Friday, September 30, 2011

When Single Guys Talk About Getting Married...

I'd like to think this entry between Ricochet and Mr. Et Cetera started like an episode of Law and Order.

The following blog entry is fictional, except where it is completely real. And does not depict any actual persons or events, except where actual events and people are depicted. Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. 

In the Dopest Blog Name Ever, the entries are written by three separate yet not so equally important people: Troo Alquemist, Regular Et Cetera, and Ricochet Grab It. These are their stories... 

Everyone's except Troo's, who didn't contribute because he's a dick.


Regular Et Cetera: I have very limited exposure to single or divorced mothers. Unless you count me trying to have sex with them.

Ricochet Grab It: Hmm, that seemed unwarranted and out of context. Do you think that you're ever going to get married? Better question. Do you think you would ever get divorced?

I think I kinda would like to get married. Seems like a good idea. I definitely don't want to get divorced.

You think you kinda want to get married, what the hell does that mean?

Well I do, just not right now so, kinda but, actually not kinda, well yes I do. I'd like to have a wife. What about you?

I want to get married. Twice. One time has to be a wild night in Vegas, with all my friends Klondike Bar wasted. I don't really care who I marry, some stranger perhaps, I just want to get the first marriage out the way.

How many girls have you dated that you thought you could possibly marry?

Well, I don't think there is just one person you can marry. And honestly, I haven't had a lot of serious relationships. So I would say 1, 1.5 girls.

What the fuck does "I don't think there is one person that you can marry" mean? Also, it doesn't matter if you were seriously dating them or not.

I don't think marriage is as much about love as it is making it work. It's cool if you really love each other and like eachother. Honestly, I don't ever think of the "rest of my life" when I think about marrying someone. I'm a pretty easy going guy so I feel there are a lot of woman I could successfully marry.

You know what's crazy, I think about that shit with most women. Any woman I've ever kissed, I've probably imagined being married to. I don't know why, I just do. It usually flashes into my mind's eye like those scenes in the movies where someone is about to die in a car accident. The longer I'm dating a lady the more long term daydreams I create, or day-nightmares... Is that a word?

That's what I'm saying. For example, I was never serious about TOPANGA but I often thought that she would make a good wife. She has a lot going for her, the sex was good, communication was effective...given enough time I'm sure we could have fell in love.

You know whats crazy, I constantly thought about GINA being my wife. Given, she was always a horrible mean, extra-mean, like really really mean, Cruella Deville kind of wife. And I'd be in the dream thinking "Why did i do this WHYYYYYY?!!!" The answer of course was always sex. I'm saying though we did have some incredible sex, and she was pretty cool usually. I just felt like she would go criminally sour one day and I'd just be stuck with a villain for a wife. That's usually when I'd snap back to reality and see sweet sweet GINA sucking my dick like some kind of sexy demon and I'd be all like, "What was I saying again? Who carrrrrrrrr...."

Yeah, GINA was something. I mean I don't know personally, but I heard about it. I can only speak for me, but marriage isn't the ultimate goal for me in life, so I think it's impossible for me to actually fail at it. I'm sure that's when it hurts the most; when you've spent your entire life thinking about the one person you would marry, you've planned the wedding down to the perfume you're going to wear on that beautiful day...and then two divorces later, you're ready to tie that knot into a noose around your neck.

How confident of you. Seeing as I've failed almost religiously in almost every relationship I've ever been in, I'm not quite on your level of thinking I'm going to do well in it.

You really failed RELIGIOUSLY with PAM. Did you ever think you were going to marry HER?

Oh my god that shit was RELIGIOUS for real!!! Epic relationship failure!

But yea man, I used to do it all the time. I probably still would if things hadn't happened the way they did. Thank you sweet baby black Jesus for getting me out of that one. Mighta ended up being murdered in my sleep or something... But got damnit I loved that crazy girl.

I know she isn't the most attractive but I've thought about marrying ANGELA. I'm thinking I've got to put myself in the best possible situation, and she wants to be a doctor, or lawyer, or something like that.

