Can't Get Out Of This One, Granny!

The Angry Employee Who Hates His Female Co-Workers

best of craigslist > philadelphia > To the women who work in my office... I hate you
Originally Posted: Fri, 10 Nov 16:56 EST 


To the women who work in my office... I hate you

Date: 2006-11-10, 4:56PM EST

Girl with the bright blonde weave who works in reception- I don't know how you got your job, you are so uneducated it makes me sick. Did you graduate grammar school? I think I would respect you more if the answer to that is no. I want to throw a rock at your face every time I walk by when you are answering the phone and you say something like: who you callin'for? or "he in a meetin' right now" or my personal favorite, "who this is?" I bet the people on the other end of the phone want to throw a rock at your face too. I also can't stand when I get message notes from you that are written like so: Mr. Smith called hes wanting to kno wen he shuld ecspect the letter of aprovle. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? It amazes me that the only two things in your job description are answering phones and taking phone messages and you can't do either of those things! 

Tall girl in design with the short brown hair- You have horrendous body odor! I'm not talking a little stench here and there I am talking everyday when you walk into the building people drop dead. I don't know how you don't notice it. I'm going to buy you deodorant for Christmas. 

Fat woman who works in suite 19- I don't know exactly what you do for this company, but I know far too much about your personal life. When you talk to your boyfriend on company time, please refrain from telling him it felt so good when he slipped his hard dick into your fat ass! Yea I heard that, and so does everyone else that walks by your suite when you are on the phone. It's disgusting, and we don't want to hear about it, so keep your voice down. 

Blonde woman who works for accounting- I know that you are 30, not 25 and I also know that at the Christmas party last year you had sex with the bosses son in the broom closet and that he got you pregnant. Please don't insult me in front of our coworkers again or I will tell everyone. 

Hot girl that works in sales- When you wear that brown skirt with the white flower on the bottom and you sit down, we can all see that you don't wear panties. 

Boss' old receptionist- My name is not, John, Jason, Jack, Jim or Jared- it's Evan. 

Middle age woman who works in reception- Your job is not that hard. You answer phones, put people on hold, and take messages. I don't care that you were up late cleaning the house or that you sat up all night waiting for you delinquent son to get home, that does not give you a reason to get rude with a customer or walk around bitching about how your job is so stressful. Half of us come in still drunk from the night before, but we never yell at clients, bitch about our family members or say our jobs are soooo hard. 

Pregnant bitch- There is only one of you, so no need for further description but let it be known that you are not the first person to ever get knocked up! You are not the first person to get heart burn, you are not the first person to get morning sickness. You are not the first person to pee their pants because the baby put too much pressure on your bladder and you certainly are not the first person who has had strange cravings for cheese and anchovies. Stop complaining about it! 

Little intern girl- You are so cute with your stringy brown hair, acne and braces but your coffee skills are lacking. All I ever want is a large black coffee but you seem to thing that I would rather a low-fat latte, or a caramel machiato, or even a Chai Tea. Nope I don't want those, I just want a damn black coffee! Also, you obviously don't know your alphabet because my filing cabinet is a mess. F does not come after R, sweetie. Do you want to flunk the class you are doing this internship for? No? You better shape your ass up and get me the right coffee then! 

Pretty girl who is head of the writing department- You are the only girl who works in this office that I can stand. You greet me every morning with a bright smile and a cheery hello. And you are so damn smart. No wonder you are 22 and head of the department that could pretty much make or break our company. One time I asked you the Circumference of the earth and you kew it! Usually I would think that is weird and dork but from you, I find it really hot. I also like that you are the only girl in the company that hasn't slept with someone that works with us. But for the record, if you slept with me, I wouldn't respect you any less. 

Hispanic girl who works in design- You wear way too much makeup, I hate that you draw your eyebrows on, and I'm pretty sure you have an adams apple and are a man. 

35 year old secretary- You have a 20 year old son, and a 15 year old son... yet you dress like you are 16. I would be embarrassed to be your children. Oh and you look really stupid when you wear that plaid school-girl skirt with the white tights and hooker boots. This is an office... not a brothel. 


