Attention Ugly Women

*I love posting pictures to help bring the messages of my blogs to life, and in this particular instance, I'd love to post a collage of ugly bitches. Particularly those that I know personally, who clog my timeline with selfies day in and day out. We all know a few of these bitches, the ones with like 4 combined likes on their Instagram "selfies". But, airing them out might just be the line I'm not willing to cross. Isn't that crazy? After all the fucked up shit I've put into print, came back to edit and proofread, then still decide to post on the web for the whole wide world to read, I still have boundaries and shit. I still have a teeny tiny corner of tact left in me. Look at God. Ok, enough of that; now on with the blog...* (Sidenote: If you're curious about whether I'm talking about you, send me a DM, and I'll gladly let you know.)

First of all, when I say "ugly" I mean "all-around unattractive". I know as soon as you get like 4 lines into this blog, 75% of you are going to think, "Well, what if she has a phat ass?" or some silly shit along that line. NO! I'm talking about flat-out, all-around busted bitches. Her face is ugly. Her body is ugly. Her soul might be beautiful. Her mind might be beautiful. Yet and still, nobody wants to FaceTime this hoe. If she has kids, every single one of them was an accident or a blatant setup. Nobody intentionally gets these types of women pregnant. NOBODY! There will be no "it gets better" ad campaign for these bitches; this type of ugly doesn't fade with time.

I'm sick of you bitches. Not because you're ugly; that's the hand that poor genetics and Jesus dealt you. There's nothing you can do about that. It's your failure to accept your ugliness that blows my life. We all have flaws. I personally have ugly feet and a horrible speaking voice. Your flaws just cover the entirety of your physical form. Let us not pretend they don't exist. Don't punish the world with your ugly face posted up all over the net. Don't call people bullies when they come at your neck for being gruesome. You did this to yourself by drawing attention to yoursefl. Go be one of those face-covered Muslim chicks; Allah and them are still taking applications. Nope, you're still Christians, walking around showing your face off to the world and snapping a pic in every bathroom mirror you pass. You hoes don't want to be humble for real though.

See that's the problem with you new wave ugly bitches is that you knew you were ugly as a child, you just refused to believe it. You were the girls that got picked on daily... the girls little boys didn't want to give candy to when they were handing out those Valentine's Day lollipops and shit. It's wasn't a thought in even one of you unpleasant looking hoe's minds that you were anything more than ugly. Then you grew up, started making money, buying your own clothes, tossing weave on your heads, applying makeup with butter knives, and thought you defeated the ugly. Nah boo; you're still ugly, and very much so. If you put Gucci, Louie, a Remy weave, and MAC on a donkey, it's still going to be a fucking donkey (a fly ass donkey, but a donkey nonetheless). If you put syrup on a pile of shit, that doesn't make it pancakes. You can't undo your ugly; know your fucking lane.

In my eyes, being an ugly woman is just like being a man. You've got to work for everything in life. Better yet, let's just call ugly women, "the new men". Find yourself a trade. Be a mechanic. Niggas love bitches who can change a tire and fix a transmission. Learn some jokes and get your funny up. The only way to soften the blow of your face is if something humorous is coming out of it. Buy men drinks in the club, and pay for all your first dates; it shows your independence and helps balance out your appearance. Only post pictures of yourself doing epic shit. You know when you're crossing the finish line at the Boston Marathon, post that. Or when you're rescuing babies from burning buildings, post that shit. Feeding the homeless on Thanksgiving, post that shit. Removing flies from the eyeballs of starving African kids, post that shit. Sucking a dick while doing a handstand, yeah... post that shit there. A selfie of you sitting in your cubicle captioned "bored waiting on 5 o'clock", don't post that shit.