Plus ANGELA was so cool man: and she more than likely wasn't gonna end up getting fat either. I know I think about that too.  Looking at a girl like, "are you going to transform into some kind giant behemoth wife?" 


Yea, that's what's pretty sweet about Africans (sigh). Anyway, do you ever think about a specific race you wanna marry? Because I often think African or Carribaen... you know, niggas wit a sense of culture.

I'm fairly partial to the human race these days.

So here's a good question. Have you ever thought about what kind of family your wife would come from...what is your ideal situation?

The ideal situation would be if she had a mother and father who were married, stayed married, are black, and possibly... wealthy? So basically, any of Cliff Huxtable's daughters.

That sounds good. But I want a woman from a broken home, as long as she never did hardcore porn (if it's softcore, I might make an exception) or stripped anywhere I've been. I like that whole "us against the world" motif.


White women?

I've dated white women and have thought about marrying them. I wouldn't rule it out but I also wouldn't bet on it. It's like, part of spirit my memory that remember slavery will only let my white relationships go but so far. My inner Nat Turner if you will, killing all the white I like. I'd like to think Mufasa is the voice of my conscience and he keeps saying to me while videos of Roots and the OJ trial play (he was in both) REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE! So I Just don't see it.

I don't think I could marry a white woman... I don't necessarily think it would be difficult being married to one, I just can't see myself getting Tiger Woods'd.

So Mr. Single Guy, why do you think marriages fail?

I think it fails because people don't really get that it is a contract between you and another person that you will both work together to make things better between the two of you. What actually happens is that someone gets selfish and everyone suffers. Also some people are deluded into romantic ideations of what they think a marriage "should be”. My parents are married and so were my grandparents, so I'm very aware of how much the Cosby show is just that, "a show". But that doesn't mean I want the opposite of that. There's good days and bad days and in a good relationship the bads aren't that frequent, but they are still there.

I think marriages fail because people are scared to let go. I should also say that I think marriages can fail without divorce. I don't believe in that staying together for the kids or any reason other than you love and like each other.

I don't know about that. I mean as much as I agree with that statement...and trust me I do...I realize how much tougher it was for people who only had one parent around. And a lot of people these days are so selfish when it comes to everything it's saddening. But, I'm just thinking that the kids really do suffer for the sins of the father and that is tragic.

That we do. I just think some people don't know what to expect from marriage because there are a lot of single parent and no parent homes out there. But it would seem that you have an excellent start on figuring out how to manage a marriage.

Right and that's the opposite side of the coin like staying together in bad relationship, like an actual bad one for the kids. You would be doing way more harm than good, that's just torture.

So outside of your choice of female, is there anything that you need to be married?

Nope, I can't think of anything that I need I'd like to be in a better place professionally, but that's not even close to a sticking point.  You?

I'm pretty "me" centered right now. I'd like to get out of this stage and into a place where I have enough to comfortably share with someone else. What is your take on niggas and the whole wifey/hubby or any other variation of said terms?

I think it's bullshit. And I think it stems from a lot of people not having real wives or husbands in our cultural circles.  

Like they push that moniker onto bf's/gf's/and fb's. A large portion of relationships in black the black community do not end in (or ever even get close to) marriage. Unlike white people, who can meet, date, get engaged, and married all on the same 2011 cat calendar.

I feel like niggas wanna play house with out paying the mortgage.

Yo, that is a damn fine idiom! Nice one sir.

Thanks. I thought of that maybe two weeks ago and I have been waiting for the perfect opportunity to use it. But it's the truth, I don't like the titles because they make me feel like I'm in a relationship intended for marriage, and I hate those.

I don't think I've ever been in one of those

You sure you've never been in any type of relationship when the female saw more with you than you did with her?

I think that may have happened to me before.

I mean, sometimes these ladies just think something is going on... And thing is, it is definitely NOT going on.

I know women that would start making futures with me on the spot. No conceit or anything but, I am a black man, college educated on a career track with no kids...I AM THE ONE!!!! 

Nope, nothing sounds conceited about that at all...