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Guardians of The Glucose

Imma be real real with everyone. I am fucking tired. I have been working since I was 14; I was in the service industry for 15 years and have been a day walker in administration/finance for about 15 years. And for those of you trying to do the math to figure out how someone who looks 30, acts 14 (on a good day), and claims to be almost 40, could have been working for 30 years, let me help you out. Honestly, I am an 800 year old swamp witch. God, it feels so fucking good to share my truth. Really and Truly (not the awful inbred bastard sister of White Claw) I was working 2 jobs for different periods of my life because, again trying to be 100% transparent, drugs are expensive.

In all of those years working, I have come to the realization that I fucking wasted my prime body years not stripping. There, I said it. Now, the only place that wants to see my almost 40, slightly dimpled ass drop down and get my eagle on is the Clermont Lounge in ATL. Alas, with all the shoes I do have, none are of the clear plastic variety. I ALMOST said the Condor, but I am only 40, not 70 and I don't have a fresh bullet hole and a raggedy c-section scar, so I may never be able to live up to their impeccable standards of nudity. A girl can dream, though. Le Sigh.

Since my dreams of stripping have been ever so slightly quashed by my love of carbs, and let's be real honest here, I already said I was fucking tired and I know my bitch ass ain't gonna be working the clubs at 2 am on a Saturday anymore. I am straight Monday day shift, if that. As usual, I digress. All this talk of stripping came about, kind of as a joke, with my father (judge all you want, the dude is a fucking legend) because I was recently laid off and having taken a loan from Dear Old Dad, he was trying to help me figure out what my options were, since he didn't want me driving Uber and getting murdered. So I told him I would start looking for a Sugar Daddy to help alleviate some of the burden on my actual father. That one he was kind of ok with. What a time to be alive, kids!

But H-Bomb, you and the Silver Fox Fuck Boy are back together! And? But you are so happy together! And? But he does that thing that makes you almost black out? AND?? And then I thought for a second, "Am I the only weird person who has a Sugar Pact with their SO?" What is a Sugar Pact, you ask? Take a seat Dear Ones, Auntie H-Bomb finna take you on a magic carpet ride.

A Sugar Pact is agreement between people, whereby you are allowed to go on get your fucking thang, if the paper is on point. I live in South Florida, where there is no shortage of old people with new money and newer faces/body parts. You don't even know if the old fucker staring at you is 50 or 80 or an 800 year old Swamp Witch, thanks to all the fillers, injectables, plastic surgery, etc. I am fucking flabbergasted that with the current heat waves we've been having, this place isn't littered with plastic parts from elders who simply fucking expired one day, like milk.

When I am out with Silver Fox Fuck Boy (yes yes, more on that later), I will ALWAYS point out some old ass bitch, with new ass tits, and be like, "Her? Her? HER????" because that is the best part of the Sugar Pact- when one SO benefits, the whole team benefits! This is not about one person singularly getting to reap the benefits, oh no no no no NO...if you or someone you love is about to bone down on some old people parts for money (or any of the other things that you get in that kind of arrangement), you need to sit your ass down and be ready for them when they get home with a strong ass fucking drink, a hot shower, and some non-octogenarian booty, to thank them for their service. It's the patriotic thing to do!

And since this is the age of equal opportunity, this goes both ways (like me!). Silver is also very reciprocal at pointing out folks of a certain age and means to me, because in all fairness that motherfucker likes shoes and clothes and booze just as much as I do. And when one of us wins, we all win. Again, I am often wondering if I am the only person who feels this way and lo and behold, I am not.

I was recently texting with my friend B, and we got on the subject of working too much, money etc. And she said, "I am always down for a Sugar Daddy" to which I replied, "So Same, Silver and I have a pact regarding any kind of Sugar Opportunities." Her next reply almost took the wind out of my sails.

"If Husband passed up a sugar momma opportunity, I would be pissed." Now, to understand my audible gasp, you have to know these two lovely people. From the outside, they are your typical South Florida Couple; Married a long time, hard working professionals, who also love boats and hoes. But, B is a special breed, all sweetness and innocence on the outside and pure fucking raunch on the inside. I think she might be one of the few women who rivals my love of strippers and bad decisions. So, even knowing what I know about her, this was a bit of a revelation. Then, we broke it down. This is not about sex, this is about helping people who want to spend their money on people who want to spend money. Simple as that. She then went on to tell me how one night, a long time ago when her husband was a valet, a lady asked him to get her car or if he wanted to take her home. Her first question was, "What kind of car was it?" When he told her it was a Jeep Cherokee, she said that she would have been pissed if he did, but if was a Bentley, she would have been pissed if he didn't. My girl knows the difference between a Sugar Momma and a Splenda Momma!

