Well simply put, I’ve been really busy. Between work, school, and traveling, my time has really been ripped from me. OK, maybe I’m exaggerating my lack of time a bit because I did always find time for parties and porn. Really though, I felt I needed to step away from the blog and refocus on a few areas and loosely pertaining to it, as well as where I want to steer this ship going into the future.

Redonda

Cutting out all the boring stuff and getting to the point here, plans have been made and the gears are now rolling. Everything isn’t in place yet and probably won’t be COMPLETELY for the next six months, but I didn’t want to keep you guys in the dark anymore. Along with a new editorial tone and new website, one of the things I’m most looking forward to is this new baby of mine I’m calling “Redonda”.

Redonda is an electronic magazine for “open minded” young adults that will provide its readers with a substantial dose of “alternative” humor.

What is alternative humor? Think of every time you thought of a funny joke but kept it to yourself because the subject matter was sensitive, or withheld a satirical opinion because it was likely to offend someone. Couple that with the types of stories that society would argue shouldn’t be told twice, and you’ll have the basic gist of what alternative humor is all about. If you’ve been a fan of the blog, you’d have already been exposed to this, but I’m hoping to take it to another level.

Despite the somewhat conservative aesthetics, the element of unfiltered truth and reality is palpable in each issue. At times it may be too much for the moralfags conservatives of the world, but pissing them off just so happens to be the measuring stick for a job well done.

I won’t be undertaking this bad boy alone though, so I’ve already reached out to a few people to come on board primarily as writers/independent contributors. My goal with this is get the most diverse group possible involved so that you’re not just stuck with my stories and opinions. Besides, I want to focus more on art direction anyway (I’ll still be writing a great deal though). Hopefully it’ll get to the point where some dough can be made and everyone involved can be paid.

Here are some info you may be interested in though:
Frequency: Monthly or every other month depending on how things roll out
Availability: Online | downloadable PDF | delivered to your mobile device via app or e-book/zine
Price: US$5 …………multiplied by zero. (sucks if you failed math)

To give you a little peek at where I’m hoping to go with this, I’ve put together a little mockup of some spreads I made of two previous blog posts I “digitally remastered”, as well as a sort of new hybrid one. I tossed some ads (whose copyright belong to their respective owners) in there as well as placeholders for a better feel of things.

If you’re interested in being a part of this in any way and at any time, don’t hesitate to drop me a line ()… even if you are from P.O.W.A.… Anyway, you can view the preview issue of Redonda here. Read up, pick it apart, and above all let me know what you guys think!

"The man behind the woman?"

How she died wasn’t even released yet before people started throwing up, “Mother fuck Bobby Brown for what he did to Whitney. Both him and his momma ain’t shit!” All they needed to hear was Whitney was dead and they formed a lynch mob. It was as if they were just waiting for her to die so they could get started with throwing up internet gang signs at him.

I found that messed up ESPECIALLY given the fact that they got divorced in 2006, giving her a full six years of being “Bobby-free”. You’d think six years away from what everyone considered being the “root of all evil” in her life would be enough to set things straight. However, the Whitney Houston “Stans” will have no part of that. Since Bobby isn’t on my timeline to defend himself, I think I’ll take a stab at being my brother’s keeper. Besides, I need to take a break from this site I’ve been working on anyway.

What are the facts?

Bobby Brown is held as the reason Whitney’s career fell off. Besides the fact that he went upside her head a few times when she didn’t come correct (like that didn’t help a few people out one way or the other -> Michael Jackson, Rihanna), he is also said to be the one who got her on coke. I find that funny given the fact that Whitney never came out and said, “Bobby got me on coke.”

In fact, whenever she spoke about her drug use during and after her marriage, she always used the terminology “we” and said things like “…we enjoyed doing drugs together”. It was never, “Bobby stuffed this down my nose and told me he’d kick my ass if I didn’t.” This leaves the door open to say that the possibility is there that maybe she was the one who got him hooked on coke or maybe it was a mutual friend/group of enablers that got them hooked on coke.

 Although she would later say she was unhappy, she was at some point quite proud of her coke (not to be confused with crack) addiction. I mean, who can forget this line: “First of all, let’s get one thing straight. Crack is cheap. I make too much money to ever smoke crack. Let’s get that straight. Okay? WE don’t do crack. We don’t do that.
Crack is whack!”

The point of the matter is, nobody (or at least none of us “little people”) know for sure how it all went down since we weren’t there. What we can conclude is that they were both were in it together phuq-ing each other up. In all honesty, it only really all came down on Bobby because 1) he was a man and 2) she was a bigger star than him. The celebrity double standard dictates that our favored celebrities can do no wrong and therefore when “shit gets REAL”, everyone and everything that can be blamed BEFORE the said celebrity will be blamed. -REAL

REAL time

If Bobby was the one who had “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” spinning in 1988 instead of “My Prerogative” we’d be dealing with a whole different ball game. I’ll humor the Whitney Stans for a bit though and take the OJ spinoff approach of “If He (Bobby) Did It”. If he got her on crack coke, where were her family, friends, business partners, etc. in all of this? Is it because she was still making millions and her voice was there (when she wasn’t wigging out) that nobody cared?

When she came out for the first time in a while to give a live performance at the Grammy’s (I think) and she looked like an incomplete game of Pick Up Stix holding up a dress, where were the members of the 2012 Bobby Brown lynch mob? They were probably too busy making jokes about it the next day and moving the fudge on. What a lot of these people running their mouths probably don’t know is that she continued recording albums (which reached #1), touring, and securing acting contracts well after her Bravo reality show with Bobby that people only watched to laugh and see how she’s phuq-ing her life up now so they can feel better about theirs.

The thing is, everyone was too busy being caught up with who Ray J was banging to turn into a celebrity for no reason, a retarded weave queen from Queens, and a Canadian bag of Skittles who rhymes over good beats to even phuq with their “girl” Whitney and the good she is/was doing with herself lately. They all took that “Fuck that old bitch!” approach like they’re trying to do with the Material Girl (that’s Madonna for you kids out there *sighs*) but she’s out there reminding everyone that she’s the baddest b!t(h to ever be in the game (eat your heart out Beyonce).

Now Whitney’s dead, she suddenly back on everyone’s “fuck-giving” radar and so Mr. Brown has to wake up and find out that half of the world is taking a dump on his name for both something he didn’t do (kill her,) and something his ex wife and him were CLEARLY past (their “not so ideal” marriage). The way I see it, if she died yesterday, it was “God’s will” and not “Bobby Brown’s fault” because I don’t believe that a person can die before his/her time. Although all deaths are tragic for the parties affected, I can’t personally say I’m in any way “moved” by her dying since I only really knew and cared for her songs because my moms loved them. Well, that and the fact that almost every phuq-ing year some Carnival Queen contestant decides to ruin one of her songs and the off key notes tend to linger in your head until you happen to hear the real deal.

What I will say though is that maybe we should move towards letting people know how appreciated they and their works are BEFORE they die. If Whitney is on her way to Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, or where ever the phuq you think dead people go, she’s probably screaming, “Fuck ya’ll niggaz!” at all the dick-jocking “R.I.P.” FB statuses that are being thrown up. Putting all that aside and getting back to the question I probably should have asked the Whitney Stans at the start of all this, and will ask again IF it is proven she OD’d on coke (which so far doesn’t seem to be the case):

“If you were driving your car and got into an accident and died, would you blame the person who taught you how to drive 6+ years ago? No right? So why the fuck is Bobby Brown being brought up?”

I can’t help but think the homie had some foresight when he sang the words, “Everybody’s talking all this stuff about me, why won’t they just let me live?”
#teamBobbyBrown

My story is that I graduated from college a year earlier, and after working for about a year I was ready to attend university. After a tedious application, interview, and portfolio review process, I was accepted into York University’s Design program. I was pumped of course to get into Canada’s most accredited design program, but it came with a catch; a CA$19k (EC$51.3K) price tag per year on tuition alone.

Going or coming?

I wasn’t exactly rolling in that kind of money but was still thankful my pops paid for everything out of pocket for my last college and saved me about two years off of York. I now just had to cover costs for the other two years and that’s why I found myself counting the tiles on the floor repeatedly for 45 minutes. Normally, I would have left the office given that I hate having my time wasted, but since I really did need my government’s help (and had a very understanding boss; BIG shout out to H.D.) I stuck with it.

Just as I was reading the sign stating the dress code required of the visitors of the ministry, I heard someone announce my name. I looked up and saw this heavy set woman with a yellow pencil stuck in her stale contrasting burgundy braids, wearing what appeared to be bed slippers. After making her aware I was present, she asked me to follow her. While walking towards her, I caught glimpse of the sign again and saw the words “professional attire”, then turned my gaze back to the woman I was following who was now displaying the infamous lazy, flat footed, female Antiguan government worker walk. Typical!

I was brought into a room which had an older looking dude and two younger women seated around a long desk with stacks of paper on it. As I entered, I smiled and uttered a cheerful “good morning” which was well received by the dude and one of the chicks. The other chick who appeared to be the youngest received my greeting as if I had just asked her for a blow job and sucking d!(k was against her religion. She didn’t even bother to look up from her phone which she was too busy sending a text on, so instead she let out what sounded like an uneasy grunt.

When the heffa finally put her phone down, she gave me a condescending look as if I was three months late on paying her child support and she had better $h!t to do than listen to me make an excuse for not having the money for yet another month. I could tell she had brought her period into the workplace today and was set out to “bleed” over everything (metaphor alert). The urge to jump up on to the table and flash kick her phone permanently into the snobbish expression on her face left me as the dude started introducing everyone.

Since the majority of my readers are outside of the Caribbean, you may be wondering why I was in a meeting for a student loan. Well in Antigua, the government has a knack for just skull phuq-ing the simplicity out of every simple process and turning it into a journey to Mordor. If you’ve ever played Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time and tried to get the Big Goron sword, you’ll start to have an understanding of what things are like.

I had to submit transcripts from all secondary and tertiary institution attended, certificates, acceptance letters, cost breakdown, passport pictures, information about my family income (basically all the regular $h!t I suppose). PLUS a two page essay on why I needed the money that didn’t include the words, “university costs a shitload of money and I’m broke as fuck”. Hang on though, it gets better…

Then I had to wait three months for someone to just take my name and put it into an Excel document with a date and time for the interview I was currently in. Then I had to stomach doing the interview with that condescending b!t(h on her period, and wait two more months to see if my loan was approved. Here’s the good part…

IF approved, I had a CHANCE (operative word here) of being loaned EC$50k (CA$18.5k) MAXIMUM to be paid out to me over the span of four years (scroll back up to see what my tuition per year is… I’ll wait). PLUS I had to sign a bond saying the immediately after graduation I had to come back to work there for three years (I’ll explain why that is like being sold into slavery in a later post in the series), basically kissing the two year Canadian work permit I’d be granted upon graduation goodbye. On the flip side, the interest rate was only 3% per annum so I guess it wasn’t all bad. I had goals, was very passionate about what I did, and needed all the help I could get so I didn’t mind having Papa Bird phuq me up with @$$ with the wrong side of a black pineapple to get where I needed to be. (no homo)

I’ll pause the interview for now and finish it up over the span of the next few posts in the series (hopefully you’ll understand why as things play out). Instead, I’d like to take a few moments to sort of get into the “meat” of things.

“I hate Antigua: the country; not the island”

People often hear me make this comment and say that I am unpatriotic. I guess this is because they lack the understanding, ability or willingness to separate the country of Antigua (government, economy, laws, etc.) which for the most part is very intangible, from the island of Antigua (beach, carnival, late night Aziza’s bread shop runs) which is a lot more tangible or maybe easily controlled/influenced by any particular individual (this concept really calls for an open mind).