Anyway, I have jumped into a few things because of pressure from ladies. 

Ladies can be gangsters man. They'll be straight up on some "are we together or not? Cuz if we're not I'm out of here nigga." 

And there are a lot of lonely women out there just looking for someone to love. On the flip side of that, there just as many lonely men being taken advantage.

I've done that shit. Done the hell out of it... Sheeeeit a lot of women do that too.
Hell yeah! I've definitely been with those ladies. I've also been that guy. It goes down all too often. I feel like 45% of the 51% of failed marriages happen because niggas be lonely.

Wait, so 9 out of 10 marriages fail because the husband was lonely, inside the marriage?  9 out of 10 failing marriages I mean?

Not quite. I'm saying that 9 out of 10 marriages fail because they were entered upon in terms of loneliness. 

For instance; you may tried your hand at marriage, or had a string of bad relationships and if your're someone with one of those biological clock majigs (especially you women) you probably have an age that you would like to be married at. 

And then it happens! You turn 42, you're unwed and now you're more likely to find love and get married on then anywhere else because... (and here's the climax) because no one wants to get with your ass when it's 42 years old. 

This is what I like to call the "42 and Unwed" Crisis.

Jeeeeez so you're 42 and you want to get married?
Like what the fuck, seriously? You'd think they would have tried it already. 

Also, I don't know why there's still a big taboo on finding a special someone online. We do everything else online anyway. Why can't people find love on these internet streets?

It's not like buying a wife from Russia or something. You still have to go out with these people and find out if you like them or not.

I'm still not with it my friend. When I think about the things that may drive one to or any dating site for that matter, I think I wouldn't want to be that person.

I'd like to think these people are joining because of undeveloped social skills, lack of attractiveness on the facial and bodily levels or your're just plain old lonely. I just feel like it's a desperate move.

We should try it? Is it free? If it's free, we should definitely do it.

You and your bright ideas Et Cetera. This wouldn't be the first time you convinced me to do something that sounds great at that time but ends up back firing terribly. But I'm down if you are.

As long as it's free right? I'm thinking it's like going to be like one of those ladies' "game nights" my friends invite me to from time to time. Like, you show up and it's all single ladies who are maybe looking to get a guy. Basically, it's like that. Like your lady friend helping you get a girl, only in this case, the lady friend is the Internet.

Yeah, and she has no idea the ladies that she's introducing you to. Fucking Internet.

Well, that doesn't sound too far away from real life anyway.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

When E-Thuggin' Goes Right?

I usually don't come here to vent...but ever since my friend and confidant Troo came at my neck in his last post, I think it's only appropriate to use this space for the same thing. However, because I am trying to maintain the privacy of certain parties involved, I'd like you to consider a hypothetical situation for me.

So if you smoke,
light up. If you drink , drink up. If you do neither, well... more power to you and the rest of the after school special crew you're down with.


Check out this hypothetical scenario...

So, let's say you were me.
And y'all know me, I'm just a ruggedly handsome, straight shooting, mostly-honest, type of guy.

So you're me, and as such, you have lots of friends. Some
male, some female. And let's just say that in this hypothetical situation, you and one of those female friends, back in the day, long, long, long, longlonglonglonglong time ago, you may have been really friendly with them. Then, we'll say that perhaps after a while, you and this friend stopped being so friendly and from that point forward remained just JUST FRIENDS, and that's it.
Not a crime, right?

But now let's say this certain female friend gets a boyfriend.

*Cue time machine music: "Flashlight" by Parliament*
(Fast-forward to about 1.5 years later)

That brings us to the hypothetical situation at hand. Said boyfriend has decided to aggressively and harrassingly Tweet you about "messing" with his girlfriend.

What do you do?

Do you let it be?
You understand that he must be upset about something and this is how he decided to release his frustrations. Hey, shit happens, and sometimes it happens to you. Plus, you understand that he's always felt a little uneasy about you being her friend. 


Do you respond to the fact that this nigga just bugged out?
It's possible that he has you confused for some other nigga, some nigga in his crew, or maybe someone he (imagined he) beat up in middle school.

