What Is It Like To…Be Chronically Single and Depressed?

I am chronically single and depressed. This means I would have forgotten what a penis looks like without porn. I haven’t had sex in over a year, so Phillip Winters III would be asking me why there are cobwebs on my clit.  

However, I hate watching porn because it’s boring and stale. Where is the romance, the longing, the truly passionate stolen kisses, the gut-wrenching loss, and soul crushing rejection? Nowhere! Just stained sheets, sweat, body odor, and unwashed genitals rubbing together paired with fake moans, ill-suited dialogue, and music.

Love songs…

You know what I hate about being single? Love songs…yes, you heard right, love songs. What the fuck am I supposed to do with a love song? Go home, get into a nice, warm bubble bath, lather up nice and slow, rinse off, and put-on sweet-smelling Victoria Secret lotion.

Aaaannnddd…then put batteries in my vibrator. What the fuck? I won’t be able to hear the love songs over the vibrating noise of the jackrabbit…I just fucking can’t.

That Guy …

You know the guy…that guy…yeah him…

That guy who is all big and bad looking like a human robo cop.

But he has a secret…do you want me to tell you?

Come closer, closer, and closer….

(whispering) He has a micropenis and skid marks in his tighty whities. He is the guy we all need to avoid like the plague. Like what grown man wears tighty whities and still hasn’t learned how to wipe his own ass.

Uncircumcised penis…

Some American women are repulsed by uncircumcised penis. When I see an uncircumcised penis, I get hungry. To me uncircumcised penis looks like a hot dog in a bun. The excess skin is the bun and the head of the penis is the hot dog poking out of the bun. I see uncircumcised penis, I’m like, I can eat. I can go for a hot dog or some kielbasa, right now. Mmmm….

Then I ask my date, if I can get some food. He looks at me puzzled, gets up, puts his clothes on, and leaves.

Christian Grey….

I always wanted to be with a man like Christian Grey, but I ask too many questions and don’t take direction well.

Christian Grey: Lay down and spread your legs.

Me: Why?

Christian Grey: Just do it!

Me: You first! Better yet, get on your knees, bitch!

Christian Grey (Leaving the red room and shaking his head): She doesn’t listen. I want a sub, not a dominatrix!

I have learned that I am better off searching for an obedient man like Stedman. You know Oprah keeps his ass in line.

Also, my dilemma is…

How the fuck! am I going to fuck a real man, if I am home crying…

What am I going to do? Order Aquaman along with my sushi through Postmates? That would be a hell of a service fee…

Can you imagine Aquaman fucking me while I am crying?

No!! Neither can I…

The only type of guys that would get turned on watching me cry and whimper are narcissists, psychopaths, and sociopaths…

Likeeee…I guess you can taste my tears before you taste my vagina. Why not? (shrugs shoulders) It’s more hygienic than eating asshole….you know Hep A and all that jazz… (jazz hands)

I think I am better off crying in my bed than dead in a shallow grave somewhere…

No thanks, I can do bad all by myself…without Ted Bundy.

Men: (in unison) We want pussy, but this chick is too much. We want easy pussy. This one will take too much work. We are better off paying for pussy than dealing with this!

Me: These Ds are definitely more than a handful. My sharp tongue and blunt nature leave men feeling hurt like burnt toast. Bye Felicia!

What Is It Like To…Convince Your Man to Propose?

I asked a friend, “How do you convince your boyfriend to propose?”

Her response, “Give him anal!”

My response, “That’s way too much!”

I really wanted to say:

I’m not letting Phillip Winters III desecrate my anus for a ring and a prenup. Who the fuck do I look like? Get the fuck outta here with that shit! I’ll tell Phillip to stick his dick up his own arse and see if it feels good.

Ladies…if you want to get married before 35, you must help your boyfriend understand that the biological clock is ticking.

Not yours, his!  His muscular arms, broad shoulders, hard abs, and strong calves will last but so long. Before he realizes it, his metabolism will slow down and those abs will be covered up by the “dad bod”. His hairline will start receding, and his youthful pubic hair will turn into a salt and pepper collage.

How are you going to get laid when your beer belly is hiding your micropenis?

Eventually, he will need a hip replacement and new teeth. He will turn into his great uncle, Lester. Viagra can do only but so much…two pumps…then done.

He would be lucky if Tay Money turned around and spat in his wrinkly face with crowsfeet along the corners of his eyes. That would be the most action he would get from a baddie.

Warning: Once you turn ugly, even Peaches (the old lady up the block with no teeth) won’t suck your micropenis, not even in exchange of $500 worth of car repairs. She’ll be like “Nah, I can do bad all by myself” after dropping her dentures into a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk.

Men will pop the question REAL QUICK, once they realize that no one else will fuck them.

If he is still playing games, wish him well in his endeavors in trying to find tight, elastic, moist, pink vagina to hit and quit. Then get yourself a 30-year old sugar daddy!

Ladies, don’t be afraid to ask for what you want, when you want it, and how you want it. That’s the only way it should be!

What Is It Like To…Be A 30-Year-Old Sugar Daddy?

Where are all the 30-year-old sugar daddies?

Don’t front, I know you have a couple hundred thousand in your trust fund.

Why don’t you break me off a couple of stacks and make it rain?

Your rock-hard abs won’t last forever. Once you stop playing lacrosse, your sex appeal will drop ten points, and this pussy will cost you twice as much.

Bring that babyface over here, so I can sit on it.

Come save me from Lester, your 80-year-old great uncle.

He has a limp dick with saggy balls and can barely walk up a flight of stairs. Poor guy is going to lose his dentures trying to go down on me.

Bring your sexual prowess over here and “try” to outlast this vibrator.