Me being called unpatriotic is nothing new to me and it is something I have probably grown accustomed to over the last four years. The main reason for this is that I am often openly critical of and question the very essence of what many Antiguans seem to have wrongfully adopted as “the Antiguan way of life”. My issue is that certain areas of the country of Antigua which need to be addressed are being swept under the carpet and written off as, “Oh, it’s Antigua. What do you expect?” as if that is the bandage to heal all wounds.

This mentality of sweeping matters under the carpet and calling those critical of the powers that be “unpatriotic” has been around for some time. In the late 80’s/early 90’s, my aunt had a book published entitled “A Small Place” which was critical of the country of Antigua. As a child growing up, I can remember hearing hateful things about how she hated Antigua and how much of a wicked woman she was. When I met her for the first time I thought she was the nicest person in the world and could not understand why anyone would say those things about her. After reading “A Small Place” (and her other books) a few years later, I could see why some of those arguments were lodged against her, but I could also see the even bigger picture which was there being a strong element of truth in almost everything she said.

The act of being critical of a government (or any functioning body for that matter) does not involve blindly opposing everything they say and do, then going to bed content that you did something like every oppositional party has done over the last 20 years. Instead, it involves disconnecting any ties you have to that body (patriotism included) and constructing your own reality on the way things are or possibly could be, based on the RAW facts about a particular situation. Then in turn you will be in a more unbiased position to point out certain faults that may not be readily seen by the individuals too blinded by patriotism, in the hopes of ultimately sparking the critical thinking needed for effective problem solving (hopefully I didn’t lose anyone there). This is what this series of posts is aimed at doing.

If we’re all “drinking the Kool-Aid” served by whoever is elected Jim Jones Prime Minister, then we’ll forever be stuck in the rut of being “halfway there to nowhere”. Progress cannot be made if we keep doing the same things and recycling the same ideas without anyone initially saying, “Hey, we’re going about this the wrong way and there has to be a better way of doing it!” When you look at it, it’s these people who speak up who are often called unpatriotic, but the reality of the situation is, maybe they are indeed the true patriots that everyone else claims to be.

I know a lot of these words are probably going to fall on deaf ears, but at the same time I am thankful for those who have hearing and understanding. I don’t expect any one person to agree with half the things I say, but I am more concerned with generating the right discussions needed to move forward. I mean, after all I don’t know “everything”.

Next post in the series:
“Being Critical of Antigua: The Tourism Industry Aint $h!t”

I had often thought that my father wasn’t my sister’s real father. What I had suspected happened was the Devil was in Hell chilling as usual, then got bored one day and said, “Fuck it!” and raped my mother in her sleep (kind of how Jesus was made, but without all the “GLORY! HALLELUJAH!’s” and free gifts). What resulted was my mother giving birth to a kid that my father should have taken to Maury, but God instead foresaw me making that comment suggesting Jesus was conceived via celestial rape and decided to punish me for it ahead of time. *sighs*

Did she have it coming?

From day one I knew my sister was bad news because when she came on the scene, my breast milk supply got cut off immediately. With each passing year, things just progressively got worst for me but better for her. She got whatever she wanted and I was pretty much told to go eat a d!(k. Added to that, in my parents eyes she could do no wrong, and she used that against me every day… until I got to my boiling point.

One day we were playing with MY toys, but the game she wanted to play (because if not she’d run kicking and screaming like a punk b!t(h to my father, and he’d be a punk b!t(h too and give in to her every word). The thing was, today G.I. Joe was supposed to marry Barbie (this was her toy btw), and be her house-bitch for the rest of his life. However, I knew G.I. Joe wasn’t the “fuck just one chick for the rest of his life” kind of guy AND he had a war to go fight… So I said, “Fuck this!” and didn’t play along.

Of course my sister got pissed because G.I. Joe left Barbie at the altar, but I didn’t care because I was going to be out of the house and on the block with my homies before she could go get my pops. I was waiting for her to start running and crying to him as usual so I could make my move, but today something was different. There was something about Barbie being stood up after a full 20 minutes of wedding planning that caused something else to snap in my sister’s mind. I watched her face transition from “disbelief”, to “sad”, to “silently pissed off”, and at the time it seemed funny… very funny… at the time that is…

I never knew my boxes of toys had a pen tucked away in it somewhere, and I definitely didn’t know that it had made its way out of the box during Barbie’s wedding plans. My sister’s rage fueled hand however knew of the pen’s existence and location. Just as I was entering my second tier of hysterical laughter, she made a swipe at me… and stuck the pen in my throat.

My grandmother’s words of “whey laughing dey, crying dey” (where there’s laughter, there’s sorrow) never held more meaning to me than as I sat there bleeding blood and blue ink. I looked at my sister in shock and horror, and she returned my gaze with a menacing look of, “You’re lucky I let you live!” I had a flashback of every toy I had to let her play with, every Minti Minti I had to give her half of, and every time I automatically got into trouble for something she did………… and slapped the $h!t out of her!

It’s funny how BOTH my parents chose to ignore the purple blood that was coming out of a hole in my throat before suplexing me through the TV stand for hitting my sister. They lesson I was told to learn from it was that me hitting a chick is comparable to them contorting my spine with living room furniture; it’s wrong and is an unfair advantage because it is a chick. I’ll cut this story off here for now though and try to explain its relevance.

It is a known fact that “bitches don’t know how to act”. The phuq-ed up part about it is that society has created and nurtured the habitat for such behavior and-… OK pause for a minute. I can sense that some Lifetime empowered heffas are already looking to rip me to shreds in some emails, but let me make it CLEAR that this is NOT a post promoting that it’s “kool” to “run upside a bitch’s head when she doesn’t come correct”. However, it is a post highlighting some of the situations that chicks put themselves in where it could MILDLY be considered to warrant a justifiable physical reaction from a dude that wouldn’t require the chick to do more that to just shake it off… most of the times. *hopes that how carefully he’s choosing his terminology is duly noted by both the habitual woman beaters and “womyn” alike.*

*unpauses the post*

“Bitches don’t know how to act”

Like I was saying, they don’t know how to act because that’s how they have been trained by society. The thing is there is no physical corollary for a chick overstepping her boundaries with a guy. Well yes there could be, but it would not be socially acceptable or end in a way other than a police officer kicking your door down and choking you with your own arm behind your back.

Chicks know this so [as with most other aspects of life] they take advantage of it; ESPECIALLY in public situations. To make matters worse, there’s ALWAYS some benevolent, wannabe knight in shining armor, punk @$$ mother phuq-er on the prowl who has wet dreams about being a super hero and is just dying to see some chick even being spoken to sternly, so he can step in and possibly score some Pussy Points with her (or any chick in the vicinity whose cooch gets wet off of seeing that). Like I said in the post about why I don’t eat coochie, guys are always looking for ways to undercut the game. *sighs*

“When should it be OK to hit a chick?”

...can't argue with "REAL"...

When asked this question, all Captian Save-A-Hoes like to shout in unison, “NEVER!” Well I’m here to tell you, “FUCK THAT!!!” Why I don’t even pay these dudes the time of day with this crap is because I know every guy has lines that if stepped across, $h!t gets REAL! When you couple that  with the known fact that chicks are habitual “line-steppers”, you know for sure that every guy is bound to snap at some point.

Since women on a whole are constantly whining about how helpless they are and how much protection they need, society doesn’t treat altercations between men and women equally. If you’re the guy, you’re going to get screwed over virtually every time because the law has an umbilical cord attached to them (chicks). Your best bet is to probably not get caught, or have about six witnesses (your homies) that’ll swear she attacked you with a chainsaw.

I state all this to say that there are some instances when a line has been crossed where popping a chick a quick one should be OK, and a guy doesn’t have to look over his shoulder for an army of “captains” or expect the police to boot-phuq his door down two seconds after she locks herself into the closet… like:

If she kicks you in the nuts
Phuq what you heard of think you may know, getting hit in the nuts hurts more than child birth. A chick’s body was built to sustain popping kids out; just ask Octamom. Nuts on the other hand were not meant to be smushed in any way. If you have a problem with that, you should go back to the Garden of Eden and pick that up with Eve.

You can just graze nuts and a guy will fall to the ground in pain. You can’t get hit in the nuts and talk $h!t at the same time; I’ve tried it. The only words in your vocabulary at their point are, “ARRGH!!!” and “FUCK!!!”

That said, if a chick deliberately hits a guy in the nuts (unless he was trying to rape her or kicking the $h!t out of her for burning dinner or something), he should be able to baptize her in some hardened concrete. Then again, he’d probably be too consumed with pain while lying on the ground to do anything. If she didn’t get him flush, her intent can be proven, and he can still stand, we should all just turn a blind eye to what happens next…

Phuq-ing with his $h!t and being gangsta about it
I was at this barbershop back in Antigua getting a haircut when this dude ran in and said that some heffas were outside phuq-ing up a yellow sports car. Turns out that it belonged to one of the barbers. We all rushed outside just in time to see them spray painting a cinder block before piloting it through his front glass. He rushed towards them and then an argument ensued.

Basically, the one who threw the block was his chick and one of her three homegirls saw him riding around with some new chick recently and that somehow confirmed her beliefs that he was cheating. I don’t know what it is with females and their chicken head friends to always congregate in these situations and choose to go after a dude’s car. What’s worse was that I think he had just recently imported it the car. I looked at him and I saw the rage building up and that rage channeled into all of the other dudes present and we were silently hoping he’d peel her muffin cap back.

I think the main reason for that was because her and her friends had no remorse about what they did. His girl was also up in his face saying the one thing that would send any guy who had been wronged over the edge. “Why you have your face screwed up like that? What, you gonna hit me? I wish you WOULD so I could fuck you up right here!” …then she started shoving him, and turning him around when he tried to walk away while calling him
a punk.

If you’re having a hard time picturing it, watch this video. This is a good example of how things went down. There was the confrontation, he moved away, she followed talking madd $h!t, shoved him, then asked him to hit her while getting up in his face. Notice how nobody tries to step in at this point because it’s socially acceptable for a b!t(h to not know how to act. The homie then aids her in a fall to the ground with a gentle shove and suddenly that’s the only time a problem is seen. He backs off her and she gets up and goes for his throat. He swings at her in self defense, misses, but she falls because she buckles in her heels.

You’d think she’d quit, but nope! Her “free to act like a bitch” pass says she can continue. Then, “TUN TUN TA DAAA!!!” Captain Save-A-Hoe arrives; ready to phuq $h!t up.

Going back to the barbershop incident, the guy took the peaceful route and not let his ego get the better of him. I respect the hell out of him for that because if it was me (well, I wouldn’t be messing with a hoodrat-esque chick like that in the first place), I’d probably put her in a sleeper hold. Oh, I forgot one other part of the story. The chick he was seen with was his cousin who just came back and was on a break from college.

Self defense or if she’s bigger than me
Watch this video. What happened here was that a bull dyke and her partner came into a McDonalds and made a small order and tried paying with a 50. In the States, they don’t usually accept payments at fast food places with anything larger than a 20, and if they do they have to check it first to make sure it’s real.

Apparently “Rosie” had a problem with that and started calling the guys names and eventually slapped him. Now you see there are two things at play here. Firstly she’s a chick, so she has a “right” to do whatever she wants to a guy. Secondly, she’s an inner city bull dyke, and they are as aggressive and confrontational as one of the “niggas on the block”. Put the two together and you were almost certain that something was going to pop off.

The homie took a swipe at her after the slap and missed. She then jumped the counter to go phuq him up because she clearly didn’t play that, while her “boo” went around the other side of the counter and jumped it to go help out. If I know one thing about inner city bull dykes, it’s that they are more likely to “not give a fuck” than a “nigga from the block” for the fact that at the end of the day, they still have a vagina which gives them (as I stated before) the “right” to do whatever they want to a guy.