Don't let your ugly be your crutch; let it be your motivation.
Jean DeGrate has spoken

Women Stay Misremembering

I've been swerved, curbed, carried, friend-zoned, or whatever you kids are calling it these days. Thank God I have more victories than defeats. 9 out of 10 times, my wins are kind of hazy, unless of course there's some epic chain of events that takes place to be blogged about at some later date. Now, on the other hand, every single swerve I've encountered in my adult life is etched into my brain with a laser. I can tell you the time of day, the temperature, most recent Jordan release, what I had for breakfast, and what she was wearing at the time of said swerve. Every single time I've been curbed its retained in 1080p HD and Dolby digital surround sound. But, with you women recollection on these less than splendor-filled moments get really really muddled in retrospect.

I guess last week was "I want that old thing back" week for JD because at least 4 women I've once stuck my penis just called me out the blue to play catch up and shit. (This mainly happens because I've had the same phone number since Nextel was the hottest phone in the streets, and I had that trusty i1000 on my hip. Oh yeah, and choosing preseason is already in effect. That blog is coming soon.) Anyway, there's always some sort of discrepancy in the circumstances that caused our little thing to come to an end. And by "some sort of discrepancy" I mean "a total fucking fabrication". So of course I had to do my research to make sure this just wasn't a freak occurrence, and wouldn't you know it: 6 homie testimonies and 8 more friend-zoned chicks later, my suspicions were confirmed. Yep, these women were definitely telling HER-story and saying fuck the facts. I'm not about to break into every single account; I'll just share the most interesting re-creation of what transpired.

Let's girl call her Girl 3 because she called 3rd. I'm super busy in the office, and I'm not that motivated to think up a fake name. Sue me. Ok first thing first this is how we stop getting up. I stopped talking her calls because she came over to my house unannounced on 3 different occasions, and she asked me to co-sign on a car. Seriously, she legitimately popped at my front door 3 different times (twice I wasn't there) talking about, "I'm at the door come let me in". The straw that actually broke the camel's back came 2 days after the last pop up visit when she called me on a Saturday morning begging me to take her to a car dealership. Short story shorter. I took her, she got declined for the loan and then she broke down in tears begging me to co-sign on the car. I left her at the dealership. I didn't call her, and she didn't call me (not that I would have answered). That was 3 years ago.

And now for HER-story

After the regular: "How've you been." "How's the kid," and complex questions that ultimately translate into "Do you have a girl or are you fucking anybody steadily?", she voluntarily breaks into the demise of us.

Girl 3 - You know why we never made it anywhere?
JD - Life? (I'm interested so I don't even interrupt her with the truth plus saying "life" is like the safest empty answer ever)
Girl 3 - Yes, that plus you also had too much going on.
JD - Going on like what? (Because she upped my empty response with another empty response and flipped put the blame on me. Touché. Bitch, touché.)
Girl 3 - You were just unavailable when I wanted you the most.
JD - Huh? (And by "huh" I meant, "Oh like when you popped up at my house, and I wasn't home.")
Girl 3 - You know you were always busy and didn't have time for me so I just stopped calling and you didn't call either.
JD - Oh ok. (And by "oh ok" I meant, "And all this time I thought you didn't call because I left you are Darcars on St Barnabas Rd. Who knew?")
Girl 3 - Anyway, I was on your FaceBook page earlier today, and I forgot how much you used to make me laugh, then it made me miss you.
JD - Oh OK.
Girl 3 - You don't ever think of me?
JD - Send me a recent picture, and I'll call you right back.

She sent a nude. She'd fell off. I had to unfuck her. I deleted her from my FaceBook, and added her to my blacklist app.