Not sure.

Either way, he has disrespected you and even though you aren't quite the e-thug/clown he has show himself to be, maybe you should respond with a fury of venomous words on a public forum as well. Not on some e-thug shit tho, just to establish that you're against what has been said about you.

Why did they do it you?

Who knows? The thoughts and motives of the common e-thug/gangster/clown are pretty mysterious to you.

So (again) what do you do?

You make the right choice. You do not respond.

INSTEAD, you decide to hit your female friend up, ask her if she knows anything about her boyfriends most recent dumb ass move. She explains that it stems from a conversation you two had the other day. Also, during said conversation, you two got caught up, made jokes, shared advice, and wished each other the best into the future.

Nothing more, nothing less.

However, said boyfriend is up in arms about a joke that was said (perhaps he was reading the transcripts of our convo?), and because of this, what does he do?

Well, like any real man who has a problem with another man, he goes on Twitter,and airs out his grievances. #sarcasm

What then ensues is quite the temper tantrum involving exactly 3 tweets, all of which are simply oozing with insecurity (poor guy). One of them even directly @mentions you (#OUCH).

*Cue short time machine music for your 1.5 hour commute home from work*
And now you're here, and in the back of your head you hear Mufasa saying...

And you start thinking...

Well, who are you? Well, for one, you are a person who doesn't actually give a FUCK. Not one singular eff word. Not even a half of one. Not even a fffffffff.

In fact, you find it to be incredibly amusing that he's so emotional about the situation at all.

You then kick around the idea of responding, just for the hell of it...
You know, have some fun, show off the photoshop skills you picked up in college and start posting doctored photos of him. You think of how many clever things you can come up to say in 140 characters or less about his ego, his insecurities, his complete and utter

I mean, you've been accused of wrong-doings before, and yes, some of them you are even fully-responsible for. Although honestly, most of that stuff was Troo Alquemist though, people just mix you guys up all the time for some reason.

But this time, you did nothing wrong, and
Troo, well Troo has never even met this lady. You were actually wishing your female friend luck in her new long distance relationship. You know... being a good friend. Somewhere in those previous two sentences would be your cherry on top tweet.
Instead, you then go home, open your Mac or PC, log on to the blog that you and your two friends write, and you proceed to write a scathing blog about:
A) Insecure ass dudes who feel their girl can slip away from them at any moment because they're doing so many things WRONG. 

B) Dudes who would rather @MENTION you on twitter than sending you a text message or giving you a call, because somehow sending it over twitter and making it public makes dude a real fucking gangsta (yes, GANGSTA with an A...dudes like this are too stupid to spell it with an a matter of fact, they're actually too gangsta to spell it with an ER).

C) Dudes who put their girlfriends in potentially harmful situations. And dudes who would like to provoke you into blogging about how friendly you and said dude's girlfriend were, where you were friendly at, and just how frequently you two were, *ahem* friendly. 

Afterwards though, you have a change of heart. You decide against doing it. You realize that there's no reason for you to even get close to that level of ridiculousness. You decide that you're totally above going out and embarrassing this guy. And you move on to do other things.

It still irks you a little to know that this guy would wile out like that. So then you think, "maybe you should say something?"

And therein lies the problem dear reader.

How exactly do you go about conveying a response to someone...

Without actually responding to them.

And, of course, not using Twitter?


Wednesday, September 28, 2011

For me, it was a Tuesday.

I step onto the train and surprisingly enough, there's barely anyone in the car. Surprised at the unlikely chance that I won't be fighting for elbow room the entire commute, I swiftly head to an open seat.

Then something happens, something awesome, something perfect. Something awesomely perfect.

A woman steps into the train. I spotted her from the other side of the car. She literally froze me in my tracks (Yes, literally, I definitely felt goosebumps.) A sun-kissed temptress with whose presence I simply couldn't deny myself. There was something about her that I wanted to know. Something about her I needed to know, and I needed to know it... now.