I’m sure the dude knew this too so he ran. He happened to stumble upon a hollowed metal rod while being cornered and proceeded to beat the $h!t out of them. He kept telling them to stay down, but bull dykes “don’t take no shit from no man” so she kept getting back up to go at him. Since they didn’t want to listen, he kept beating them back down. Moral of the story here is, they got what they deserved.

I’ve seen a guy get stabbed multiple times in a KFC by these two chicks who just thought it was “gangsta” to cut infront of him and order. According to their logic, he wasn’t supposed to have a problem with it or say anything. If a guy’s life or well being is in danger, he should have the right to prevent that by any means possible. If that means having to Spartan kick her down some stairs, then so be it.

This talk about “there is no situation where it is OK to hit a woman and you can always just walk away” is quite farfetched when you think about it in this light. Like in this video for example. I don’t care what anyone says, I would have punched her in the face with a bullet or two. The sad part is, you know he couldn’t call the police after this ‘cause they’d pretty much tell him to handle his own business.

Back to reality

All in all, it’s never going to be socially acceptable to hit a chick again just like it won’t be to mine “niggas” out of Africa to do field work. It’s something they we all have to come to terms with, but just like Southern KKK members, a guy can dream. Since I’ve been on a video sharing spree, here one more. Watch it and help the guy in it and myself figure out one thing… “How CAN she slap?” #bitchHadItComing

"Oh you whore..."

Then I’d continue having sex with my GF and going around with her like nothing happened and on the last day we had sex before I left again, I’d make sure it was at her place and I’d bring the herpes ridden undies in the car with me. After we were done with sex, I’d pretend to use her bathroom, take her toothbrush, then make an excuse to have to go to the car for something and “blend” her toothbrush in the bag with the undies like I was “Shake N’ Bake”-ing chicken.

I’d bring her toothbrush back, kiss her one last time, then utter the words, “I’m breaking up with you” and leave without saying anything else. Oh, I forgot to mention something. I’d also make sure every time I had sex with her while I was there I’d cum in her without her knowing (REAL dudes know how to cum with a blank face). So one or so months later when she finds out she’s pregnant (hopefully) and she calls me up to say this, I can then tell her, “Pick that up with the nigga you been fucking behind my back who probably even gave you herpes too” and hang up my damn phone. Now that would phuq a b!t(h up!

I don’t know, but there’s something about “not having sex for a few months because you’re being faithful to a bitch only to find out she’s giving YOUR pussy away to another nigga” that just makes doing something like that completely morally justifiable. Chicks tend to phuq with a guy’s feelings when he’s willing to commit to them fully and not mess around. It’s like the fact that she’s actually being treated good causes her vagina to secrete more of the hormones into her body that makes her unable to suppress her natural urge to be trifling. That’s why I’ve [almost] stopped caring about most chicks (except my close homegirls who aren’t retarded) and their cries about dudes treating them badly.

So where does all of this come in? Well, when I left for Canada last summer, a homie and I embarked on the long distance thing with our girls and he called me up last week and told me that his chick was “slutting it up” back home. I felt his pain on another level because I could put myself in his shoes to feel his pain since it could have been me.

I then gave him the above advice (which is one of the many things I’ve sat and thought about if I’ve had to deal with an unfaithful girl) and it took some convincing, but we’ve got thing 85% planned out (logically). He should get back within the next three to four weeks and “Operation: Blindside The Bitch” will commence. She won’t know what hit her!

Yes I know it’s something I probably shouldn’t say or suggest to a friend desperately seeking advice, but I am my brother’s keeper and I already explained to you guys before about guys and their commitment. Call it a “bitch move” if you like, but it’s mild in comparison to some of the things I’d probably do myself. Speaking of things I probably shouldn’t say, here’s a bunch of other things that can probably be added to the series (my apologies in advance gals ):

1.) The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and the way to most Antiguan teenage girl’s vagina is through a box of KFC. I knew that, most homies coming up knew that, and Hard Knaxx knew that and made a song about it. People ragged on him for it singing it and-… well actually no. “Womyn” ragged on him because they were upset that the fact that they would readily open their legs to attain something they weren’t in the position to obtain by their own means was not only being exploited in its infancy stage, but also being promoted and publicized. I understand P.O.W.A., it’s hard to promote the ideals of “Fuck niggaz, they ain’t shit!” among your gender when the ones who didn’t divorce their husbands and take half his $h!t are out “getting theirs” but applying “other means”. Maybe you guys should start a support fund. Until then, pubescent cherries are going to continue being popped at the price of a 2-piece combo. –REAL

2.) I like boobs, therefore I like looking at boobs. If you have a problem with me looking at your boobs then maybe you shouldn’t have them in the first place. Yeah, I know God gave them to you and you can’t help it, but he gave them to you for me to look at. I mean what other purpose do they serve? It’s not like you’re pregnant every day of your life and need them around to nurse a baby. If God didn’t want me to look at them, then he’d have made them like an erection; around when needed. So phuq off when I’m staring at them while talking to you and your “bland personality having” @$$. In a lot of cases, they’re the only things you have going for you anyway…

3.) …speaking of tits… @$$ can never make up for boobs. Some guys as well (as chicks with grape tits) think it can, but honestly it can’t. If you look at it, boobs are the only outwardly visible physical feature that differentiates a chick from a dude. Just that little hump of chest area curvature makes the world of a difference. I mean, what do you think separates who can plan in the WNBA and the NBA? It sure as hell isn’t “pretty faces”…

4.) Two things that should never come together in a positively constructed sentence are: “sexy” and “female body builder”.

5.) Why is it that it’s always the “unpretty” ones who are the most extroverted and are least likely to take a hint? For YEARS dudes have been trying to figure it out and no one has been able to pinpoint the reason. Is it that they get to a point in life where after years of hatin’ on the mirror and every hott chick they’ve ever taken a Facebook profile picture with that they develop a “Fuck it!” mentality? Funny thing is, when you finally get your point of “I’d rather give birth to an adult porcupine that be macked on by you” across, they develop an attitude as if you owe them child support… Basically, “YOU AIN’T SHIT!”

6.) I don’t mind you trying to set me up. However, don’t try to set me up with your fat friend that you think “deserves better” because she has such a “nice personality” (ONLY selling point)… then get mad at me because I didn’t bite. I “deserve better” too!!! Some friend you are…

7.) Being lesbian or bisexual should be a choice reserved (by law) ONLY for hott chicks. No one wants to see chick-Shrek and Godzilla making out…

8.) Speaking of… Halloween parties are how unattractive chicks get lucky and that’s why I don’t phuq with them. It’s bad enough having to scope out chicks in the dark on a regular club night and hoping to get lucky, but then to add in the element of being able to wear a mask over their mask? UH UH!! Not for me homie! I don’t like those odds. I have a better chance at proposing to Katy Perry and getting her to say “yes!” *<3 dreamy sigh <3*

9.) Why it’s so hard to ask the modern chick a “yes or no” question and get a “yes or no” answer? Is it the fact that they were made from a rib and it wasn’t the rib that contained “comprehensive capabilities”? I think I speak for all dudes when I say we HATE “beat around the bush” answers even more than “beat around the bush” stories. At the end of the day, they’ll wonder why there won’t ever be a female Prime Minister. Ya’ll spend too much time dwelling on unnecessary $h!t. Get to the damn point already: “Fuck your feelings for like two seconds, did you fuck him; yes or no?”
LMFAO , shout out to my homie Sharp for sharing that story with me.

10.) In this day and age chicks are STILL thinking that a guy actually needs to care about her or there has to be some “spark” *snickers* in order for him to want to have sex with her. Chicks fail to realize that it is VERY possible to have sex without feelings. That’s why in some cases it’s technically “OK” for guys to cheat. We just cheat physically and out of the desire to cum; you do it emotionally. Go ahead and feel that every guy that hollas at you cares about you “in that light”… That’s how most of you end up heartbroken. Open your eyes and realize that your poon doesn’t necessarily means $h!t to every guy your give it to nor is it going to magically morph him into the guy you want him to be. However… if that’s the mentality you need to have in order to keep giving it away, then by all means don’t let me stop you…

11.) *runon sentence alert* Whenever there’s like a dance routine, there’s always the one b!t(h who skipped out on a few practices to go hoe-ing because “she’s a diva like that and can catch up on what she missed”, but when it’s time to perform she keeps looking on the other chicks as a visual cue on what to do so therefore her movements are out of sync with everyone else and she basically just phuqs up everything. STOP RECRUITING THIS B!T(H INTO YOUR DANCE CREW AND LET HER STAY HER BUM A$$ AT HOME!!!

12.) Let me get an “AMEN!” on this guys:
*New friend request on Facebook*
“Oh hello!!! This chick is SMOKING hott!!!” <3
*looks at bottom of pic*
“August 12, 2009? WTF???!!!”
*searches for something at least in 2011 and finds three. One is of a pregnant belly, one is of a heart with an arrow in it that says something like “FUCK LOVE!” and one is of a fat chick squeezing into clothes from “August 12, 2009″*
“WHY THE PHUQ IS THIS B!T(H TYRNA ‘TRICK A NIGGA’?”

13.) Nothing starts my day off better than witnessing Maury let some trifling b!t(hes hear him tell their dudes the words “You ARE NOT the father!”  ARRR HA HA HA HA HA HA!!! IT BUUUUURRRRRNNNNSSSS!!!
*calms down*
I don’t know, but there’s something about the look on their faces that just makes my day. You know you’ve been sleeping with like six dudes on the go and you choose to single out the one mofo out of the lot who you think stands the best chance to support you (usually her original man) and pin the kid on him? You think he’s going to forget about and forgive you for the cheating he found out about, and you guys can start over just because you’re having a kid? Nah homegirl, the world doesn’t work like that anymore thanks to Uncle Maury. Besides, J. Cole already told us, “…man these hoes be trapping niggaz, playing with niggas emotions like they some action figures. Swear they get pregnant for collateral; it’s like extortion…” –REAL

14.) Guys ultimately define if a chick is sexy so don’t front like you don’t dress sexy to impress guys. I know when I get my “fly” game on and I walk into a room b!t(hes BETTER be breaking their phuq-ing necks to get a better view of who it is. If they don’t I know I have to step my game up. Either that or I’ve walked into a room full of bull-dykes or a local P.O.W.A. meeting… ZING!!!
*OK, that’s twice in one post; I’m done!*

Give her what she wants!

Given all of this, it’s easy to see why it is commonly viewed that women are under more pressure on a daily basis than men. As a guy, it makes you stop and think that maybe Lifetime and POWA do indeed have a purpose other than to belittle men, and that they are actually fighting the good fight. However, before you run to your local florist to splurge on a “Thank you!” card and a bouquet for the first chick you meet, I’m here to inform you that women don’t know what REAL pressure is.

When it comes to sex, the burden of if it’s an equally enjoyable encounter rests solely on a guy’s shoulder. If he cums and she doesn’t, it’s his fault (and not her desert wasteland pu$$y). If she cums and he doesn’t, it’s still his fault (and definitely not her weak sex game).

The main source of pressure in this aspect for men comes from the fact that testosterone makes us naturally egotistical, and sexual conquests play a huge part in our lives. You may think that it’s our own fault but women have a big part in this too. Without getting into too much detail, I’ll illustrate two examples.

If a woman becomes known throughout a country for being a whore, having a desiccated gaping vagina, and providing the worst sexual experience of life, she’ll still receive calls from dudes every night saying, “No worries baby, Big Poppa can make a Niagra out of you.” On the flip side, if a guy becomes known throughout a country for cumming in less than 30 seconds, his options for poontang become:

• Invest heavily in his friendly neighborhood whore “working girl”
• Pick up “new” chicks on their way in at the airport
• Pack up and move to another country where nobody knows him

The risk of being completely socially exiled because of the lack of sexual endurance; now that’s pressure! Every time a guy has sex, this is what he’s putting on the line. That’s the reality of the cruel world we live in.