If you are reading this thinking South Florida is nothing but fucking Gold Digging ass bros and hoes, let me make something clear. You are 100% right and also, go fuck yourself. At this age, you can think whatever the fuck you want to think about me. If I am not hurting you, or your relationship, you can tooderooooooooooooo the fuck over there and judge away. Imma sip champagne cus I am thirstayyy. And when you and your group of Karens are all joking about how nice it would be if you had an extra set of hands to help around the house, "because Brad is always out with the boys," or another person to take care of your Significant Other's needs because, "After taking care of Mackayleigha and Jaquexon you are too damn tired for sex," and calling each other "sister wives" as a joke, just think back to this little post.

Whatever you do, don't let them go Sugar in The Raw!

H-Bomb

Aged Like A Fine Wine Cooler

Yo! What in the actual fuck, y'all?!

I was kicking it in the pool this past weekend...relaxing, peeing in the shallow end then it hit me - I'm 40 and I'm aging like a goddamn old person. Not like a cool old person either. I'm talking about an old person who hates every motherfucking thing known to man but gets their joys off the worst shit in the world.

People. Friends. Foods. People. Music. Did I say people, yet?

I can barely tolerate shit. Hell, I can barely tolerate ME.

On the real, I've lost a step...or a hundred.

It's like I used to have rhythm. Now, I look worse than Carlton dancing to Tom Jones' Greatest Hits. I guess it's not unusual to be loved by anyone bc that's how a motherfucker feels now. But ask me how many fucks I give?

Music is complete shit. Maybe that's why. Or is it?

Social media has become a newsfeed of experts who haven't finished high school that think they know more than actual experts. Look, I don't give a fuck if you are on the left or right side. All those motherfuckers have drank way too much of the political Kool-Aid. Bottom line, our country, our world is COMPLETELY FUCKED.

There are only a few things I have going for me at this stage of my life:

- Booze: I still drink it.
- Sex: I still have it.
- Masturbating: I still do it.

Before I go off on the deep end, can I just tell you guys that my beard has become more white by the day? Not that I'm complaining but man, what the fuck happened to me in the last year? Oh, that's right...I got fucking older. Not wiser. Not dumber. Just older. Maybe some brain lapses along the way...but hey, let's not try and get all WebMD and shit. This isn't the time nor the place.

I'm not here to remind all of us old folks that our backs hurt, our pubes turn colors like the seasons and we start to hate more people every day. I'm just here to remind y'all that sometimes, we don't age like a fine wine...we age more like a Wine Cooler. Notice how I didn't say, "Fine Wine Cooler" bc there is nothing fine about that shit.

This is how fucked up I've been...I'm starting to enjoy White Claw.

WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK?!

And why the fuck are they charging $16.99 for a 12 pack?! See what I'm saying?! I know the price bc I was at the grocery store the other day trying to stock up on some stool softener to get my dookie on point and I decided to browse the booze aisle and all I cared about was getting me some White Claw. What have I become? The older I get, am I starting to become my worst nightmare?

A BASIC FUCKING BITCH?

*cue H-Bomb saying, "Bitch, you've been a basic bitch yo whole life, motherfucker!"*

I was the guy who loved craft beer, great wines and amazing booze. Now, I don't even know who I am anymore.

The other day, I yelled at some high schoolers outside my car to turn down their music. I gotta be honest, I have no fucking clue what the fuck they were listening to. All I know is that it sounded awful and it made me have vertigo. I was that guy. I was that OLD guy.

It gets worse people.

Sometimes during my lunch at work, I like to go on walks. Like, around the block and shit. You know the only walking I did before I turned 40? It was to the bar...for 2 hours then back to work. Pray for me bc I don't know who this monster is.

