Lil Man, You're a Hater

***Yeah... This is a long one.***

I've dated... Ok, ok, I've fucked plenty of single mothers. Trust and believe, a girl with an existing fuck trophy is 7 out of 10 times way friendlier with the vagina than a woman without. This is a non-debatable fact. Some single mothers sneak you into the house in the dead of night, give you the pussy, and send you on your way before the kids wake up. Now others will have you up in the house interacting with their children and might even make you an honorary uncle. But, this blog isn't about the joys and the conveniences of bedding women with kids. Nope; that blog is coming at a later date. This is about the mix bag that is the children of said single mothers and how much of a cock blocker they can be.

You know what prepared me for fatherhood? Playing with other bitches' children. I bullshit you not. I beta tested 90% of my parenting skills on some other dudes' lil' niglets. With all my experience and 16 plus years of baby mama fucking, every once in a while a child comes along that you just can't win over. That child is normally a championship level cock blocker. Not to say that I don't understand where he's coming from though; I wouldn't want anybody fucking my mother either. Anyway, on with the story...

We're going to go with the name Christy, and as for her hating ass son, we're just going to call him Damien.

Nine out of ten baby mothers that allow you to meet their kid before they even know your last name will hit you with a line that goes something like this, "I normally don't let guys come around my child(ren)... (blah blah blah and blah blah blah) but you seem like a really good guy." Establishing this situation as a rarity and making you the exception to the rule like you really give a fuck about her parenting skills. Wholetime you're thinking, "Oh ok, and... what that mouf do." So of course I got the little speech about being invited over whilst her kid was present and awake. We were supposed to being going out, but Christy's babysitter canceled on her; instead of calling the whole thing off, she invited me over for "dinner".

So I walk in, she greets me with a church hug, and over her shoulder, I see this little niglet has his territory all marked out. Toys were scattered all over the living room floor, action figures were posted up on the couch like they were standing guard, and the TV was on cartoon network with the volume up loud enough for me to hear everything clearly before even I walked thru the door. He's played this game before; that was obvious. He was prepared, and I clearly wasn't.

Christy - Damien this Mr. Jean, Mommy's friend. Say "Hello".
Damien - *No response... blank stare... crickets*
JD - What's up?
Damien - *No response... blank stare... crickets*
Christy - Damien, now don't be rude.
Damien - *No response... blank stare... crickets*
JD - Well, ok then.

Since the boy clearly had the living room bordered off, I was forced to sit at the dining room while she prepared dinner. After about 10 minutes of silence, I whipped the trusty Sidekick out (yeah, the ol' T-Mobile joint) to hop on the net. This must of set Damien's spidey senses off because I looked up, and he was standing right in front of me.

Damien - You got games on your phone?

Of course, I had games on my phone, but I wasn't about to let this niglet step off with my sole source of entertainment after that warm reception he'd just given me. Plus, I had nudes in my phone, even a couple from his mom so that would've been all bad.

JD - Nah, I don't really play games.
Damien - Can't you download one?
JD - These games cost money.
Damien - *No response... blank stare... crickets*

And, little did I know that was my first mistake because from that moment on he was on full fledge hater mode.

I saw the hate in his eyes so I figured I'd try to the get the boy to warm up to me because I knew he was the only thing standing in the way of the pussy. I had to use my go to move: the rough play. Fact: little boys love rough play. I figured I'd pick the little nigga up and toss him around a bit. He was all for it except that when I was worn out and ready to chill, he wasn't. So I pushed thru it far into my fatigue, and I dropped the little nigga. As Damien fell in slow motion all 2 feet 6 inches onto the plush carpet I was standing on, I could see him look back at me with the face that Bill Duke gave Cain in Menace (You know you done fucked up right?). As he ever so softly landed without even making a sound, there were 3 seconds of silence before he erupted into a crying howl that would wake his ancestors, let alone alarm  his mother standing on the other side of a kitchen wall. I just knew it was a wrap for me. Before Christy even got a chance to ask what happened I got to explaining myself like I was an 8 year old that just got caught sticking a toy in an electrical socket...

JD - See we were rough playing; then he fell. He ain't even hit the ground hard, for real. Damien, you're ok right?

Christy picked Damien up off the carpet, stroked his back, and his howl turned into a punk ass whimper.

Christy - He's not as tough as he makes out to be, and he always tries to play with the big boys and gets hurt...

Is she giving me a pass for dropping her child on the ground? Is this really happening right now?

Christy - ...He'll be fine. Don't worry; just give him a little time to get himself together and no more rough play.

After she sat him down on the love seat went back to the kitchen that little niglet sat there mean mugging me for the next 15 minutes, and it took every fiber in my body not to give him the middle finger. He wasn't hurt.

About 10 minutes later, the meal was ready. We sat down at the table, and as I made child-friendly conversation with his phat ass mother, he continued to ice grill me while pushing vegetables back and forth across his plate. I wasn't even worried about him. I dropped him on the floor, Christy gave me a pass, and when I get up and dump these veggies in the trash, he's really going to be beefing while he sits there staring at cold carrots and shit. I was doing the victory lap in my head. I whipped out the sidekick and read my twitter feed as his mom cleared the dishes. I clearly had won because bedtime for him was at 9, and it was 8:47. Moments later, she was walking him upstairs to call it a night as he looked through the railing at me with his ice grill still intact. I laughed silently, and gave him the thumbs up.