I noticed she was reading a book about the life and times of Nat Turner. How amazing is that? I just so happened to read the same book a couple years ago. Maybe we could talk about it together. I was overcome with curiosity. Like, how did she find out about the book? Where did she pick it up at? Does she read anything else from Kyle Baker? Hmm, maybe not that last one...

I know it's a stock photo, but she was too fine to pass up.

As she gracefully flipped pages, I couldn't help but notice her hair. A beautiful shade of the darkest brown, it was pulled back into an impressive puff with curls that spiraled out to the sun, shining out onto the rest of us like some kind of beautiful afrocentric corona.

I moved closer. She licks her lips, a pouty perfected blend of soft and supple, right before she turns each page. "What a neat little tick", I thought to myself. I wonder, does she read often, does she only do it on the train? She looks like she's smart, but then maybe that's just because she's holding a book right now. Well... probably.

Then suddenly, something else happens. The bell rings, the train door opens and she begins to look around. I feel her watchful gaze creeping slowly around the car. I look up and our eyes meet, and the connection is felt instantaneously.

She doesn't turn away. So, I close the gap. 

I conjure up the smoothest, coolest Et Cetera I've ever been able to manifest in my life, and break the silence. 

"Hi, I noticed your book. How long have you had it?"

She turns around flashing those beautiful pearly whites at me and unrepentently plunges a knife deep into my heart, deftly twisting it, and ripping it from my chest. She then proceeds to do some kind of river/Lion King-musical dance all over it in front of everyone on the train.  And, as the life slowly bleeds away from me onto the sticky subway floor, I somehow manage to sputter out, "Well... a-a-at least... it was a quick death." 

And then I died.


Only I didn't. I only wished I did. You see, I may have embellished a little on that last part of the story. But seriously, only a little. What actually happened mostly involved her looking at me and giving THEE most uninspired exhale I've ever heard in the history of my life, and exclaiming to the unlistening air around her, "I CAN'T TAKE THIS SHIIIIIIT!!!" She then put on her headphones and promptly pivoted a complete 180 degrees away from me.


If you ask me, that's basically the same story.

Friday, September 23, 2011

How To Be A Better Friend: Vol. 1

There once was a boy. Your average boy, with dreams and aspirations and dirt under his finger nails. This boy had always been afraid of public speaking so he decides to try his hand at spoken word poetry to overcome his fear. He goes to his room, writes a couple of poems, picks his favorite one and begins to memorize it. And this little boy is going in, like Rabbit in 8 Mile. But, like Rabbit in 8 Mile, his first time in front of the crowd, he chokes.

The poets clap for him anyway because it took courage to do what he did. And so he goes back to his room and gets back to the pad. But this boy doesn’t get better. In fact, the next three times he goes back, he’s worse than the time before. It has become clear that not only does this boy lack the verbal skills to be a good spoken word poet; he also lacks the writing skills and the ability to do spoken word poetry. Yet, he still goes back every week and never fails to disappoint the entire crowd. Every time.

There once was a girl. All her life she was called pretty. Right up until her 12th birthday. Puberty hit and just like Dakota Fanning, that awkward adolescent stage came sweeping in before she knew it. Her confidence was not shaken however and her dreams of becoming a model were still coursing through her veins. Years and years of pictures were taken. Some of them were ok, some were WTF, but something became very clear over the years; the awkward stage had never really ended and only got more awkward after the 140lb weight gain.

But to be a model, nothing would stop this young girl. Not even her stretch mark's stretch marks.

There were once these guys. They decided to write a blog because they figured, “why the hell not?” And like all good ideas, it started off well but it lost steam. But a year later, these guys come back and start writing again like it never happened. And they are so excited that they start writing every day. And they are posting it on every social network. They even join new social networks and post them there. But things became clear along the way; these guys can’t actually write.

In fact, no post relates to the name of the blog, whatsoever in any way shape or form save some random reference to illegal contraband.  A blog name they thought so clever, but in fact, it was lazy and sad. But does their lack of writing skills, fan base, content, charisma or over all personality stop them from writing? Nope, they are determined to force you to read whatever they come up with.

“And what do all these people have in common?” you may be wondering. Well I’ll tell you.