Welp.
Jean DeGrate ain't said shit

Take Your Vagina Off of the Pedestal

I bullshit you not; once a week, I'm talking to some chick telling her about my dealings with another chick. Without fail, the chick I'm sharing my story with is always in shock and disbelief of my interactions with these chicks. like head-exploding, absolutely floored. dumbfounded. Be advised, I'm not talking about the over-the-top adventure like shit, which I normally blog about. These stories aren't laced with spades games that turn into ménages. (Yea, that totally happened a few years back; in case you were wondering.) Normally, I'm telling these pedestrian ass stories. You know. just regular everyday shit. I'll say something like, "So she caught a cab home" or "Then sent me some nudes" and these women will lose their mind. The responses range from "Oh my God. What type of women are you dealing with?" to "There's no way I'd go for something like." to "Where's her self-esteem?" to "You wouldn't be doing me like that". So after about a 1000 of these gross overreactions, I bring this up to my homie Greg, and wouldn't you know it. the same shit happens to him all the time. Nope ladies and gentlemen, this isn't a Jean DeGrate anomaly here. Bitches are just generally delusional.

To add insult to injury, 17 out of 20 times, they're women who have been firmly placed into the friendzone and/or just plain single. Yet they are giving up all of this fake outrage (and we all know how much I hate fake outrage). They've placed their wants way above what any man with common sense would be willing to provide for a woman of their caliber (Yes, there are levels to this shit). They need help, and JD is going to help them in the way only JD can. I came up with 3 quick steps to get your pussy back at its proper level, instead of sitting it atop of a bookshelf so high, a nigga would have to be a NBA center to reach it.

Find a woman you see as your superior and your peer
No, not Beyonce bitch. Relax, I'm not asking for you to reach for the stars. I'm sure there's someone in your life who looks better than you and is doing better than you. If you can't find her, @ me on Twitter, and I'll go through the people you follow and find at least 10 bitches who are shitting on you, free of charge. I'm that nice of a guy. Find out who she's dating or previously dated. If these guys are below your standards, then you need to lower your standards. If you think you can do better than her, just stop reading this blog right now, and revisit it when you fail.

Look at the guys who approach you
If 29 out of the last 30 guys who came onto you couldn't get you to throw a glass of water on them if they were dying of thirst, there's something about you that's telling those guys that you're just their speed. Unlike women, men typically stay in their own league. Of course, we have a handful of dreamers who reach for the stars, but that's only like 10%. Your clothes, your hair, your body type, and your walk are dead giveaways to the type of person you are... AND the type of person you'd date (or in 2013 "date" terms. "fuck with"). Stereotypes exist because they work; you rarely ever find an Ernest Hemmingway book bound in a cover from a XXL.

Consider dating your equal
You're 3 years into a dead end job. You have 2 kids by 2 different niggas, neither of which has even ever discussed a wedding with you, let alone went to Jared. You're paying a car note on a 2004 Impala. You have $1500 in your bank account, but a $1000 of that is for rent, and the rest of it is to put down on your Miami trip. (You niggas are still going to Miami on vacation though? Yeah, that's another blog.) You're 40lbs overweight, all of which you claim is leftover baby weight, but your youngest kid is 4. Stop looking for a hero. Nobody is coming to pull you out of the slums, and if a guy does reach down and pull you out of it, you're the exception to the rule. God is not sending you a baller. We know, yeah. yeah. yeah. you can do bad all by yourself. Damn right, looking for Superman, it's going to continue on that way... BAD. and damn near HORRIBLE. by your damn self. Start looking at your actual peers and stop turning up your nose to the nigga that refills the soda case at your job. (You still pull the day shift at 7Eleven, right?). He's getting $18/ hour plus overtime. Coca-Cola is a fortune 500 so he's also getting solid benefits. Yep, that means no need for ObamaCare for you. Some of his OT will get Rent-A-Center off your back. Splitting the rent with him will stop the light bill from coming in pink envelopes. You might be able to upgrade your 2004 Impala to a 2013 if you show him some attention. and suck good dick.

Your dream man can't 6'2, drives a 6 series BMW, makes 6 figures and has a 6 pack when all you can bring to the table is your kids your pussy and your debt.

So you dying alone or. you gonna give the mailman some cheeks?
Jean DeGrate has spoken