A bath and 2 bedtime stories later she was sitting hugged up with me watching a rerun of Martin on TV One. She revisited the meeting my child speech, but I politely interrupted her by pulling out one her titties. Conversation over. Right before things got too hot and heavy, she readjusted her clothing, and tiptoed upstairs to check if Damien was asleep or not. When she opened his bedroom door, I could hear him snoring down stairs. I won. She came half way back down the stairs and motioned me up. I slide off my shoes like Usher in the end of the "You Make Me Wanna" video and tiptoed up the stairs right after her. I followed her silhouette into her bedroom and started to close the door behind me as she said, "Leave it cracked so I can hear him if he gets up." In retrospect, I should have locked the fucking door and put a dresser in front of it.

She stripped completely down before I could even get my belt unbuckled and crawled over to me, then *voila* starts in with the head. I know I've said it in this blog already, but damn it I won. She undressed me the rest of way and grabbed a condom out of the nightstand, and then *voila* puts it on me using her mouth. Yep, she's a hoe but whatever... again... I won. I tossed her on the bed and get about 11 strokes in, and I hear...

Damien - Mommy, I had a nightmare.

This bitch tossed me up off and on the floor on the opposite side of the bed and slid under the blanket all in one fluid motion. I can't even begin to explain her precision or strength.

Damien - What were you doing?
Christy - Nothing baby; what were you dreaming about?
Damien - Mommy it was... *he continues with this made up story about monsters or some shit*

And then this lil' niglet climbed smooth in the bed as I laid on floor with a hard dick gathering my clothes. I managed to get my boxers and jeans on without standing up, and I crawled out of the bedroom. I didn't even want to temp another awkward moment. I sat on her couch for about 15 minutes after I got myself back together, hoping she'd come down and tell me he's gone back to sleep, but I knew better. Her 5 year old just witnessed her receiving hard dick. I just didn't want to admit defeat. I walked out, and sent the "I'm gone text". That walk of shame to the car was the meanest one I've ever taken in my life. She didn't even respond to my text until 2 days later with a "Sorry" and nothing else.

That boy hated me right out of the pussy, literally. I lost.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Fuck You Team Fake Outrage

Welcome to the internet age... The days of people bitching and moaning about irrelevant bullshit and wrongs against people that predated their existence by more than 50 years. I really wanted to let team fake outrage cook with all the bullshit surrounding the Zimmerman trial. I know Zimmerman is a racist. But, you want to know who are really racists? Black people. Yep. Negroes are getting smoked everyday, and we turn a blind eye to it because other black men are pointing the pistol. I knew you were all emotionally-charged, wearing your black power fist wooden necklaces, buying Skittles, and shit so I let it cook. But, I can't let team fake outrage carryon any longer without saying anything so here it goes...

Our people were slaves on July 4th 1776
You don't want to celebrate the 4th of July anymore because when America won its independence blacks were still in shackles, tending to crops, and shit? That's deep. But, before we get all wrapped up in this selfless act of non-celebration, please explain how the fuck you were celebrating it before. You bought fireworks? You cooked out? You bought an Old Navy t-shirt with a flag on it? You got the day off from work? Oh. For the record: you never celebrated the 4th of July. Your company does because they gave your ass a paid day off, and if you go in, they'll even pay you double time. If you're so outraged by the fact that there were slaves in America, forfeit your holiday. Donate your money to charity, and do volunteer work that entire day. That will teach the white man who enslaved your people. 'Cause Lord knows these pictures of niggas in shackles aren't ruffling any feathers. Look at it this way: your ancestors could have escaped slavery, and you could be in Africa right now being a regular ass African. See now that your great-great grandma was brought over here on that boat, you're an African-AMERICAN with Obamacare and running water. Aren't you grateful? You damn well should be; the Ivory Coast sucks this time of year.

The leave Rachel Jeantel alone campaign
For those of you who have been living in a box and don't know who Rachel Jeantel is, here's the breakdown: She's the young lady that testified on the behalf of Trayvon Martin and was the last person to speak to him prior to the incident that led to him losing his life. Niggas were praising her as a hero for giving her testimony like Zimmerman was the leader of the KKK and after this court appearance she and her family would be whisked away into protective custody. Niggas, please. Truth be told, Rachel is a 19 year old 11th grader. She spoke poorly, and people made fun of her. Neither the jury nor the judge are reading your tweets or FB statuses; nothing done on social media will have any effect on the outcome of the trial. Find some chill.