They all have your fucking support.

Yes, your support. You may not support all of them, but you have definitely supported one of these people. You were just trying to be a friend; I get it, but look what you did. You’ve spawned a group of people who despite realizing they suck at their life’s dream; continue to ruin the world with their lack of desired talent.

You may also be saying “Ricochet, you are fucked up. You should never put people down. Regardless of how you feel nigga, you shouldn’t put other people down. Who are you to judge other people?”

I’m just the nigga writing this blog.

In short people,

He couldn’t write yesterday, she won’t be pretty tomorrow and they damn sure won’t ever be dope.

So as you go on your way, let us remember the wise words of a lady who had no problem NOT supporting terrible movements.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Oh To Be Young And In Like

So, I was on my way to work today and instead of doing what i usually do (trying to guess which person on the train may be a sociopathic murderer), I instead found myself a captive audience to a sickening display of young "love".

Anyway, as I sat there trying to not watch the Wendy's girl paw all over Patty Mayonnaise's (definitely EX after she reads this) boyfriend, my mind drifted back to a purer time. The days when I was a young boy/man, fueled by hormones, sugary drinks, and unsurmountable horniness. Actually, now that I think about it, those times weren't really purer at all.

So as I stood there trying to look around the two 9th graders fucking each other with their clothes on, I feel a look of utter disgust beginning to wash over me. I thought to myself, "Surely there's no way I was this horny back then." But then, the more I thought of it, the more I realized how much that was pure bullshit. As I stood there flashing back to EPICLY getting to 3rd base on the morning school bus commute, I remembered that I was exactly that horny back then. 

In fact, there was even a specific code I abided by back then to "almost" safely navigate said horniness. The basic rules of engagement pretty much amounted to performing two simple actions:

1. Avoid doing anything around parents.

2. Avoid cock-blocking adults.

3. Do whatever you can get away with while staying aware of rules 2 and 3.

(Ok, I know that was three, but it just sounded so much easier if I said that there were only two things that you needed to do. Oh well, on with the show.)
Anyway, those were some crazy days. I mean, that shit was like the wild west of dick grinding, absolutely out of control. Which reminds of a story.

You see, once upon a time, a younger far less experienced me had THEE biggest crush on a girl named Tameka Mack. I mean this girl was a COLD TONI. And,  maybe she liked me back, I don't know. But what I do know is that I used to suck on her massive titty-balls just about every day behind the bleachers in 10th grade weight training. Every now and then it would go a little further and there would be some intense dick/pussy rubbing and maybe a little kissing. I say maybe because Tameka used to really be on some "Are you gonna suck'em or not?" type action in those days and as soon as we got in the back she was smothering me with areolas and grinding against my left thigh. Which, of course, I was completely ok with. Matter of fact, I was practically overjoyed with it. 

Isn't that crazy? I mean if a lady did something like that to me in the now-time, I. Would. Be. PISSED. Absolutely, FURIOUS. But back then... Hey, anything was plenty man, and was better than nan or nothing at all. (Book of Devin: Chapter 3 verse 7)

Well, weight training came and went. And me and Tameka soon found ourselves in other romantic situations around our sprawling high school campus. 


She was a great girl.

And just like that I was no longer in a flashback scene. I was back on the train surrounded by jerks and people who look like jerks. I then paused to look down at these two young souls boldly embarking onto their journey of sexual discoveries and social embarrassment (in front of more than 150 people engaged in NYC public transportation), smiled to myself and thought, "enjoy it while it lasts you crazy kids..."

Then I looked down again and they were still going at it. My look of disgust and judgement immediately returned as I was like, "Really yall? Do I have to really to listen to yall swap spit and smeared lip gloss RIGHT next to me and my laptop case?" That's when I shiveringly remembered those (apparently still) long honored rules of engagement I told you guys about earlier, hurriedly grabbed my stuff and found my way to the opposite side of train.


Fucking teenagers.

Monday, September 19, 2011

The Tale of Pretty Ricky Freestyle

Money over bitches... Bros before hoes... Kill or be killed...