Whatever you do, please don’t cum…

…Then ask me…

 …if I came…

…when you know…

…damn well…

I told you…

…not to cum!

(Roll eyes, drop mic, and walk away.)

What Is It Like To…Be A Klansman At Death’s Door?

Full Disclosure: I am a college educated, African American, professional woman living in the South. I am aware of the significant intergenerational trauma the KKK has inflicted on African American communities throughout the United States. I hope this joke serves as a cautionary tale for people who are participate in organizations that foster hate, terror, and intolerance.

We are all human beings. At the end of the day, we all want to love and be loved.

Enjoy the joke below.

Can you imagine a white, middle-aged man being part of the KKK in one small town, but driving two hours back into the town he actually lives in to eat his wife’s black pussy. Yes, I mean black pussy. No, I don’t mean a white vagina in blackface. I actually mean a black woman.

Let’s assume for the purposes of this joke that she is unaware that her husband wears white, hooded robes outside of the home, and of course, not inside the home, either.

Remember, I said “eat, black, and wife’s”, not mistress’s. He chose to marry this black woman. Yet, he drives two hours away put on a white hood and chant with pitchforks in the dark, chilly night. (I have no idea what actually happens at a Klan meeting.)

Let’s say, one day this Klansman gets into a horrific car accident. His car is ignited on fire and the only people who are close enough to help are… black people. These people don’t know who he is and are unaware that he is a Klansman. All they see is a human being who will die, if they don’t get him out of his car before it engulfs in flames.

What is this Klansman going to do? Say, “Don’t help me! I am part of an organization that facilitated terror and atrocities on generations of black communities!”

Nooo…This Klansman is staring down his own mortality as the fire continues to burn. The Klansman sees the Grim Reaper in his rear-view mirror ready to drag him into the depths of hell. There are only minutes available to help him get out of that car before it explodes.

What is this Klansman actually going to do?

He is going to scream for help and cry for mercy like the little bitch he is.

I mean, if the black people KNEW he was a Klansman, I wonder if they would risk their lives to save his…Hmmm….

Let’s hope, for his sake, that he is saved from the fire, makes a full recovery, and burns his white robe and hood.

What Is It Like To… Be Worn Panties?

Let me give you a shopping tip.

Recently, I was shopping at a popular department store, I won’t say the name of the store because I actually like shopping there. The staff there are very helpful…maybe, too helpful.

As I was browsing the lingerie and underwear tables, I overheard a young woman mumbling to a store sales associate that she bought a pair of panties that were too tight when she put them on at home.

Next thing I see, this young woman is handing the sales associate a pair of wrinkled up panties in a clear Ziploc bag. I was like… “oh no, she didn’t!” Even crazier, the sales associate takes the panties and goes to give this young lady a refund!

I was like… “this lady put her vagina lips in those panties and is now asking for a refund?” I was expecting that sales associate to say something like, “Sorry ma’am, we don’t accept worn undergarments.” But NO! This lady is getting a refund! Ladies and gentlemen, the panties are like $5 or $6! Are you really coming back here to return panties that already have your vaginal secretions in them?

My next thought was “I hope that the sales associate does not put those panties back on that table with the “clean” lingerie and panties. I really, really, hope not.

Can you imagine wearing those SAME returned panties? You are basically putting your vulva on someone else’s pussy juices. I barely like my own pussy juices; I don’t want yours!

Here’s the tip: WASH YOUR UNDERGARMENTS once you get home from the mall! Yes, wash them, if they are not wrapped in plastic. If someone can put a green booger in the crotch area of your panties, you need to wash them as soon as you get home.

I know that you don’t want someone else’s green boogers or fishy odor, mayonnaise-colored, dried, vaginal secretions on something YOU wear….

Do it. You will thank me later!

(Wiilt)What Is It Like To….

When I bought this domain name, I thought I was going to create an app about people relocating that would take off and become a cross between Reddit, Facebook, and Meetup.com. However, I have a problem with persistence, confidence, grit, and failure, so that shit never happened.

Due to the love and support from those close to me, I have decided to share my jokes and experiences with you through this blog. To be brutally honest, I hate writing for work. Writing for work, feels like I am pulling teeth, my own teeth, without Novocain, one by one.

But for some crazy reason, I love writing jokes. When I write jokes, I smile and laugh as I write, read, rewrite, and reread the nonsense I plan to share with you.

The problem is that jokes evaporate from my skull quicker than farts dissolve in the air. Anyway, here I am! My friend, “my best friend, my ride or die, but I will tell you how it is” friend since I was 15/16 has encouraged me to live in my truth, stop pretending, and let my freak flag fly. That statement serves as a warning. Some content is graphic and sexual in nature. If that offends you, please don’t continue to read this blog.

Now, glad we got that out of the way. If you enjoy jokes and sexually graphic comments made by a woman for other women (and men), please do continue and enter the depths of entertainment and sultriness. I am creating this blog for you to share my fucked-up perception of life. I will talk about my personal experiences, or I may make some shit up. You will never know the truth from fiction, which is the goal because I have a day job that I need to keep. I almost created a blog called “Fuckless”. However, I was too afraid someone would figure out it was me, and I would become a homeless, unemployed, educated, black woman living under a bridge.

 If you ever want to speak to me directly, you may have to comment below. Again, I don’t want people to know who I am, until I’m ready to live in my truth and really let my freak flag fly. When that time comes, I will perform standup comedy and not hide my laptop.

Another warning! If anything I write offends you, please understand that it does not come from a malicious place in my heart. I laugh at the most inappropriate events and experiences. I laugh because laughing (for me personally) is more palatable than crying.  Trust me, at one point I cried about the graphic shit and then I was like, “Fuck this and fuck them!” If you want to comment, please do! I hope you enjoy this blog!