The root of the matter is that guys have allowed the value of “Dick” to depreciate, while facilitating chicks in their goal to raise the value of “Pussy” with each passing year. This then lead to the phenomenon where chicks started to believe sex was all about them cumming, and that being the determining factor of if it was good or not. While attacking the problem at the root would be the better solution in the long run, I know most guys for now are only interested in the quick fixes so I’ll save my “Raise the Value of Dick” campaign for a later date.

Below, I have gathered together a small collection of tips and techniques that have been pulled from the knowledge banks of a couple hundred guys from around the world. A “not too public” forum was created and each initially invited member invited select friends and so on and so forth. Stories and experiences were shared that were both related to and laughed at, but it was probably an overall learning experience for all involved.

Although I’m being my brother’s keeper here, the chicks that have “issues” with their mates could benefit from passing this post on to them. Be warned though, they’ll be some pretty upsetting things said and suggested. Ah well, you guys never listen anyway *thinks back to the List*. With that out of the way, let’s begin!

First off…

So you met a new chick who makes your d!(k drips with pre-cum from her just smiling at you, and you made it your goal in life to have her as a notch under your belt. You spend the next few months wearing her down and hitting her with every single line in the book and FINALLY you get her to take those panties off for you. Your chance is now here to reap the benefits of your labor and all you can think of is how much you are going to DOMINATE her in the sack. I mean, you’ve been talking smack to her about your sex game all this while right? One minute after initial penetration, you cum, you feel great, she feels like she got jibbed, and then you feel like $h!t because there isn’t anything you can do for right now other than stick your tongue out. How did you end up here?

Well, there are two things that we as guys all need to understand about cumming. The first of which is that there is no such thing as “too soon”. That may be a hard thing for a lot of people (ESPECIALLY chicks) to fathom but look at it this way. When a chick is having sex, she’s having sex for the sensation of cumming, or the “feel good” span of time that leads up to it. It’s the same way with guys only that the actual “feel good” part of sex for us usually is the prelude to us cumming.

"Autopilot: ON!"

If a guy is banging a girl for an hour which ends in him cumming, it’s only within the last 10 minutes (if so much) that it actually starts to feel good for him. Other than that, he’s just chilling in his “zone” -the period of time during sex when his penis is on autopilot because it’s rock hard without feeling any sensations, and he feels like he can fuck forever! Any guy doubting me on this probably hasn’t gotten enough poontang in his life to know what I’m talking about.

Now that we understand a little bit more about the act of a guy cumming, the second thing we need to understand is that it’s mostly (not totally) in your mind. “Thirst” (horniness) has a way of amplifying the sensation of sexual stimulation. It’s what’ll make even the simplest of things (like a girl grinding on you in a club/dance/party) make you cum. Act like it never happened to you as a teenager dying for some pu$$y. I really couldn’t have just been me right? Man phuq you guys if you’re laughing. I’m proud of every one of my ejaculations… *storms off*

The thing to know about thirst is that it can start affecting you before sexual stimulation. Like the drive over to her place when you’re doing your “Imma get me some pussy and tear that bitch up” happy dance. The thought of breaking your five month poontang drought and that sense of eagerness you have to do so is actually your thirst acting towards making you cum. It won’t make you actually cum though, but it’ll put you “right there”. That’s why when you get to her place and start ripping her clothes off before saying “goodnight”, you cum within a mere 20 thrusts.

Thirst is not all bad though because it as a buildup of thirst that makes cumming for a guy feel good. Look at thirst as water being backed up for ages which causes you stress. The more water that gets backed up the more stress you build up. When that stress gets relieved, you feel good. The more stress that gets relieved, the better it feels. Sex then becomes a game of balancing “thirst” and “sustainability”.

Managing your thirst in terms of delaying cumming isn’t the easiest of things to do mainly because it has a direct connection to your brain and your cumming sequence. The keys to prolonging the period before an ejaculation are:

• Diverting the attention of the brain from being occupied with thirst and towards anything else.
• Reducing the amounts of thirst you allow to build up and alter the scale on which it affects you
• Reducing the amount of sexual stimulation that thirst has to act on

Those are the basic principles all methods for not cumming are built on. I’ve given this some thought and instead of listing all the suggestions that were given, I’ll list the six most popular ones amongst the guys with some detail to how they work. That way everybody gets educated without having to b!t(h about another long post. Anyways, here they are:

“Save all the freaky shit for when you’re in your zone”

Thirst thrives off of excitement and nothing excites a dude more than finally getting to try some new $h!t out that he saw in some porn. If you’re looking to prolonged periods of phuq-ing, your main objective should be to get into your zone. If that means you have to slow-phuq her in missionary for 20 minutes before you do anything else then you do it. After you get there, you are free to do whatever you want and however you want because you have gotten control over your thirst and you can therefore allow yourself to focus on anything else. Donkey Punching is now welcomed.

“Find a fucking song”

This was the one method I initially suggested and quite shockingly, it’s something a lot of guys do as well. This works off of occupying your brain with something else other than focusing on thirst or the act of having sex. You may think it’s something that can be easily done, but it really isn’t (well for me at least).

What you do is pick a song and after you do this you focus on NOTHING ELSE but singing it; hitting every word, humming what you don’t know, and making the sounds of the beat/instruments (where there are no words) all in the back of your head. This also helps with establishing a rhythm to thrust to so you don’t come off as amateurish as someone using a hula hoop for the first time; only in a vagina. Once your brain successfully blocks out the influence of thirst, you’ll be in your zone and we already know how things go from there.

My “fucking song” is Lil’ Troy’s “Wanna Be A Baller” (don’t judge me) and I sing it EVERY SINGLE TIME I have sex… well except with that chick I lost my virginity to *shudders*. I don’t even remember how it became my “fucking song”, all I know is that one day I was having sex with this chick, it came into my mind, I started phuq-ing her to it then realized I didn’t feel like cumming anymore, and rest was history. The funniest part was that I didn’t even like the song that much.

What’s even funnier is that I once told this guy I used to work with about this and was made to understand that he had a “fucking song” too. I asked him what it was and his reply almost made me regret asking him. The song? You probably won’t believe this but it was “Father Abraham”.  Oh and get this, he actually does the dance in his mind too.

Yeah I judged him for it too just like you probably are right now but needless to say, I tried it and um… that $h!t works!

“Kiss the bitch”

He's doing it...

Different guys get off on different things and for some guys, their thirst levels go up the more a chick moans. This was an issue for quite a few of the dudes and of the other solutions like “jamming a sock down her throat” (just in her mouth, ha ha) or “stuffing her face in a pillow” (these guys seem violent huh?), the simple act of “kissing her” seemed to be the best resolution and the most beneficial. As one guy explained it:

“If she’s making too much noise and it’s breaking your concentration on ‘not cumming’, what you can do (well if you’re in the position to) is kiss her so she can shut the fuck up. That works to your benefit in that she not only shuts her pie hole, but it also gives her the feeling that you care about and have feelings for her enough to kiss her during sex. This ups the chances of you getting some ‘repeat pussy’.”

Now that I think about it, I probably couldn’t have explained it any better myself and it makes the world of sense. Added to that, you can’t argue with the higher chances of getting from “repeat poontang”. Though, some guys don’t really like kissing chicks during sex; ESPECIALLY chicks they only see as living sex dolls so this is one of those “pick your poison” situations. I guess if you’re not really down for having her feel like she is “that much” closer to being your main chick by kissing her, you could try the other two suggestions. Just be sure to check every few minutes to see if she’s still breathing.

“Don’t underestimate foreplay”

If you’re like a lot of dudes, and you know that first “load” is going to blow more “sooner” than “later”, it’s best to get rid of it during foreplay. This works to your benefit in two ways. The first and most obvious is that it means that you start sex on your “second erection” which is the one most guys DOMINATE on. You’d have gotten all the thirst and anxiety of the sexual experience out of the way and you now have a much clearer mind to focus on “the fucking”.

The second way it benefits you is that chicks gobble up foreplay and the guys who engage in it like chicken feed. I don’t need to go into the fact that guys approach sex with their penises and chicks approach it with all the gay, dumb, and mythically magical $h!t they tend to attach to it for you to see how that works. All you need to worry about and do is just engage in foreplay, make sure she makes you cum first, play with her tits and vag-o until you get another erection, and then you cut foreplay off.

Any cumming she’s going to be doing after that will have to be on your d!(k. If you choose to continue, go on to make her cum and she decides she doesn’t want to have sex anymore, then it’ll be your own damn fault you have blue balls. Although, if it is your actual girlfriend or wife, you probably should take the “selfishness” out of that approach to foreplay and actually be doing it for her. Just saying…

“Know when & how to back off: the ‘position change’ approach”

This is probably the one thing that should be common knowledge to guys but they often ignore.  Buying time is the PERFECT way to prevent ejaculation because it allows you to pause and get your head back in the game. The guys brought up some amusing “stall tactics” but I think we all agree that the “position change” approach was probably the best. Here’s the overview of how it goes down based on the input of a few individuals:

“Basically, if you know you’re about cum, that’s when you decide to change positions. However, make it be some kind of fucked up position that you KNOW you couldn’t possibly get into even if God himself came down and attempted to guide your dick into her pussy even after making you both spineless for a couple minutes. What you’re trying to do is kill time so you can get your head back in the game. Also, it’ll boost your ‘freak rating’ with her since you’re attempting something she’s never tried before. With that you’ve earned yourself some more of her ‘Guy I Want to Fuck’ points.

After you’ve recovered from you near jizz experience, you abort the position change and then try to make things not working out with that to be her fault by saying some smug shit like, ‘I guess you’re not as flexible as I thought. It’s still cool though.’ That right there would just fuck with her head because every chick thinks her vagina is the Mecca for ‘good sex’ so she’ll be left with a more deflated ego and thinking, ‘Damn, I need to do more stretches and step my pussy game up!’ What you’re left with now is a chick more willing to please you and prove to you that she can do things other girls can’t do.” #WINNING

ARRRRR HA HA HA HA HA HA!!! I literally die every time I read that because of the theory behind of it and the highly likely chance that things would play out like that. If any of you manage to try this out personally, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!!! *continues rolling with laughter*

“Masturbate with a purpose”

Masturbation has its benefits and downfalls. The thing with masturbation is that the more you do it, the more in tune you are with yourself, and the more accustomed you are to the act of ejaculating. Why you would want to be accustomed to the act of ejaculating is because the more you are, the less time you spend in your refractory period.

Your refractory period is the time your penis spends in the state after cumming where it is irresponsive to stimulus (unable to get hard), until you are able to get another erection. It’s relatively shorter in your younger days but as you get older, the time lengthens. This is where masturbation comes in.

FAP! FAP! FAP! FAP!

I can personally vouch for this “accustomed to cumming” theory because my challenge masturbation hobby currently it has me at little or no refractory time… Well unless the chick was “watching women’s sports” boring or I really didn’t care much for having sex with her. Although this is a good thing being able to go multiple rounds, there also is a negative side to it.

Challenge masturbation trains you to not only cum more often, but also to cum quickly. Your body gets so accustomed to cumming after two minutes of seeing a pair of double D’s jump on a hot Latina chick while she’s on a d!(k that when you’re put in the situation where she’s on yours, the same thing happens (the cumming I mean). Now enters the act of “sensual masturbation”.

This is when you actually take the time to watch more than the first five minutes of a porn scene and just use slow and gentle strokes; enough to help maintain the erection, but not enough to cum. At some point in to doing that you’ll find you have the great urge to “release some pressure” and that’s when you can finally “rub one out”. It’ll feel a lot better than cumming from challenge masturbation, and the more often your train like this, the longer you’ll find yourself lasting throughout that movie without the burning desire to cum. This delay in cumming transfers directly into your sex game.