Okay. That last one was kinda random and has nothing to do with the other two... Or does it???

A few weeks ago, I was chatting it up with Ricochet Grab It about women and friendships. Is one worth more than another?

RANDOM: I'm typing this on the street from my iPhone. A rather large white man has sat across from me sporting a confederate flag bandana and an "Obama for America" t-shirt. Excuse me if I seem distracted in this post...

Anyways, talking to Ric about this made me think of a dude I knew from back in the day. His name was Rick, ironically. Actually it was Ricky Hawthorn. But he used to rap, so we called him Ricky Freestyle. And Ricky Freestyle was a bit of a ladies man. One of them high-yella boys with the good hair. We started calling him Pretty Ricky Freestyle...

BACK TO RANDOM: Okay this white man with obviously conflicted politics (or a horrible stylist) has been staring at me for a long ass time and it's both pissing me off and scaring me.

Sorry bout that... Pretty Ricky Freestyle had a friend named Justin. Justin used to play football. A rather big kid. We used to call him... You know what, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Justin was a huge mothafucka. So huge that he shoulda been adopted by a white family and made to play football at their alma mater...

Justin was a nice kid. Too nice. A ma'fucka his size shoulda been a jerk just because he could be. But he wasn't...

Justin and Pretty Ricky Freestyle were best friends. They grew up together. But it seemed like Justin did most of the growing. You see, Pretty Ricky Freestyle wasn't the tallest dude. In fact, behind his back, we used to call him...

No!!! Troo, you said you wouldn't do this anymore!

My bad. You right...

Justin and Pretty Ricky Freestyle were best friends. The closest. But one day, they realized that they fell for the same girl.

Oh wow. You mean just like R-Kelly and Usher did in that video they did together?

Yeah... Kinda. Except in this story, it doesn't end with them realizing that they fell for twins. And trust, when ma'fuckas find out that someone's talkin to/messing with/going after a chick they got strong feelings for...look out...

BACK TO RANDOM: What is dude doing??? He's like spinning or something and keeps touching shit... Oh damn. He's blind. My bad, dope fiends... Wow. I feel like an ass... But not really…

When Justin found out that Pretty Ricky Freestyle was flirting with Hyperbole (Yes. Her name was Hyperbole. Pronounced: Hy-Per-Bo-Lee) he was upset. Naturally. But being the nice guy that he was, Justin went to Pretty Ricky Freestyle and said that he saw Hyperbole first, and would appreciated it if Pretty Ricky Freestyle would back off. Pretty Ricky Freestyle was like, Suck my dick.

Justin was hurt. Devastated even. He went to his mom to cry, like the big bitch that he was and told her the whole story. She told him to go back and talk to Pretty Ricky Freestyle. It was probably a big misunderstanding.  :)

Justin went back to talk to Pretty Ricky Freestyle. But this time, he approached differently.   :(

You see, Justin didn’t want any more misunderstandings, so he spoke blunt. He was like, “Pretty Ricky Freestyle! Hyperbole is my woman! I need you to back off!”

Pretty Ricky Freestyle said, “Over my dead body!”

I sure do miss him…

So the moral of the story is… well actually I’m not sure. I don’t know how to wrap this up in a clever way. And also, there are a lot of lessons to be learned from this.

Pretty Ricky Freestyle obviously took his and Justin’s friendship for granted. He didn’t talk to Justin, and basically said fuck his feelings. MEN HAVE FEELINGS TOO. And even BIG MEN have feelings!

Justin shouldn’t have been a whining, bitch ass mommas boy. Just because a dude hurts your feelings doesn’t give you the right to kill him. Whoop his ass? Yes. But to end a man’s life? A little too far. Unnecessary, sir… Unnecessary.

And Hyperbole… Well she’s just a hoe. But she wasn’t wrong in this situation. Or was she???

In fact, Who do y’all think was wrong in this story? Who do you side with, dope fiends?

BACK TO RANDOM: Okay. The blind, white dude just said the N word 17 times… Yes. I counted. See! Told you I wasn’t an ass.