share no relation. On second thought I can’t date a chick waiting for a nigga in jail.

Couldn’t think of a clever closing line so…
Jean DeGrate has spoken