I drink tea in the morning. Fucking tea! By the way, Traditional Medicinals is really great and their products have something for everyone. See...what the fuck?! Who am I?! If my mom were to read this shit, she would have a fucking heart attack.

As I'm typing, I'm realizing I have no fucking idea what I actually wrote, let alone, if any of this shit makes any fucking sense. That's just something we will all have to get used to I guess. Your boy GG going on tangents about nothing, drinking White Claw and watching those SPCA commercials where Sarah fucking Mclaughlin makes you want to adopt every fucking animal bc that's what good people do. What's next? Me owning a bunch of fucking cats and hummingbird feeders bc "I just love everything about them".

The next time one of you see me, please slap the shit out of me, tell me to wake the fuck up, then pour half a bottle of tequila down my throat so I can find where my ballsack has been hiding.

I'm in a state of CODE RED.

I need to be saved. I don't care if it's from the local priest who might touch my weiner for committing sins or Karen who wants to speak to the manager every time she steps into a Target.

Someone save a hoe. This hoe.

Your hoe.

J-Wunderhoe.

This Is 40

I have been talking to Jim aka the Ghetto Genius (fight me, I fucking dare you, you bald Guamaican bitch. I will smack you with my Louis Vuitton hard shell purse and walk all over you in my shoes from the kids section at Target) about my impending 40th, because his always one-upping ass had to do it in April, a whole 7 months before me. Bitch.

It all started with his meow-meowing about a year ago, when we were in New Orleans for her Birthday (I know what I did there); we all went out draaaaaaaannnnnnnking and were lot hungover one day and needed food desperately, but the NorCal peeps were concerned because it had been raining all.damn.day. Widdle GG couldn't go outside in all the scary rain or he was gonna melt his widdle jamocha self into a pool of coffee ice cream. My Floridian ass had to keep explaining to them that A) this was a sprinkling. This wasn't even real rain. This wasn't the sideways, windshield pounding, you gonna be a bitch and pull over cus you can't see, almost CAT 1 Hurricane rain, that we get for basically 7 months out of the year. B) it wasn't stopping and if someone didn't feed me soon it was going to get real Lord Of The Flies-ish up in that AirBnB. Thankfully, no one wants to see a hangry H-Bomb, and we went around the corner to get food. I didn't even wear a rain coat or bring an umbrella, cus like I said, this wasn't even rain. R-Kelly would  have been really pissed with the lack of liquid coming out of the sky.

This was the foreshadowing of what I knew was to come. And lemme tell you, this motherfucker always got something going on. At this point, he's held together like Pickle Rick. But not as cool as Pickle Rick. However, I should have shut my whore mouth a year ago, because now that I am less than 4 months from 40, I see what this fool was talking about. Am I sorry I made fun of him? FUCK NO. He's still a bitch. But, now I may have an ounce of empathy. Here's why...

For years, I have always been the friend who is hot. Not hot like, damn, she's a 10. Hot like, "why the fuck would someone turn the AC to anything above 74?" It had become somewhat of a joke with my friends that I was always hot, I would have thermostat wars with the people at work, and when people would come into my office they would take pleasure in telling me how freezing it was, to which I would reply, "I keep the bitch cave arctic to keep dumb people from feeling the need to spend more time than necessary in my office." It worked like a fucking charm. Still can't figure out why they let me go in May, though. Just kidding, I know why. I am a grade-A Cunt. I have made peace with that.

All of this, "It's getting Hot in Herrrrrre" in my life did make me wonder. When I went to have my annual inspection of my undercarriage, I asked if this was the sweet relief from all the agony of womanhood that I had been dealing with for the last 28 years? The NP looked at me with a small grin and asked if I had been getting night sweats (yep), changes in cycle (yep) and all the other normal indicators. Then she fucking broke my heart. She said I was PERImenopausal and this could last 10 years before ACTUAL menopause kicked in. What in the actual fuck? All the visions I had in my head of raw dogging with the Silver Fox Fuckboy (more on that to come) were zapped away and replaced with, "I still gotta deal with this for maybe 20 more years?" If you have not seen a late 30s woman plead for permanent birth control, let me tell you, it ain't pretty. Oh, and since I have never spawned a tiny tax deduction, I can't get permanent birth control (also another story for another time). So, I dragged my sad ass out of the doctor, filled my prescription for birth control, and swallowed my little pill of sadness. Not before shouting, "Thanks OBAMA," when I didn't have to pay a copay.  I thought it was gonna be easy, take this pill, you will be ok; my body said, "fuck you boo" and decided that after almost 30 years of the same PMS it was going to switch it up. Now I get PMS when I ovulate, not with my cycle, and this ain't ya moms PMS, this is crying over everything, MOOD SWINGS like whoa, and pain that makes me want to punch the baby I never had, just for being the egg that dropped. Fuck outta my uterus you little freeloading shit.