All in all, to get to your peak of sexual “god-ness”, you’ll have to find the balance between these two masturbational habits. Notice where you’re lacking and train to suit. Pretty soon you be in the position to be asking chicks, “Is that all the pussy you’ve brought for me to fuck??!!” *goes back to working towards that*

So what if you do cum?

Well homie, the last thing you’d want to do is not seem in control of the situation. You could play it off as if it was your aim and try to compliment her on having some good poon but that doesn’t always work out. I’m not going to pretend that I’m God when it comes to sex, and yes I do have my methods of turning things into my favor for those times when I cum before SHE’d like (because I feel I ALWAYS cum on time) and I find myself slipping into that refractory period.

I won’t mention them because well, I may find myself in need of using one and I’d hate to get screwed over because it was read about on my blog. What I will say though is that it’ll probably be in your best interest to actually sit down and think up some “escape routes” for these situations. OK, OK, I’ll throw a bone off of the top of my head here.

Remember, when you’re inside of her, a chick doesn’t know if you came unless you let her know this. If you’re wearing a condom (as you SHOULD BE if it’s not your wife or a girl you want to get pregnant), you can always jump up suddenly like you just caught a glimpse of the time on your watch and play like you have an important phone call to make at that time. Step away, fake a phone call (a call to a homie who may have needed a ride from work or one to your mother works good), slip the condom off (make sure you tie and hide/store it somewhere), then go back to her apologizing and explaining the “urgency” of the situation and why you had to make that call.

If you want to continue having sex with her, you just do and say that everything is OK (homie doesn’t need a ride anymore). If you were there only to bust your nut then bounce, then you tell her your homie is outside of his workplace and in the cold waiting for you since they already locked up. It’s that simple guys; no need to over think things.

“Happy Fuckings!”

Moo Cow

In any case though, I got through with another institution and I’ll be surely making a post about the whole ordeal. If not to entertain, to illustrate the phuq-ry that carries on in Antigua and the headache people trying to better themselves have to go through. Maybe I’m bitter, or maybe it’s just that I believe that getting an education should be so hard ESPECIALLY given the fact that no company in Antigua will ever want to pay you your worth unless you have “links”.

In any case, the second reason for post absence was for statistical purposes to see how low readership drops when I don’t post anything. Maybe it was just a lucky span, but it was still in the thousands (although there was a considerable drop). That said, a real big shout out to everyone who have been reading the old articles and passing them on. Now I don’t feel like my time in the past has gone to waste (totally at least).

Moving forward, I think starting the first week of October, I’m going to move the post schedule to a bi-monthly one because of my predicted workflow from school and work. I apologize for keeping everyone in the dark but, I had my reasons. On a final note, can someone tell me what it is exactly that Kim Kardashian and her sisters do? Did they all have sex videos with Ray J? I guess that just adds new meaning to a dude telling a chick, “Suck my dick; there’s a future in it!”

"Who run the world?"

…do “empowering” things like have sex with a bunch of guys because it’s OK when men do it. Then when I hear Maury say, “You are not the father!” 13 times on the same show I’d cry and want people to feel sorry for me.

…think I was right all the time and when an argument discussion is CLEARLY not going my way I’d bring up some $h!t that is totally irrelevant to what was being talked about in the first place.

…see other chicks I’ve never seen before or even know about and just hate them for no reason. This hatred for chicks I don’t know is especially enforced when one of my homegirls doesn’t like her; REGARDLESS of the reason.

…ignore the phuq out of the dude who’s everything I want in a guy and go after the dude who I KNOW is going to phuq me up because my heart is the Humane Society for “broken” dudes and believe that I can “fix” them all.

…only be attracted to a dude when he gets a woman despite the fact that he’s been trying to mack me for the last two years. I don’t know, I guess it’s something about phuq-ing someone else’s dude and sending him back to her that gives me a rush. However, the moment a guy does me dirty all men suddenly become dogs; completely ignoring the fact that I’m a home wrecking BITCH! *woof woof*

…open my pie hole about women’s rights and wanting to be treated equally anywhere it’s advantageous to me, but the second a bunch of us need to be rescued from a burning building it’s, “women and children first”.

…demand to earn the same amount of money as men but when it comes to going out, he’s EXPECTED to pay for everything and I’m oblivious to the fact that maybe this is why men get paid more.

…go to my girlfriends about an issue in my relationship BEFORE speaking to my significant other first about it. Nah scratch that; I ain’t telling him $hit. He’s SUPPOSED to know when something is wrong with me and what it is.

…dress like a slut when I go out but mean mug every guy that looks at me with lust.

…tell my boyfriend I’d never go to “such a place” or “do such a thing” but the moment the girls want to, I’m all up on it without missing a beat.

…tell a guy to “man up” when I’m calling him out on something but then to “bitch down” when he’s attempting to call me out.

…honestly think being a mother is the hardest job on the planet ESPECIALLY if I was a stay at home mom.

…be quick to key a guy’s car, swing a heated iron at his face, slap him, chase him with a golf club, etc. and expect everything to be cool, but the moment he raises his voice and grabs my wrist too firmly, I’m calling the police.

…still find a reason to nag and complain if all I had to do all day was wake up late and spend my husband’s money.

…curse Hard Knaxx’s “KFC” song and say it’s degrading to women, but sing every slut inspired word of that song about taking a picture of me having sex with your man in your bed and sending it to you via BBM.

…only know (and live) the words to Destiny’s Child’s “Independent Women” when I’m not broke. As soon as it comes on in the club and I know I’m “drink hounding” guys, I’ll be one of the quiet murmuring b!t(he$ at the side nodding my head to the beat with an uneasy smile. I know next week when I get paid, Imma be in the middle of the dance floor acting like I didn’t have parents if it comes on. For now, Imma just stick close to Jamal…

…think that every guy I meet would pick “my vagina” over “winning the lottery” even if I know my face looks like a broken Vita Malt bottle.

…ask a guy a question seeking the truth with my own preconceived version of what the truth is. Anything he says to me that doesn’t match that WORD FOR WORD is considered a blatant lie… even if he is telling the truth.

…think a fulfilling marriage ends in divorce, no kids, and half his Sh!t.

…consider it a “wasted” period if I don’t lash out at someone for no apparent reason when I’m on the rag and then use that as an excuse for doing so.

…throw a fit if a guy lied and told me he was sick when he actually went out with the guys, but be cool with waiting 18 years to tell a guy he’s not really the dad.

…ask questions with obvious answers that I don’t want to hear but ask them anyway expecting to hear something else; AND get upset when I don’t. “You’re not fat baby; you’re just a slim hippo.”

…constantly pat myself on the back and praise all of my achievements, but find some way to blame men for my shortcomings. “It had to have been a man who invented a jar of pickles.”

…only see the “wrong” in a situation when it’s happening to me and my man, and not when I’m doing it to someone else’s man.

…always be the phuq-ing victim in EVERY situation just like the chicks in every frigging Lifetime movie.

…make the first thing I have to say about a guy I once had relations (that went sour) with is either that his penis was small, he came “quickly”, or he was (probably) gay.

…actually think women’s sports are exciting and entertaining.

…never become the Prime Minister of Antigua & Barbuda (or the P.M. of most other countries for that matter).

…only see the above as a sexist and oppressive comment and not see it as an opportunity to use it as motivation and prove a seemingly sexist and oppressive male hiding behind a computer screen wrong.

*wonders if the guys have any others up their sleeves*

GO GET 'EM ROCKY!!!

To be on the safe side, Antiguans for the most part only patronize (in vast numbers) the events that have an established history of being good. If you were to look at the Antiguan party calendar, noteworthy ones would include Rum-U-Lus, Blue Jeans, Bacchanal, Under the Mistletoe, Nocturnal, Heelz, etc. just to name a few. However, when it comes to AMAZING parties, the behemoth of them all has always been Caribbean Snow Storm (aka White Fete or White Party). Nothing has ever been able to challenge Party Flavours’ MONSTER of an event… until now…

Now entering the ring is W.C.F. Promotions’ We Come To Fete. They’ve always been around and was always probably only seen as “that event you go to when carnival was done and you need one more thing to help get that party animal out of your system”. Much to everyone’s surprise this year, it was good… REALLY good… like “arguably the best party this year” good… and that’s where the debating starts.

Now I know they are two parties that appeal to two somewhat different partying demographics (as most people have been on their periods about), but they can still be pitted against each other. The scenario in which I will be comparing both events is as follows: if you were on your last EC$150 (US$55) and you had to pick one of these “all you can drink” events to go to before God raptures the world, which one would it be (based on how good they both were this year)? There are a host of factors that would influence such a decision, and I intend on looking at each of them with unbiased eyes; while keeping it “Beef Pattie” REAL of course. One has to come out of top though; which will it be?

A little “street” history

ACCORDING TO THE STREET (and not Beef Pattie.com), Caribbean Snow Storm (hence on referred to as White Fete) was started by an/some individual(s) in the “high income bracket” of the Antiguan demographic, for others in said income bracket. It was created and marketed to be the party for the elite of the elite. Basically, if you weren’t there at the party you weren’t sh!t. The more “exclusive” nature of the event added to the mystique surrounding it and the desire to be a part of it. What that essentially means is “niggaz wanted in”.

It is no hidden fact that the more you trickle down the socio-economic ladder of the Antiguan population, the line that separates the top two tiers of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs becomes more blurred. Then they (the top two tiers) are inversed with the others so that they become the basic needs. It is this phenomenon that produces the instances where a single mother would quicker pay a grand to play mas before thinking about her child’s school fee; or same chick buying a pack of weave and starving for a weekend before getting groceries. The desire to be “accepted”, “respected” and “thought highly of” takes precedence over everything else, and the more “out of reach” something was the more it was wanted needed. Based on this theory, the event hosts stood to make a KILLING if they (somewhat) opened the floodgates, and that they did…

REAL talk: I don’t think the event planners’ main goal was to exploit “niggerdom” and get rich quick. I just think they had perfect timing in everything that they did from day one and marketed their brand brilliantly much like Myst does today. Their event was unique from all the Jamaican “dances” that had oversaturated the event market and probably had everyone sick to their stomachs. If there were indeed some racial undertones to it, then so be it. It still doesn’t dispute the fact that a good party was thrown. Trust me, if the KKK came down here and threw a GOOD rave (not like that crap the Underground tried to be) I’d be all up in there with glow sticks and a whistle… well, once I was assured being able to leave there alive of course…

ACCORDING TO THE STREET (and not Beef Pattie.com), We Come To Fete was created by some kids who went to the Antigua Grammar School and the Antigua Girls High School. Basically it was by kids; for kids. That “stigma” was even more enforced by the fact that they were essentially house parties to begin with. They then became “sponsored house parties” and then “sponsored house parties where you paid to get in”. Despite being in their third or fourth year when they officially moved it to an actual venue (excluding Russel’s here), and all of them being in their 20’s, they couldn’t shake the “kiddy house party” label that had been placed on them.

REAL talk: We Come To Fete being seen as a kid’s party was something that has been around for a while. I think them adopting a STRICT 18+ only policy has helped change that over the years. They probably took some shots in the ribs for that a few years because they were alienating the crowd that wanted to support them, and the crowd they were going after wasn’t too convinced they were “non-kiddy” as yet. I think it’s safe to say they have fully crossed over now and in their first “official” year of doing that they jumped pass another giant (Peer Pressure’s Blue Jeans) and went right at White Fete’s throat.

OK, let’s get down to business…

Price and ticket availability

This is probably going to be the hardest category to compare both events to, but I’ll try to be as fair as possible.