Gay marriage, Willow Smith's wardrobe, The Illuminati, Paula Deen, Kanye's kid "North", and the price of cheese grits in Greece...
*       Dear straight people, Seriously though, why are you mad about gay marriage? How is it affecting you in the slightest? It's not? Oh. You just feel some sort of way about it? Oh ok. Shut the fuck up then.
*       Willow Smith is richer than anybody reading this (and by "richer" I mean "her dad's shoe shiner makes more than you... richer"). If her biggest issue at 12 years old is her lack of fashion sense and the occasional yellow afro, let that little girl be great.
*       Whether the Illuminati exist or not shouldn't be any of your broke ass' concerns. If there is some high society of people who choose to worship the devil, sacrifice their love ones, all the while getting rich selling millions of albums to you coons, ain't shit you can do about it.
*       Paula Deen said some racist shit and lost her job; that's kind of how it goes when you drop the N word, and you work for TV or radio. You niggas were sitting on twitter, RTing her apology video left and right, all the while she was signing contracts with Fox. Apparently, Fox doesn't care about you niggas' feelings, and you shouldn't care that some cracker you don't know said "Nigga"... nigga. Maybe you should boycott Fox.
*       Kanye is a weirdo, and he prides himself on being a creative genius (whether or not this holds true in your opinion is neither here nor there). What the fuck did you expect him and Ray-J's ex-piece to name their baby? Ya'll really were out here trying to guess that kid's name, coming up with every mixture of letters with a K in the beginning. Ha. Little North is already rich. I'm sure she'll be going to school with kids named shit like "Apple" and "Blanket"; she'll fit right in. How is your name going to be regular ass Kandice while your're hanging out with a "Blue Ivy" anyway?
*       Oh, and lastly, I don't even know much about the price of grits here in the US food let alone abroad. Sue me; I don't eat shit that looks like slave slop leftovers. However, I do know that Greece is in financial ruin so I'm just going to assume getting cheese in your Grecian grits will be a major feat.

Find something worthy to be outraged about. Perhaps, the body count in Chicago or the fact that a cheeseburger is cheaper than a salad. Go out a start a movement about some real shit.

Jean DeGrate is outraged by your fake outrage

Cut the Shit: Part II

There's still a lot of shit going on that just needs to be stopped. Some of ya'll are still carrying on doing the all the bama shit I told you to stop in "Cut the Shit Part I". (Ya'll ain't really hearing me though. So to give you some motivation (or just to make you feel like you STILL ain't shit)... I'm adding these to the list.

You're Not Royalty
I know this might be hard to grasp, especially if you're related to Mama Dee (Lil Scrappy's mother). After an hour of watching her crown everyone on Monday nights, you might feel like you yourself may be "The King", "The Queen", "The Prince", "The Duchess", or "The Earl"... but let's be clear: you're not royalty. See there're levels to this royalty shit, and not even the lowest level of royalty includes getting up and going to work everyday. Oh, you make 6 figures, eh? Oh, your office is on the top floor overlooking the city, eh?  Hell, you might have even hopped on Ancestory.com, and they told you are a direct descendant of the King of France. Were you looking up your ancestry from your work computer, or nah? Miss "Princess of France", you're still trapped in your cubicle until 4pm... That renders you a Peasant, at best. Have you even ever been to France? Oh. I digress...

You're not doing your boss a favor by doing your job
Your job doesn't care about your kids, the killer unpredictable traffic that makes you late twice a week, or that you believe you're extremely over qualified for this position. Nope, the fortune 500 company that cuts your check should not just be thankful to have you. Who the fuck are you? You know the economy is still fucked up, right? They could hire your just-as-qualified replacement, likely for cheaper, tomorrow. Chances are you're not the linchpin saving your company from bankruptcy, you've never even been face to face with the CEO, and if your boss was to tumble across your Instagram and see all your bathroom "selfies", you'd probably be cleaning off your desk right now instead of reading this blog. Find some fucking chill with all this self-gratification. Be happy with all the dumb shit you get away with, and be extra excited that they are still paying you to half-ass do your job.

You're ugly so relax with all the "selfies"
You not-so-hot women love to compliment yourselves. Stop it. Seriously, stop it. Nobody is buying you drinks in the club. Nobody is holding up traffic to stare at you as you walk by. Niggas are skipping over your twitter avi on their timeline as if you don't even exist. You have 400 FB friends and 200 IG and twitter followers combined. When you post one of those Kevin Hart memes, you get 100 likes, but when you post that morning "selfie"... 30 likes and 20 of those come from your female homies. Numbers don't lie (in my best HOV voice)... Baby girl you're ugly.

Stop being fake religious
Every morning, I hop onto FB and Twitter only to see all types of bible verses, Christ memes, and folks putting God first. Yes sir, every third person is a bible carrying Christian between the hours of 5 and 9am. How are you putting God first this morning, but you were fucking out of wedlock last night... doggie style? How Christ like are you if all you do is pass judgment on others? (I see you coons going in during the airings of "Love and Hip Hop"). Half of you are out working and conducting business on Sundays. In the bible, that's punishable by death, but then again, you probably never read that part. You are just a convenient Christian. You're only interested in doing shit in the bible that won't have you too bent out of shape. As you dabble in your vices, you remind yourself that Jesus died for you sins, and keep it moving.

Jesus says, "Cut the shit, Man." It's in the bible (but you can't be sure of that can you?)
Jean DeGrate has spoken