If this weren't enough, a few weeks ago I went to the doc again, because I wasn't feeling right and the doc looked at me with that face that you never want to see at the doctor's and didn't speak for a second and then said with a voice full of concern, "are you under a lot of stress," to which I replied that I have had a lot of life changes, to keep it light and get her the fuck on with what she had to tell me. She then told me that I had high blood pressure, but she was more concerned because my BP is usually so low that they take it a few times to get a better read. She took it again, and it was still high. So high I almost had to go to the ER because it was that high.  She gave me several lectures and now I have to take blood pressure meds, cut back on alcohol (you're welcome liver), and follow a low sodium, low calorie diet, like a goddamn geriatric. For anyone keeping score, that is two major systems that are shot out like a crack whore on payday.

The worst though came last week. I got a cold. A normal, run of the mill, sore throat, stuffy nose kind of thing I would typically attribute to a weekend of shitty blow and shittier decisions, but alas, I don't live that life anymore. Le Sigh. So I take a day off of work to recover and in my fevered state I make the decision to do something I have not done in 25 years. I missed a Dave Matthews concert. That I had free tickets to. In the pit. With all my favorite people. Because the thought of standing in the heat, feeling like the bag of smashed assholes that I looked like, and not being close enough proximity to my bed to crawl into at anytime was not something I was into. Just 3 years ago I left work, slept for a couple of hours, gotten on a 5am flight to Niagara Falls, saw Dave Matthews Band,  flew back out at 6am and went straight to work from the airport. I was a concert beast. I have camped for a festival in Napa, braved the heat of Jacksonville in April (with strep throat) for another festival, but this time my damn near 40 year old body covered me in "nopes" and put my whiny bitch ass to sleep for 3 days.

Again, do I feel bad for constantly telling GGJim that he is a bitch? No, because he is. Is he allowed to call me a bitch for this? Also, no. But, am I feeling a little This is 40 Shame for being a bitch? yes.



This bitch...SMH.

Everyone, let's switch gears to my side of things. Yes, it is your boy, GG. J-Wunder. The Bomb From Guam.

All I heard from our girl H-Bomb was, "Blah, blah, blah...my vagina. J-Wun is gay. My vagina...blah, blah, blah...Dave Matthews gets me wet. Blah, blah...blah, blah, fucking blah." You're welcome.

As some of you may or may not know, I turned 40 in April. Let me tell you something.

Life has took a turn, y'all. Here's a list to not only entertain you, but to enlighten the fuck out of you.

1. Spicy foods: Yeah, not anymore, amigo. Say hello to the ring of fire...times a thousand. I love the hot shit. Always have. Now when I eat anything with a kick, my butthole kicks back. In a BIG way. Remember those dragons in the Game of Thrones? Imagine that, but in your asshole. When I eat spicy, it's a 2 day game of Game of Anuses.

2. Drinking: I can't believe I'm saying this but my hangovers went from non-existent in my 20's, to "it hurts a little bit" in my 30's and now...now, I cry in the shower, while holding myself every so gently. As if I was a little lost fucking fawn, trying to find my mom, shitting my pants at every noise I hear as I walk in the scary dark forrest. What in the actual fuck, people. Not saying I'm a complete pussy, BUT, these hangovers have changed me. For the better? Fuck no. I still will drink til I pee a little in my pants. I will beat this!!!!

3. People: Now I understand the older you get, the more you distance yourself from people. Because you fucking hate them. And it's not just me...it's like everyone who gets older. I used to love millions of people. Now, I love like 10 people. I swear, the next time I have someone walk in front of me at a snails pace, I'm throwing them onto oncoming traffic. Don't hate the player, hate the age.