"I'm in baby!"

Advance tickets for White Fete were EC$150 (US$55), and were available from quite a few places and persons (some people were even delivering them to you). The funny thing about White Fete is that they claim to have only printed a limited amount of tickets and none would have been sold on entry. Being from a marketing and promotional background, I know all too well that that could just be a ploy to get people in a frenzy to scoop up tickets. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and say that they did only have a limited amount (which is technically true when you think of it) since they have sold out tickets in previous years and had people actually reselling theirs for three times as much or more. The only thing was that this year, they didn’t give an actual number of how limited “limited” was. A quarter million tickets is still “limited”.

We Come To Fete on the other hand sold their advance tickets for EC$90 (US$34) with the option to pay an extra EC$10 (US$4) on entry if you didn’t have an advance ticket. They too were widely available with the option to have them delivered to you in some cases.

Looking at price alone, it would be easy to say that We Come To Fete was the clear winner here, but you would also need to include the fact than a brand (especially an established one) has a value and comes at a price too. If Kanye West and I sounded the exact same and decided to have a concert where we’d sing the same songs, and we both charged US$150 for tickets, most of you would spit in my face, tell me “Fuck you!”, and go check out Yeezy without giving me a shot. That’s the power of branding and the same principle applies here. The thing is though, if you’re paying more, you expect more. So I’ll leave this one until later after everything else has been analyzed.

Venue: parking

"Tight Squeeze"

White Fete was held at Sand Piper’s resort in Blue Waters. The huge field just outside of the resort was converted into a massive parking lot which was not only well lit, but it was also managed by traffic policemen to maintain order and a very smooth flow of traffic. That was a most welcomed sight to vehicle owners because not only could they all park seconds away from the actual event, but they also had the peace of mind that their vehicles were safe. Added to that, the chicks in skimpy dresses they probably shouldn’t be seen out of the house in didn’t have to worry about being swept off into the darkness by some drunken thirsty dude on the walk back to their car. That higher ticket price is starting to become justified.

We Come To Fete on the other hand was held at the Blackout Cultural Park. I had never been there before so I didn’t know what to expect. Parking was a mother phuq-er since it was left up to you finding a spot along the long road it was situated on. If you got there somewhat late, you would have had to drive to the end of the long line of cars parked on both sides of the road to get a spot. After that, you’d have at least a 15 minute walk back to the actual venue.

Cake taker: White Fete

Venue: aesthetics

If you went to the Nation and then went to White Fete you’d know what I’m talking about when I say down there was in the best shape I’ve seen it in in a while. It’s like the place underwent a total transformation. Well, to the untrained eye at least. It was all just basically a few white sheets/pieces of cloth placed/draped here and there and a few black lights. Couple that with a sea of people all wearing white and you have an overall environment that is pleasing to the eye regardless of what angle you look at it from. I don’t know if the persons in change of decorating thought of this like that, but if they did: job well done. Still expected more though…

There wasn’t much to see aesthetically at We Come To Fete except a lot of branded items from its sponsors competing for attention instead of blending seamlessly together or complimenting each other. Think of it as a street car “decorated” in SignPro and other stickers from various car products they have bought (we’ve all seen dozens of these). Then think of an actually sponsored street car “decorated” in stickers. Which one looks more professional and done with tact? Now that may not seem like something to get down on them about, but if you’re going to go after the likes of White Fete, you really have to bring your A-game.

Cake taker: White Fete

Venue: Layout

Both events had “OK-ish” layouts (albeit not much to talk about really) but there were a few deal makers and breakers.

1) White Fete had a fully equipped stage set up for the performers that were coming on that night whereas We Come To Fete improvised with the very wide top step to the main building in the middle that housed the DJ.

2) The bars at both events were both a blessing and a curse. The bars at White Fete were situated generally at the back and a little bit off to the side at the back. That was cool if you already in the middle-back area, but if you were right at the front, you had to fight through a lot of people to get a drink. Then think about having to fight through those people again with your drink to get back to where you were WITHOUT spilling it.

We Come To Fete had a slightly better bar layout since they were more accessible from more angles, but the only issue was that two of the main bars were behind the “stage” area and off to the sides. What that meant was that if you went to the bar during one of the performances you’d have no idea what was going on.

Both events could have taken a page or two out of Peer Pressure’s book when it comes to bar placement.

3) We’ve been having a very rainy summer this year and in the event that it did indeed rain, White Fete was in a better position to shelter most (if not all) of its patrons from the rain with the use of tents and the Sand Piper building. On the flip side, We Come To Fete could only cover a bit less than half since they only had the DJ building, the building adjacent to it, and a small tent. This may not seem like a big thing especially since it didn’t rain, but we’ve got a lot of weave headed chicks running around. Rain == 80% less chicks == 7 packs of hotdogs and one pack of buns. That’s just something you can’t ignore when considering an event’s venue.

Cake taker: White Fete

Venue: Attendance and capacity

Both events were well attended but when it came to sheer numbers, White Fete had more people hands down. However, it’s the venue that determines if that is a good thing or not. While White Fete was a promoter’s dream, it was to some extent a patron’s nightmare because you felt really cramped up in certain areas.

When the performers came on, everyone tried to cramp into the main area in front of the stage which (given the numbers) wasn’t really big, but was the only way you could see everything that was happening. The argument could be raised that being cramped in to see a performance should be expected but I beg to differ. Again, a page could be taken out of Peer Pressure’s book.

Blue Jeans 2K10 had a greater turnout than White Fete 2K11 and because of the size of the venue and how things were positioned, everyone could not only see the stage and what was happening from most angles (the screens helped too), but they could also dance/move around with drinks/”whatever” quite comfortably. The thing is, when you go out to a concert you go with a different mentality then when you go to a party.

At a concert, you’d expect that mosh pit feeling. A party on the other hand is supposed to be more social. You can’t mack on chicks (comfortably) when every time you lean over to drop a line on her, the couple dancing behind on you bumps you and causes your drink to spill on her. Before you jump to arms on this, think of every night you’ve ever been to Rush and it’s hella packed with no room to move around. You’d much rather have some space around you and not worry if the guys passing are genuinely accidentally bumping into you or rather than just copping a feel right? If you’re a chick that is…

"I need some room to spread my wings son!"

We Come To Fete had a smaller turnout (maybe 800+) and the venue never felt at any point too empty or too full; they had it “just right”. The reason for this was the “openness” of Blackout Cultural Park. Patrons didn’t have two walls at the side and a huge stage at the front closing them in like at White Fete. Moving around anywhere at any time of the night was fairly easy and I can’t recall ever spilling a drink. Entering and exiting the venue was considerably easy as well since there wasn’t a room full of people to fight through like the one at the entrance/exit for White Fete. All that taken into consideration, I think it’s safe to say…

Cake taker: We Come To Fete

DJs

White Fete had DJ Quixx and “DJ’s from T&T” *laughs to self about that label* billed to be spinning tunes. On the flip side, We Come To Fete had DJ Jime and DJ Private Ryan (a actual DJ from T&T *laughs again*).

I don’t remember if White Fete’s “DJ’s from T&T” actually showed up, but I do remember Quixx doing his thing. My issue with Quixx’s DJ-ing that night is that there were too many awkward pauses. There were at least five or more notable instances where the song transitions (especially cross genre) made most of the crowd stop dancing with a “WTF?” look on their faces. That’s not to say he isn’t a good DJ because on any given night, I’d rather have him on my DJ bill than 90% of the other people here who discovered Virtual DJ overnight. I guess he was just a bit off that night, but oh well… *Kanye shrugs*

DJ Jime and Private Ryan held it down for We Come To Fete the ENTIRE night. Jime started it off in wicked style and Private Ryan came in, put the final nail in the coffin and shut the party down! The crowd never stopped dancing and they were singing all of the songs. There were none of those “crickets chirping” moments when the DJ would cut the music expecting the crowd to finish the lyric of a song, and the crowd would be totally quiet looking back at the DJ booth thinking, “Nigga, we don’t fucks with this song like that.” I have to give a special shoutout to Private Ryan because unlike most DJs with mix tapes that you listen to and like, he REALLY lived up to the hype. OUU!!! I made a rhyme… *gives self a gold star*

Cake taker: We Come To Fete

Live performances

"I'm too short to be here!"

White Fete had Tizzy and El A Kru set to perform and Drastic kind of appeared out of nowhere on the night but it was welcomed anyway because I loved his song “Sugary Waistline”. I was pumped for this lineup since I was always a going for Team Tizzy and Art was my boy (no homo), but I had never seen any of them perform. I kind of wish I hadn’t now…

REAL talk, Drastic only has one song so I wasn’t expecting too much from him other than to sing that one song well. After the first verse, he almost seemed out of breath and was alternating lines with the CD track he was singing over. He managed to finish the song like that and made mention of the new song he had for this year. I got hyped for it thinking he was saving his energy for his new song and got disappointed again when the CD sang most of it. The cane that usually yanked bad performances off the stage unfortunately never came. However, at least he didn’t stay longer than he needed to or cry “sabotage” like a little baby like he did at Colours because the crowd wasn’t phuq-ing with him.

Tizzy on the other hand actually sang her songs for the most part and I was actually somewhat enjoying her performance but there was something that was still killing it for me: her lack of energy. You were hearing her songs, but at the same time you still weren’t hearing HER songs. You know the difference you hear when a Carnival Queen contestant tries to sing say a Whitney Huston song as her performing talent, but sounds good however not “Whitney” good? That how it was with Tizzy that night. At least the white confetti falling mixed with the stage lights and the fog machines going off were somewhat cool to look at. Other than that though, the White Fete performances were a bit lacking…

We Come To Fete was slated to have Tian Winter “and others” with the “others” ended up being Ricardo Drue. When I heard Ricardo was coming on I fell into a slight state of depression. This wasn’t because he has bad songs or anything; I really liked his music. My issue was that he had this nasty habit of stopping in the middle of his performances and trying to convince everyone that he was Antiguan.

It was as if he gets rolled up on backstage of each gig and someone starts singing, “You bang wata come ya” (a phrase in the Antiguan dialect used to label someone as a foreigner). I really wished someone would have given him the heads up that if they didn’t believe him two years ago they weren’t going to start now. He also needed the memo that “Antiguans seldom support ‘local’” so he was better off being himself and not trying so hard.

Thankfully, it would appear that the W.C.F. Promotions team spoke to him about all of that and he gave his best performance I’ve seen to date.

Tian came on after and as expected he had the crowd going with him every step of the way. Well actually, it was the chicks. I don’t know if you’ve ever really studied a Tian Winter performance but there are always a bunch of chicks at the front screaming with that “make love to me right here Tian” look on their faces. The guy has INCREDIBLE sex appeal (no homo). The only other guy I know locally that commands chicks somewhat like that is Shya (you should check his music out too).

Remember I mentioned that We Come To Fete improvised the wide top step to the DJ building as the stage? Well that tied right in to Tian’s performance because the chicks were all over the steps screaming at and even dancing with him since it was probably the closest any of them had ever gotten to him. It honestly was fun to watch and laugh at, but one couldn’t help but admire the more “personal” feel the performances undertook since the artists were so close to the members of the crowd.

Cake taker: We Come To Fete

Babes

Excluding the chicks who went to both, the hotter babes were at White Fete. Added to that, if you’re like me and absolutely HATE chicks who rock weaves/wigs/braids/etc., you’d find the “real hair to fake hair” ratio more favorable at White Fete. That’s not to say there weren’t a lot of hotties at We Come To Fete; White Fete just had more.

Cake taker: White Fete

Bars

Where the chicks all start to look a bit better.

