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

The Nerve of This Hoe

I'm a habitual flirt with women working in retail because a few kind words and some undue flattery just might get me 30% off of my purchase. I don't care if she fat, ugly or Halle Berry I'm approaching them all with the degree of game because my goal ain't those cheeks it's keeping this money in my pocket. I'm thrifty like that and ya'll ain't even know it.

So about 2 or 3 years back I was up in one of those shoe stores in Forestville mall chopping it up with the assistant manager trying to work in a quick discount in for 2 pairs of shoes for Madi. Unlike the normal chick working retail in a rundown mall she was actually an adult and not a hood rat; surprised the shit out of me. Oh and actually attractive enough to be seen with. I got the discount; she took 25% off of all 3 pairs of shoes (tossed in a pair for me). After that I made it point to visit her store every time I was in the mall even if I wasn't in the market for a pair of shoes. (Before any of you pass judgment the Target in Forestville is the closest Target to where I live so yeah I'm out that way at least once a month.) 3 months and 4 pairs of children shoes later we've moved beyond in store flirting and we were texting back and forth. (Oh shit I totally forgot to give this lady a name, ok let's call her Roz.) Then one day out the blue...

Roz - Why have you never tried to see me outside of the store?
And I wanted to say to "Well ma'am you got a boyfriend and on the real you're just a cool cute lady that gives me a discount on my daughter shoes." But of course I didn't say shit like that.
JD - I mean you're the homie if you want to get up you can just say so
Roz - I'm going to come to your house one of these days before work
JD – Its whatever but ain't shit to do in this apartment but watch TV and lift weights. I also live in the hood hood, not the rap hood.
Roz - I don't care I'm coming

At the time I didn't know "I don't care I'm coming" was code for "I'mma give you this pussy stop trying to talk yourself out of it".

Three days later at 7:22am on Wednesday she was ringing my buzzer and I bullshit you not at 7:31am she was completely naked and kissing the tip of my dick. From here you can fill in the blank, right? Right. Ok after that she got low for like two weeks. Sent like 3 text messages no response. I was so worried that I fucked my hook up; all the shoes I should have bought when I had the chance came dancing through my head in a Soul Train line. Just when I though all hope was lost and I'd be back to paying full price she sent me a text...

Roz - Hey
JD - Fuck you been
Roz - My phone been acting up
What a coincidence that her phone broke the day after my penis was in her mouth.
JD - Oh Ok

And just like that we were back like she never left plus her twice a week a.m. sex visit. After about month of that she got super reckless; late night "You woke text", swinging pass the spot after work, she was doing anything. Did mention she had a live in boyfriend?

Then shit got real.
It's like 8:30 on a Tuesday morning and she was due to at my spot about 90 minutes ago. Cell phone rings and her name flashes across the screen. I answer "Where you at?" then a dude says "Oh aigh" and the call disconnects. I'm not going to lie I said a small prayer for her. I just knew that wasn't going to end well. So about 6p that same day her or somebody from her phone keeps calling me back to back to back. I sent ever single call to voicemail; this nigga won't be questioning me about his girl's whereabouts and actions. After about 20 straight minutes of calling she sends me a picture text of her with a black eye and swollen lip and the caption please answer the phone. I answer...

JD - You alright?
The bitch looks like she just went 12 rounds with the champ but what the fuck else was I going to say?
Roz - This nigga done fucked up he put his hands on me
JD - Yeah I see
Roz - What you gonna do?
JD - Fuck you mean? The police don't service your neighborhood?
Roz - Really Jean?
JD - All jokes aside you earned that how did you think that shit was going to go over?
Roz - Fuck you
Phone disconnects

About an hour later she sent me 172 page text message; I read the first 4, maybe, I can't be sure. The gist of what I read was she was on a different level than I was. She expected me to hold her down or at least pretend to give a fuck. For the life of me I don't know how she got there. She gave me discounted shoes and a shot of pussy here and there. Were we supposed to get married? I bet she don't even know my last name because I damn sure didn't know hers. Welp delete thread and block contact. Still to this day I haven't set foot in her store.

I got to stop fucking girls with discounts on shit
Jean DeGrate told you a story

Cut The Shit

There're a lot of things going on right now that just need to be stop.

Stop using Jay-Z and Beyonce for example of everything
No shade, but Hov and Beyonce didn't invent love. I know it might be hard to imagine, but men and women have been falling in love and maintaining successful relationships for quite some time now... long before you bitches got wooed by the "03 Bonnie and Clyde" video.  (And yes, even black people have long been falling in love; just check for some couples outside of the glowing picture box in your living room). Seriously, what kind of love life are you leading if the epitome of black love consist of a retired drug dealer turned rapper and a singer from Texas that dropped out of high school who just so happens to take good pictures together in Cuba. Let's just all use the Obamas as the picture perfect love story. I mean, at least Michelle can read... right?

Saying you don't wear weave or makeup holds no water if you're not cute
I know you want to receive some sort of trophy for foregoing the evil trends of society and the standards of beauty it set. I assure you there is no such reward. So stepping out the door with a head full of naps and a face full of blemishes being proud of your natural "beauty" won't win you any kudos points. Weave and makeup are your crutches; don't get too high and mighty for them. You don't see crippled people dragging themselves along the ground because they are too good for wheelchairs. God made you unpretty; let Mac and two bundles of Indian Remi get you in the game.

