Paid for Pussy is Always Cheaper

Although I don’t personally pay for sex, I’m damn sure not against the next man paying for a shot of ass (straight out that is). I barely have to call a bitch to get the cheeks, but that’s another blog altogether. If you’re one of those niggas that might “buy” pussy, buying it straight out is a sound investment if that’s all you’re really interested in. I don’t even know why prostitution is illegal. Like really… why is it illegal to sell something that is perfectly legal to give away?

It’s so easy to get free pussy… why would anyone pay for it

Unfortunately, women don’t walk around with signs on their backs stating, “Down to fuck.” It just doesn’t happen that way. She might be extra flirtatious, dressed as a slut, already have 3 kids and 3 baby daddies, and still won’t come off them cheeks. There’re no guarantees with these slutty women; she might have been down to suck and fuck the whole crew yesterday, but today she isn’t feeling as slutty.

Most women are selling pussy on the sly anyway

Every time you hear a woman say she wants a man to provide for her; she’s selling that pussy on the sly. Every time a dude takes a chick out of town in order to get those cheeks; she’s selling that pussy on the sly. She got a dude paying for her cable, cell phone, and car note knowing damn well if that nigga stops, they are done; she’s selling that pussy on the sly. If she goes to a dude for money to get her hair done and nails done; she’s selling that pussy on the sly. If a nigga only gets those cheeks after taking her shopping; she’s selling that pussy on the sly. Do you know how much money you would save if you just paid for it straight out instead of letting these chicks fool themselves into believing they ain’t hoes?

Dating is shaky

How many times have you had a first date that didn’t lead to anything? No goodnight kiss. No phone calls the day after. You can pretend like you took her to Red Lobster (cause bitches love chedder biscuits) to get to know her, but really you know you wanted those cheeks at the end of the night. You’re just 75 bucks plus poorer, and now you have a number to delete from your cell phone. How many times have you had two or three dates with a chick that went the same way? Now let’s go smaller. How many times have you bought a chick a drink in the club not even to get a phone number exchange or a dance? Do you know what you could have done with all that money? You could have bought some pussy.
 

It’s a sure thing

When dealing with a hoe, a streetwalker, an escort, or a loose bitch better known as a “prostitute”, you can guarantee some fucking is going down. You won’t have to get her in the mood because her pussy gets wet the moment you hand her that cash. You don’t have to hint toward her giving you head; she’s down for the blow, but please note that it might cost you extra. And, best of all, when the deed is done, there is no awkward moment. You just get up and roll out. No cuddling, no feeding, no cover sharing, no dates, no long pauses in conversation, and no arguments. It’s just sex, and if that’s all you’re looking for then you’re definitely going to get just that.

 
The hard math

Women cost money. There’s no way around spending it. If you got some cash, they definitely want you to spend some. So if you’re only after sex why buy into all the other dumb shit? Unless, of course, you’re in public office or considering running for one, then you might want to continue to fake these relationships, and foot the bill that comes with it. Add together dates, the dumb shit she’ll eventually ask for, switching to an unlimited text plan so you can send her “good morning” texts and random smiley faces, food, and transportation… then substract from that the cost of just buying pussy straight out. Not to mention all the money you spent on clothes for the club/bar to meet bitches. You’ll realize you couldn’t have saved more money even if you switched to Geico.
 

I’m not saying paid for pussy is better, wetter, or tighter… I’m just saying, it’s definitely more cost effective.

Jean DeGrate won’t be judging you

The Top Ten Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Date Me

I’m a great guy… Well, I have my moments… Ok ok; my mother thinks I’m a great guy. Thanks ma. I’m a realist; so I’m well aware of my flaws or at least whatever members of the opposite sex may consider flaws. So here it is ladies: The Top 10 Reasons Why You Shouldn’t Date Me. Yes, I’ve specifically termed this list “Top” 10 because I know there are far more reasons, but we’ll save reasons 11-100 for future blogs.