The bars were hard to judge because I don’t drink alcohol and both events had an identical drink menu. However, We Come To Fete had a huge supply and a wide variety of shots which I’ll give them the lead for. The time it took to get a drink at both events weren’t exactly super fast, but at the same time you didn’t need a nice rack and a pretty face in order to be served in a timely manner. I’ll give White Fete the slight edge here so far because they had more people to deal with and were a bit faster.

Although both events were “all drinks inclusive”, I think the We Come To Fete bartenders were a lot better to deal with keeping that fact in mind. I’ll give two examples:

1)  At White Fete, I went to the bar and the guy next to me tried getting 12 Red Bulls. The bartender became somewhat annoyed by this, gave him two and told him he can come back for more when he was finished with those. The guy try pleading his case that it was for a group of them and that he came with two others to help him carry them, but the bartender had already turned his back and walked off. When they bartender turned to me to get my order, I pointed out that the guy next to me needed 10 more Red Bulls for his crew and he (the bartender) basically told me that if they wanted them they’d come for them themselves and he wasn’t going to give one person all of those. I found that a weird thing to deal with at an “all you can drink” party but oh well…

2) At We Come To Fete, a guy came up to the bar with (I kid you not) a chugging hose hooked up to a small Breeze bucket and asked for a 3XL rum and coke. The bartender without skipping a beat opened two new bottles of English Harbour Five Year Old, a few 20oz bottles of coke, and poured it all into the bucket before topping it all off with some ice. I thought it was insane that that dude made that request and even more insane that the bartender obliged so willingly.

So now that leaves us all tied up and in search of a deal breaker which came by comparing both events’ sober bar which was right up my alley of expertise. Both parties had exactly the same items on their sober menu except for one thing that most alcohol drinkers would overlook: juice. When you’re going to put yourself out there as being a premium event offering the “best of the best” when it comes to drinks, I find it hard to believe that you use anything less than 100% juice to mix your drinks. That said, tell me why White Fete was offering orange and pineapple JUICE DRINKS and not JUICE. As a person who only consumes 100% juice (check the AIDS diet post), I know when I’m being served artificial flavors and sugars and what they had at White Fete wasn’t more than 35% juice. We Come To Fete stuck to the Antiguan staple of BlueBird juices and us sober people who try to watch what we eat were thankful for that.

Cake Taker: We Come To Fete

Price revisited and an overall winner determined

With the above taken into consideration, which event gave more value for your dollar? After pondering it over for a week, I think it’s safe to say that White Fete 2K11 gave you more for your dollar overall, but We Come to Fete 2K11 gave you more when it came purely to partying and entertainment value. To determine which one was better would probably come down to which areas you prioritize more, although they could both learn a thing or two from each other.

Judging from this year, I think White Fete is bit off from being the “perfect” event that it is heralded to be, just as I think We Come To Fete still has more room to grow but are definitely taking the necessary steps in the right direction. So now for the big question: “If I was down to my last EC$150 (US$55), which would I go to?” Well, the answer to that question would be “We Come To Fete”.

I’d honestly say they were tied and leave it at that but We Come To Fete comes out on top because they are purely party and I’m a purely party kind of person. Like I said before, it’s all up to taste. Thankfully, they’re both always months apart so no person who doesn’t depend on an allowance for their income will ever have to make that decision… I hope…

I used to masturbate (using the term here to count ejaculations) two and five times per day; most times in one attempted sitting. I say “attempted” because at that age, ejaculating even three times in quick succession would make your testicles hurt or cause you to pass out. At one point, I was probably a connoisseur on masturbating until one passes out because it became fun to me and was the aspirations of my masturbation sessions. Don’t judge me; it has aided my sex game in the long run.

Eventually, all guys addicted to masturbation will get to a point where the novelty of it will wear off. When they get there they make the transition to developing a mack game and trying to score chicks. I felt confident and prepared for all of this when making that switch. I had countless hours under my belt for macking on chicks in MSN chatrooms and trying to get them to take their tops off. Then there were also the even more countless hours of porn that I had been watching over the years that taught me EVERYTHING I needed to know about sex (apart from listening to the older guys talk).

"WTF JUST HAPPENED???!!!"

“Find a chick, tell her what she wants to hear, get to put your penis in her, wiggle around a bit and smack her butt, then finally cum all over her face and watch her lick it”. That’s all there was to sex to me. Well, that and the advice of my homie Daree to not “fly ya fus water and breed da gyal” (get the chick pregnant the first time I had sex), so condom usage was a “must”.

Armed with the scholastic knowledge of an 80’s porn star, I went in search of my first “sugar bowl”. I did indeed find her, and she came in the form of a female a few years older than I was. I thought this was kind of cool not to mention the kind of bragging I’d be able to do with losing my virginity to an older chick. Little did I know that I was setting myself up to literally be raped of my innocence in what would end up being probably my worst sexual experience ever.

The chick

She wasn’t exactly the prettiest creature person in the barnyard on the market but she had a vagina and that’s all that mattered (at that point). OK, maybe I’m underselling her looks a bit (blame the weave) but if it was one thing I’d give her it’s that she probably had the most amazing body I ever placed my hands on even to this day. I knew her through a friend of a friend and only spoke to her “on and off” on MSN when I guess one of us was bored.

I honestly didn’t see her as a candidate for some poontang because as I mentioned before she was older than I was and chicks always went for guys older than them. Despite being greatly sexually attracted to her, given that previous fact I didn’t see the point in wasting time and mack on her. She was just “one of them other bitches”.

One night we were talking and she ended up babbling about how many guys were hounding her (something she took great pride in and always spoke about *rolls eyes*). She probably picked up on how much I wasn’t enthused about talking to her, and she said the magic words for any thirsty dude on the computer late at night: “I feel so horny right now. I haven’t had sex in forever.” Automatically, the two other chicks I was listening intently to about how their days went didn’t exist anymore.

Without getting into too much details, the convo went down the road of her telling me why she was sexually deprived, how much she was alarmingly addicted to sex, and us exchanging stories of our sexual exploits. What? You didn’t expect me to be all “virginal” and not have a commanding role in the conversation or at least have something equally intriguing to contribute to it right? I lied through my teeth about so much $h!t that it wasn’t even funny. I was basically telling her storylines of porn I had seen and the best part was that she was eating it all up.

All our conversations after that were always sexual in nature. This chick ended up telling me some of the most messed up things that she had done which still causes me to gawk in disbelief. This was good that she had become that comfortable with me, but talking to a chick about sex and actually having sex with her are two different things. I needed to perform that “friends to fuckers” conversion. This then started my plan to always be the instigator of her horniness.

This chick would get so worked up over our conversations and with very minimal input from me. All I needed to do was get her started, and it pretty much took care of itself. Secretly, she was slowly becoming my sexual goddess and this started my ever increasing lustful desires to have sex with her; but I had to be cool about it. The last thing I wanted to be was one of those guys she was always clowning behind their backs.

The way I saw it was that the best plan of action was to get this chick so horny that one of two things would happen. The first being she’d end up having sex with me since I was (hopefully) the main cause of her being horny. Either that or she’d end up having sex with some other dude in which case I’d hope her vagina falls off and into a pit of lava rendering it useless to her or anyone else thereafter. *insert Mojo Jojo laugh here*

You’re invited!

Skipping past two weeks, this chick invites me over for a movie night with a bunch of peeps. I got there fashionably late only to realize I was actually quite early. Well actually no; a whole bunch of the people who were supposed to be there bailed at the last minute (as was explained to me).

I made myself at home, started pigging out on the snacks and stuff she had spread out on the dining room table, then headed for the living room. I realized I had probably left my phone back on the table shortly after so I went back into the dining room to retrieve it. On getting there, she was just coming off what appeared to be a somewhat disheartening phone call. I asked her if everything was fine and she notified me that the last two people we were waiting on weren’t going to be able to make it and that it was just us.

I shrugged and “ho-hummed” my way back into the living room and then she called me. “FUCK!” I thought, “Wasn’t I just in there? Why the hell would this bitch wait until I was about to sit down again to want me for some shit?” I grumbled and made my way back to the living room where she was still standing where I left her.

“What’s up?” I asked.
“Nothing really, I’m just kind of upset that tonight didn’t work out as planned.” She replied.
“That’s cool, we can still watch some movies and have a cool time; no worries.”
“Hmm, true… but are you sure you want to do that?”
“Yeah, I’ve got no problem with that. I mean I made it all the way out here already anyways so it doesn’t matter if it’s just us.”
*she steps closer and looks at me weirdly*
“Exactly! So that’s why I’m asking you if you’re sure you want to watch movies.”
*gives her quizzical look*
“Umm yes. Why wouldn’t I wa-”
“-JUST watch movies?”
*she moves “breathing on me” close*
“I err… ahh…”
*she grabs my crotch*
“…oh!”

The naïve virgin in me was now in control. I honestly didn’t come there with any intentions of there being sexual contact between us so I was not mentally prepared. I was just supposed to go there, hang out with a few peeps, watch movies, and leave. I felt like a scared kitten and any excuse I could come up with to get myself out of that situation I would have used it.

Just as I was about to run out of the house screaming like a little girl, my ego popped out of nowhere and reminded me that I had been running my mouth off to this girl for the past few weeks and I had to “represent”. After that little “be a man” pep talk from my ego, I turned to him and asked him what to do next. He then looked at me and responded, “You’re on your own there homie. I’m just here to make sure your dick gets hard and you don’t bitch out. You shouldn’t have been talking all that shit!”, and then he disappeared.

I always found it funny how the male ego gets you into situations and then just leaves you hanging when $h!t is about to go down…

Schlong in hand, she led me through a hallway cheerily pointing out the doors for the various rooms. While she was there leading me along skipping and clipping her heels, I was sweating buckets and freaking the hell out. I think my biggest fear was being found out to be a phony and having to deal with her laughing at me for being a virgin.

I could see it all already. I’d wake up the next day and there’d be a billboard on Independence Drive with my face on it and the headline “Pretentious Virgin”. I’d buy a newspaper and the center page spread would be me and the headline “30 Seconds Max”. Everyone would be laughing at me everywhere I went and wearing white ribbons to pay respects to the tragedy that was my sex life. Flags and bumper stickers would be printed and distributed throughout the island and just as I was the Prime Minister was about to declare it a national holiday, I was snapped back to reality by her telling me that we were now in her parents’ room.

It wasn’t so much of the fact that she was telling me that this was her parents’ room that caused me start thinking logically again. It was the fact that I finally realized that this b!t(h was giving me a guided tour of her house… with my d!(k in her hand. Like who the phuq does that?

As I started to think about how weird this chick was for doing this, my confidence started to grow and I felt more comfortable trying to commandeer the situation. Both of my “heads” mentally became one and formed an Ultra Megazord of cockiness that sent a thundering rush of blood to my penis and made it even harder. She definitely noticed this and stopped mid sentence and gave me this surprised smile.

My confidence was now probably at its peak. I realized that all I needed to do was be as sure of myself as those guys in the pornos and I would be home free. I mean, porn and acting like I had all the experience in the world from watching it was what got me here in the first place, so that was what was going to get me through it. I was going to tear that pu$$y up!

Feeling even more full of myself I grabbed her wrist, turned her completely around to face me and asked, “Bitch, we fucking or not?”

Yeeeeaaaah… that’s probably what I was thinking at the time but that certainly wasn’t what came out. Actually, I didn’t even get to say anything at all. The second I spun her around, she grabbed my shirt and pushed me backwards; causing me to lose my balance and falling to my doom… into an Ab Lounge? What the phuq?

I don’t know where the damn thing came from but it saved my life… momentarily. Before I even got the chance to thank God for putting the Ab Lounge there, she had already hopped on top of me, taken my shirt off, and was grinding her cooch furiously against me. I’m sure it probably felt good to her because she was rocking the nuts and bolts out of that Ab Lounge. However, despite helping me achieve a good abdominal workout, each one of her thrusts felt like it was going to cause my d!(k to bend to the point where it would break.