Stop teaching your kids to be savages
This is a new era. Most of us grew up when school teachers were still spanking kids and a child getting a beating in isle 6 of Giant was nobody's business but the parent and child involved. Those days are gone. We aren't raising young gladiators that should square-up with the bully over reporting Daquan's unwillingness to share building blocks. We are civilized now; raise your child in such a manner. Because when your 7th grader punches another 7th grader and gives him a black eye, he's not going to the principal's office, that niglet is going to jail. Kids that get bullied come back and shoot up schools or post two page letters to their bullies on FaceBook then slit their wrists with meat cleavers (Paris Jackson style) while kids that bully end up catching charges and doing jail time.

Seriously though just cut the shit
Jean DeGrate has spoken

The 3 Truths In The Movie "Baby Boy"

Even though "Baby Boy" isn't in my top 100 movies starring two bald black cast members to be filmed in California, I've watched it countless times. I bullshit you not, but for period between 2002 - 2005 all I had to do is slide the "Baby Boy" DVD in when female company was coming over and she'd be thoroughly entertained until I was ready to begin the true reason for her visit. The DVD eventually grew legs and went off elsewhere to flourish; since then re-runs of Martin have filled it's vacated spot. I didn't understand why females fancied the movie so much until maybe about a year ago which brings me to the first truth...

1. Women tend to believe an ain't shit man will eventually come around and do right
Jody was the ideal ain't shit nigga; living at home with his mother, 2 kids by 2 different women, unemployed and a cheater. Yvette's story is one of true success and perseverance. She stood by her man through a smack to the face, a handful of abortions and countless sideline bitches. In the end she got to carry another one of his children to term and the finest engagement ring Kay Jewelers had to offer for under 2k. She won (I guess) and a lot of you women think you can win too if you just hang in there. Those bitches are crazy and that leads me to truth number 2...

2. Women are unstable creatures
Word to my man Omar Gooding because everyday I wake up on God's green earth is another day for women to further prove his statement correct. It's just a combo of self-righteousness, unwarranted ego, constant contradiction and indecisiveness, wrapped up into a pretty little ball of crazy.

3. Guns and Butter
"You got to learn the difference between guns and butter. There are two types of niggas in this world; it's niggas with guns and niggas with butter. Now what are the guns? That's the real estate, the stocks and bonds, art work; you know shit appreciates with value. What's the butter? Cars, clothes, jewelry and all that other bullshit that don't mean shit after you buy it. That's what it's all about: guns and butter, baby." - Melvin
Who'd ever think some of the most profound and useful knowledge I'd ever come across would come from a reformed gangbanger shaving his head while spitting knowledge to the nigga from "Wild and Crazy Kids" and the dude who sang that Coca-Cola jingle on the bus.

"Fuck your fort lil nigga" - Snoop Dogg
Jean DeGrate love hates Baby Boy

Dear Ladies...

Sometimes I sit at my desk and type up some of my thoughts for you ladies in letter form because I'm deep like that. Now none of these letters fill up a page but I'm sure what I have to say applies to some of my readers. Take these words, go out into the world and flourish...

Dear single ladies with multiple children,
You're not equal to women with no and or less kids. Your fertility will handicap your relationship from reaching the 1 year mark because no man wants to buy shit for you and your 3 plus children for Christmas only for them niglets to get him socks and a tie in return. Plus your son only got but one time to crack a nigga's iPhone screen trying to play Subway Surfer before shit gets real.

Dear ladies that I used to smash,
I've managed to stay in shape, dress in a respectable fashion and keep all of my teeth. I'm doing this for all  of you so when you see me in the streets and think to yourselves "I gave that man some pussy" you don't have to hang your head in shame. I expect the same from you all. If you have fallen off and see me in the streets, please don't speak; keep it moving. If you roll up on me with your busted ass I'm going to say "no I don't have any change" then carry on like you're not there. You've been warned if you fall off I can't know you anymore and I'm also unfucking you.

Dear ladies putting all your personal drama on the net
We are laughing at you. I know a few people are leaving those empty "be strong" comments on your status but others are just laughing in silence. I personally seek out ratchet bitches with drama to befriend on FB you help me through my work day. I really appreciate the niggas that are doing you wrong, your phony ass friends and most importantly you willingness to share all this stuff with perfect strangers. You're the best boo and I hope your life doesn't get any better because I'd have to delete you.

Dear ladies that are overweight
Fat is actually a real word to describe your body type. (Fat - having a body weight greater then is considered desirable or advisable) People didn't make it up to be mean to you. We also didn't make you fat; that was a full fledge commitment on your part alone. You can't be mad at me for acknowledging that your metabolism isn't equipped to deal with the amount of food you consume. It's either your comfortable with who you are or you're not.

Dear ladies the dating game has change
Since sending out DM's via Twitter and messages via FB are equally as effective as buying drinks in the club but cost zero dollars; you can expect men to put in way less effort than you may be accustom to. To be perfectly honest the pussy market is way more accessible than it has ever been due to technology so if you're not showing immediate signs of interest it's no reason for that guy not to more on. Please take your vagina off of that pedestal when the chicks above you below you on your timeline bring the same things as you to the table but don't sit on a high horse.

Because I be writing letters and shit
Jean DeGrate has spoken