Why Do Black People Do This To Children?
Yes, I know that African-American’s are NOT the only race, ethnicity, group, etc… that take pictures of children with money. I’m sure people from every ethnicity do the same thing.
Yes, I put up a picture of YOUR baby on the internet. Why wouldn’t I? You did the same thing. None of the pictures were private.
Yes, I realize that ANYONE could have taken the picture which can include, but is not limited to, an older brother, cousin, uncle, etc… anyone with access to a camera.
Now, with all that bullshit out of the way, my question is, what is it about showing a child off with a few dollars (I’ll count anything less than $10,000 as ‘a few dollars’) in a picture that makes people think it’s cute? Now if you posted a video of your 1 month old counting the money? I’d be impressed. If you took your 2 year old with you to Walmart, gave them the money, the paid for the goods, and counted out the change, then MORE POWER TO YOU. But, we all know that shit didn’t happen so, really, what’s the purpose? Ah well, the pics are on deck. Say what you feel.
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“Right now I work for you, but tonight, you’ll work for me”
It’s been planned out for a week; “I can’t wait until Monday,” she said in her text messages while I sat one room away acting like I was working. Lunch dates on the low, movies after work…dating secretly as we tried to hide our dealings with one another from our co-workers. She’s spending more time with me than she is with her man; wait, she has a man? Strolling into her office just to write, “I want to fuck the shit out of you,” on a sticky note and put it on her laptop. Whenever she goes to lunch, she brings me back Reese Cups and Smart Water. We now have a GREEN LIGHT…
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Mattresses, Tables, and Chairs.
“I turn automobiles into hotels on wheels / I got money for a room it’s just the fact that I’m trill” – Jay-Z.
She’s tugging on my belt; I’m trying to tell her, “ma wait.” She moans softly in her sexiest voice, “I want it now.” She quotes Trey Songz, “how ’bout we just pull over and do it where we at.” I correct her, “where we ARE.” She ignores my passion for the correct usage of the English language. With no regard for safe driving practices, she unbuckles her seat belt and climbs over the center console to place her mouth around my stick shift; working her hands around my clutch so she won’t fuck up my transmission. I pull over to the side of the road to avoid vehicular manslaughter charges, while she continues to try to turn my slinky into a flag pole. I grab her arms like a an annoyed black mother trying to keep her kid’s hands off the the toys she’s not buying. Calm down woman, let’s get a room.
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The plan was to reunite with Tsunami and remind her why she was my bad bitch. Needless to say, it didn’t go to well. But my decisions after that, fueled back a lack of self-control and lust, are what truly made this hopefully soon-to-be forgotten night, one to remember.
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Where The &$#* Are The Post?
Have I stopped having sex? Have black women stopped wearing weave? Ok then.
Blogs are coming soon. A few about some co-workers. Some slim chicks. Some bi-chicks. Maybe one or two to make you think. I’ve been saying that forever. I promise that entries are in my drafts folder, but when I read them, I don’t like them. They don’t move me. They are poorly written, word to me English professor (am I the only person still taking college English classes even though I’ve BEEN done with them, just to stay sharp and continue writing?).
What’s new? Heck if I know. Women come and go. Honorable mention: Bubbles is great. I miss Bumble Bee, Jabs, Liz, and L’anor. I have a ridiculous obsession with women 30 years of age and up right now. My employment has me digging a few white girls; I guess I just needed to be exposed to them. There’s a Russian chick in the call center that lights my fire, despite have no curves whatsoever. I can’t believe I haven’t had a threesome in months. Tsunami was on hiatus so I fell back; I still want to have a threesome with her and grey leggins (o’ wait, I haven’t blogged about that yet). My other young chick, Carla, although beautifully thick and incredibly wet, revealed she had a kush habit. 
. Then she sent me a text that read “fuck you, don’t call me”, and turned around and said, “I miss you,” two days later. Bi-polar?
I still have no desire to be in a committed relationship. I still don’t think dinner is ever worth more than $50. And by gosh, I love slightly chilled Reese Cups. I’m scared of going bald; or broke. I think it’s ridiculous that us, speaking about males here, expect our women to remain in great physical shape, while we grow old and look like complete shit. Damn I love good sex.
I’d never turn a hoe into a housewife, well knot knowingly, but maybe I should try to turn a hoodrat into a black woman of grace and elegance. Amber Rose did it…or did she? Her words not mine.
That’s it for my little rant. New blog entries will be coming this week. Atleast two about sex for all of you ‘Zane’ reading freaks.
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Dear Old You From The Future Me
Some women spend their time asking themselves why weren’t they enough. What did they do wrong and what could they have done better? Other women place the blame on the non-shit-ness of the male they were involved with. Regardless of the reasons behind the separation between a woman and the man she loved, most of them tend to judge, rate, and examine the future relationships that her ex shares with the new woman/women in his life. She’s not as cute; she doesn’t have her own car/house/job; “that bitch got kids”; etc… Your mind is in the wrong place sweetie; it’s less about you and more about me.
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