Like I said, she had an AMAZING body and the strong legs of a horse so getting her off me from that position wasn’t exactly the easiest of things. Thankfully she eventually got tired of that and got up. Feeling defeated, I somehow managed to stumble my way out of the Ab Lounge. I thanked the Lord that the worst was over and glanced around the room for my mislaid shirt so I could leave.

My eyes then found a pair of panties and some booty shorts that her mother probably left laying around. Then I saw a shirt that looked familiar a few feet away on the ground. Just as I was piecing things together, a bra fell right next to the shirt and my eyes started to climb the most perfectly sculpted pair of legs ever gazed upon.

The moonlight was coming through the window behind her and was casting a picturesque halo around her flawlessly proportioned body. I knew she had a banging body (did I mention that before?) but I never imagined it would have looked this good naked. She looked like one of those video hoes from a rap video. Just everything on point and-… OK, Imma stop sucking her d!(k now… (no homo)

The pain in my penis vanished as my Ultra Megazord pumped another gush of blood through it. My body slowly gravitated towards hers while enigmatically relieving itself of the last bit of clothing on it (I seriously don’t remember how my clothes came off). I grabbed her firmly and laid her on the bed like a valiant knight who had just saved his princess from a fire breathing dragon.

I was in control of things again. Gone was the screaming banshee that almost bent my d!(k into a pretzel on the Ab Lounge and present was a more docile and submissive sex slave. “Ego” kicked in and I was in my cocky porn star mode again.

As I prepared to mount her, my homie Daree’s words to not “breed um” crashed into my ear drums. I put a pause on the proceedings to get a condom out of my wallet. Stepping back towards the bed, I used my teeth to tear open the wrapper and well… I think that was where things started to go downhill.

The unknown

I could be wrong, but I think something about the visual of me opening that condom wrapper like I was snapping into a Slim Jim caused her brain to short circuit. Before I went “Randy Savage” on the wrapper, I am certain we were about to “make love”. You know, with all the feelings and gay emotional $h!t that all chicks are programmed to think losing their virginity is all about. However, her seeing me open the wrapper caused her to stop thinking “he’s gonna make love to me” and switch to “oh he’s going to rip this pussy to shreds”. Now enters the Mrs. Hyde that I met earlier in the Ab Lounge…

I watched my confidence run off into the distance as she snatched the condom out of my hand, put it on, and pulled me on to her. My knees became jelly and I looked down at my d!(k for advice on what to do next since my confidence had abandoned me. “NIGGA FUCK HIM!!!” he responded, “The pussy is right there; the fuck we need him for? I GOT THIS!!!”

I looked back at her and there was this “what’s the holdup?” look on her face. I grabbed my d!(k and attempted inserting it into her cooch. That didn’t work out too well since my coordination was completely thrown off by my d!(k and I holding hands and spinning in circles singing the “I’m About To Get Laid” song. After maybe 20 seconds of bumping into her thighs and pretty much everything else BUT her vaginal walls, she grabbed my d!(k and put the tip of it by this little indentation between her legs.

A gut feeling hit me and told me to push a little and as I did that the indentation got a bit bigger. “Hello, what is this we have here?” I thought. The tip of my d!(k got a bit warmer as I pushed a little more and then it dawned on me. “I’m getting some pussy ya’ll!!!”

I paused there at the entrance and was planning out with my d!(k who we were going to call first and the epic story we were going to tell about it. The words, “OMG, I’m up in some poontang!” were bouncing around in my head and I actually forgot about the chick for a minute. She however didn’t forget about me since she wrapped her legs around my lower back and pulled me towards her. The sudden presence of warmth which engulfed my penis after her doing that was something neither my d!(k or I were prepared for. That lack of preparation became alarmingly evident to me because that one “guided” thrust was all it took for me to cum… FAWK!!!

“Is it over yet?”

I looked down at my d!(k and screamed, “DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?! I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU HAD THIS!!” He looked back up at me puzzled and exclaimed, “I did bro; I don’t know what happened. My bad?” The exchange between us continued for a few more seconds and then we both realized something; we were still having sex.

There were two things at work here. Apparently, all those years of challenge masturbating had paid off and my penis was now “trained” to stay erect even after ejaculating so I was still “good”. The second thing happening was that this chick was horny as phuq and she (with her legs tightly wrapped around me) was still forcefully thrusting my body towards hers.

This was a good thing because she wouldn’t have to find out I was a “half-second” punk. Added to that, that nut I had just busted was one of those that drains your balls COMPLETELY (the guys know what I’m talking about) so I had no energy at all left to have sex with her. I was honestly quite content with just laying there and having her strong legs toss me around like a rag doll. That was only until I realized she was just warming up.

Two minutes in she started grunting at me, “Harder! Deeper! Faster!” I thought to myself, “Bitch you’re the one fucking me. I’m honestly only here now as a requisite for sex.” I didn’t do anything more (not like I could anyway) and she took it upon herself to change this by violently pulling me against her. I probably wouldn’t have minded it much if it wasn’t for the fact that her heels were “biting” into my lower back and was creating a sore spot. Additionally, her hip bone wasn’t exactly covered in a layer of cushion so that was another issue manifesting itself.

This wasn’t the slightest bit enjoyable and I wanted it to end. What made things worse was that the pain was becoming even more unbearable. With the energy I had left, I tried pushing myself off of her but that only caused her to tighten her grip on me which translated to more pain. She then gave a grunt that sounded like the Boogey Man asking, “Where the fuck are you going little boy?” and then continued having her way with me. I was about to scream out and beg her to stop but my ego popped up again and told me to stop “being a little bitch”. Then I was once again reminded about all the $h!t I spoke to this chick and how much “rep” I had riding on this.

I bit my lips, bore the pain, and regretted letting my ego get me into this mess. In all the porn I had seen, the guy had always made the chick his b!t(h and now this chick was having her way with me. This wasn’t the valiant story of great conquest I had envisioned it being. Instead this was a tragic emasculation. Every ounce of masculinity I had was now curled up into a ball and crying on the inside. I wanted my mommy.

Eventually her grip on me started to loosen a bit and her thrusting motions were now a lot slower. I celebrated as I realized that the end was near. I timed her weakening thrusts and successfully pushed myself out of her grip.

I rolled over on to my back and let out a sigh of relief. My thoughts now were to get my clothes on and get out of there as fast as possible. As I prepared to get up and make my escape, I felt an unusual weight on my chest. I opened my eyes to see that she had mounted me and was about to have her way with me again.

Distraught, I geared myself to kick her off me and just run but then I thought, “Hey, this feels kinda good.” She was actually taking her time now and not trying to use her cooch to snap my d!(k off like a dry twig. No sooner had I thought this, she increased her pace I started having flashbacks of the Ab Lounge again.

What made this episode a bit different was that she added the extra effect of loud moaning. Here I was banging this chick that looked good enough to be a video hoe and she was moaning like an experienced plumber was laying “the pipe”. Can you say, “ego boost”?

I ignored the feeling of my d!(k being ripped off and forced myself to enjoy this. My enjoyment was short lived however as she leaned forward and braced herself by digging her fingernails into my sides. The pain caused by this was too much for me to keep in so I had to let out a girlish squeal war cry.

What a time it was to find out that guys making noise during sex turned her on. When I let out my war cry, her moans got louder, she rode me harder, and dug her hands into me even more. That only caused me to let out an even louder war cry and well… I bet you can pick up on the vicious cycle by now.

When things got to the point where she was using her fingernail to take bone samples from my ribs, I had no voice left and she was now on top of me suffering from self induced rigor mortis.  The last thing I remembered was her taking a really deep and long breath, then she just held it and stopped moving. I honestly didn’t mind her dying on top of me or anything since that’s the type of stuff movie and book deals are made out of. My issue was that she chose to do that while having her fingers stuck into me and I wouldn’t have been able to get them out without going through the world of pain.

Suddenly, all her muscles relaxed as she exhaled loudly and collapsed onto my chest breathing heavily. Despite my ego trying to high-five me on “wearing that pussy out”, there was a little voice at the back of my mind trying to alert me that something was terribly wrong. I couldn’t hear what it was saying over her loud panting so I figured I just had to wait until she was cool again. Moments later, she finally started to get off of me and my hand slid off of her and on to an unusually warm spot on the bed.

Alarmed, I started running my hands over the surrounding area and it felt the same. I felt the bed sheets near to my head and they felt normal, then when I touched the bed sheets by hip area and it felt weird again. It took me a while to start to clue in that this weird feeling was wetness, but where did that “water” come from? The logical answer of “sweat” then came to me.

When she fully got off of me, I realized that my crotch area was wet; unusually wet. Then I also realized that her crotch area was dripping wet; unusually dripping wet. As I switched glances rapidly between both our crotch areas trying to make sense of the whole ordeal, the little voice I heard at the back of my mind was now at the front and his message cleared everything up. This b!t(h had just phuq-ing peed on me.

“…but wait; there’s more…”

The whole of the alleged R.Kelly “piss on you” sex tapes played through my mind. Was it now cool for people to piss on each other during sex? If so, was it so cool now that chicks could be doing it to dudes? I wasn’t down for that $h!t at all but my ego kept telling me, “Just let it slide homie. This is not the chick you want to seem like a punk bitch too. Just leave the pissing part out when you’re retelling the story. You’ll be fine.”

I reluctantly listened and even more reluctantly allowed her to mount me again in a reverse cowgirl. I was fed up with sex. I didn’t want any part of it again and was just about ready to go home and burn all of my porn for lying to me. Just as she was sitting on me again, I remarked to myself about the relative ease with which I was now able to enter her vagina. It almost felt like I could just “slip right in”. I didn’t even thi- “FWAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRPPPPPP!!!!!”

What the fu- “FWAAAP!!! ……FWAP!!! ……FWRUP!!!”

My brain couldn’t believe what had just happened. It therefore felt that death was a better option than having to deal with that reality. Every other part of my body was welcoming death with open arms; but my heart just absolutely refused to “give out”. I had seen, heard of, and been through my fair share of messed up situations in life and all of that left me with a positive message and helped me become a stronger person. Try as I may, I couldn’t bring myself to find the positive side of a chick farting on my d!(k during sex. Then to make matters worse, she was looking back at me giggling and continuing like nothing even happened… “FWAAP!!! …FWAP!!! … FWRUP!!!”

The end?

Well no… After literally tossing her off me in a disgusted rage, I gathered my clothes together and prepared to leave. She laid motionless on the bed looking at me startled but I couldn’t bring myself to give a phuq about what she was thinking. I went into her parent’s bathroom and washed my crotch area for about five minutes and left without saying a word.

As I exited the house, that little voice in the back of my mind from earlier was back again, and with a new message. I cringed as I listened to what it had to say then went back into the house. When I got to the bedroom, she was still laying on the bed in the exact position I left her in. “I think I forgot something.” I said. She opened her mouth to respond but was instantly quieted by me sticking my index and middle fingers into her vagina.

I “fished” them around for a little before a foreign (but familiar feeling) object became entangled with one of my fingers. I looked at her as I slowly reeled it out, and observed her twisting her nipples and biting her lips. I was greatly annoyed by her actions, but I had a bigger issue to deal with.

When my fingers had safely exited her grotto, she paused, gave me a repulsed frown and asked, “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a condom… with no sperm in it.” I replied.
“Wait, you came?” she scoffed.
“Yeah… but umm are you on ‘the pill’ or anything?”
“Ha ha ha, of course not. I want to have lots of healthy babies some day you know.”
“…………………………………………………..FUCK!”

*uploading posts with pics from my phone is a motherfu-… I’ll drop them in when I get home. In any case who needs pictures anyways?*