1. I don’t trust anybody

Let me take that back; I trust people to do things that will best suit them. Meaning if my happiness or wellbeing is standing in the way of something you want, I fully expect you to fuck me over. I’m not blatantly saying you’ll cheat nor am I say you won’t, but you’ll probably tell a lie or two here or there. Let’s be honest; even the most standup chicks have a slight bit of bullshit with them. That bullshit is exactly why it will take quite some time for me to actually view you differently than any other aint-shit-bitch… if ever.

2. I don’t trick

If you’re looking for the guy that’s paying for hair do’s, manicures, pedicures, cable bills, and shopping sprees, keep on looking; I’m not that guy. You want to go out to eat. I got that. You want to go to the movies. I got that too. I might buy you a random on-clearance shirt as we walk through the mall (well most likely not it still sound good though), but that’s about as far as tricking goes for me. You want to go island hoping in the tropics. I won’t be a part of that, but be sure to tag me in the photos on FaceBook. I’d love to see the Simp financing that excursion.

3. I’m an asshole and proud of it

Look here: I blogged this topic weeks ago so I won’t even get into details here. Unless this is your first time reading, “Jean DeGrate has spoken”, you already know… I’m a prick, and I’m proud of that shit.

4. I’m fucking conceded

True story: a semi-attractive woman (semi-attractive = fuckable) once walked up on me while I was standing in front of the club and said, “You’re kinda lovely.” I replied, “It’s the light.” Why? You may ask. I already know I’m fine, not because my mother kept telling me I was handsome as a kid, but because as a teenager my mother’s co-workers used to try to slide me the pussy. For that reason and several more similar to it, I don’t take compliments well. So in the morning when you roll over and say, “Damn baby, you’re fine” trying to be sweet, you won’t catch me blushing. I’m just that fucking conceded.

5. I used to be hoe

There’s still a tiny bit of hoe in me, but not as much as it used to be. I still have hoe flare ups, but I’m taking medication for that. Unfortunately though, there is no cure. This leads me into number 6…

6. If you’re from the DC area, you probably know somebody I’ve fucked

… and by “know somebody” I mean “are friends with.” Thanks to FaceBook, folks that would normally be strangers are now dot.com best friends and shit. I’ve seen 2 and 3 chicks, I’ve had my penis in at one time or another all tagged in the same pictures, smiling and shit. Not to mention, the chances of us being out on the town and running into a chick that I’ve seen naked are great. Shit, during any given week, I’m bound to run into a couple of my old jump offs on the train, liquor store, the mall or just loafing around U Street. Just note that you will have to get used to, “Oh my god; Hey Jean,” being screamed across the movie theatre… and then that same chick texting me, “What are you doing when you leave here?” minutes later.

7. I wear a wedding band all the time

Funny thing about it is I’m not married nor have I even been close to being married. Shit, I don’t even see Mrs. JD in the near future. Regardless of how close we are, you can be Miss New Pussy or my girl, when we’re out on the town, prying eyes will assume you’re a home wrecker.

8. I’ll keep fucking you long after I realize we have no future

I still give the daddy stroke to girls I booked in 98. If you ask me, “What are we doing here?” I’ll probably respond, “We ain’t going steady. We’re just cooling.” I’m a huge fan of boomerang pussy… fuck em a few times… let em get back to the world… and let them come back to get fucked again.

 
9. I’m kind of boring

Yes, I’m an excellent conversationalist, if I shall say so myself, but that’s about where the buck stops. I will dinner and movie your ass to death. I may even toss in a game of pool at the strip club here and there, but other than that, I’m really anti-everything. Trying to get me to do new shit is like pulling teeth out of a tiger’s mouth with a wire hanger. I’ve never done that personally, but it sounds difficult as fuck.

 
10. I don’t give head

I actually wrote a blog about my non-willingness to put vagina in my mouth. I even gave me top 5 reasons… look it up. For those who already read it here’s my 6th reason… I have high blood pressure. I can’t gamble with the sodium. Word on the street says pussy is mad salty son.

Thanks to this blog I’ve probably cut my new pussy chances in half
Jean DeGrate ain’t shit

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