4. Sleep: As in, I thought I didn't get any before I turned 40...now, why the fuck do I even close my goddamn eyes. The statement will forever hold true - I'LL SLEEP WHEN I'M DEAD. Bc at this fucking rate, I'll be dead in 5 fucking years.

5. Irritability: I'm typically not an irritable person. I hit 40, then EVERY GODDAMN THING ANNOYS THE SHIT OUT OF ME. Hell, I annoy myself. How the fuck does that even work?! I take a shit. I'm annoyed. I'm eating a delicious meal. You guessed it...ANNOYED. Having sex? An...al. Gotem!!!!!

6. Appearance: God blessed me with such good looks. Then, I turned 40. Salt and pepper is looking more like, homeless and confused. Oh, and good thing I keep my head shaved bc apparently, I'm going bald on top of my head. With a little bit of hair growth, my shit looks like a monkey's ass. Only thing going for me is this dad bod though. Praise Jesus the Gardener.

7. Immune System: I get sick maybe once a year...and that's not even from some chicks vagina. This is like legit shit. This year, got the flu. Two weeks later, strep throat and a sinus infection. Bruh, is this what it feels like before you die...or when you are actually fucking dying?!

8. Sexual Drive: Still got it so calm the fuck down, people. Giddyup, bitches!

9. Tastes in things: With age, comes better tastes. Bar tabs are higher. Dinners are...Jesus, why the fuck do I even go out when there's food at home?! I'm broke is what I'm saying, y'all. I'm fucking broke.

10. No fucks given: Y'all know I don't give a fuck. But at 40, my fucks are in the negative. I have over 2 trillion negative fucks that even if I gave a fuck, I still don't give a fuck.

40 has taught me things that I would have never learned at any other age. Then again, I'm probably fucking lying bc next week, I'll probably say that I learned some bullshit at "X" age and would have never learned it at 40. Which is another point...getting this old, you can't remember what the fuck you said or did bc shit is always fucked up. Wait...seems like that's been my life this whole time. 

And Then There Were Two

It’s been 239 days since the last Ghetto Genius Post. TBH, we all had given up, in little increments long before J-Wunder put up his whiny ass Evita-esque, don’t cry for me Blogiverse post. That was just the day we cut the lights, locked the doors, and shuttered up the ‘ol GGHQ for the last time. It’s the same old story, things had changed, the times had changed, most importantly, we had changed; we were tired, older, not really wiser, busier, shit just kept rolling downhill, and we were done trying to catch it. 

And we lost some folks along the way. J-Shap and L-Train, two formidable forces on our blog, passed away. J-Shap in 2016 from a stroke while driving back to FL and L-Train earlier this year from ovarian cancer - L fought long and hard, almost 5 years, and in her last days she was texting me and the Wundercunt that she wanted to write more. I would give my left tit to be able to write with her again. J-Wunder would probably give his left tit too, big tiddy bitch.

The other contributors fell by the wayside as well. We all did this as a hobby, and as people’s lives expanded their time diminished. The OG crew was all but gone a few years ago, only Anonymous and The Ringer hanging on like the fucking latch key kids they are. Last I heard Anonymous works at a gas station in Bakersfield, CA, devastated the Cat Lady would never make kittens with him. Just kidding that motherfucker sells advertising for some big company in San Fran and The Ringer lives a nice quiet life outside of LA as a fluffer in gay porn. Kidding again, he is a property manager in Calabasas. 

For a long while, it was just me and J, sending each other bullshit, making fun of the whack ass shit we would read, and trying to find the same fire we previously had in ourselves, that wasn’t related to recent STIs (we both are surprisingly clean), or massive amounts of spicy food making our near middle aged doody holes feel like the ring of fire. But, we both had lost that loving feeling and we both loved this blog too much to put out shit, just because. We may be assholes, but we are purists when it comes to our art. And yes, this is motherfucking Art. I will fight anyone who tries to tell me it is not. And by fight, I mean I will probably curse you out, then go home and go to bed cus I am too old for jail and I don’t want to spend my 401k money on bail and legal fees. 

But, we all know J-Wunder and I love to write and tell stories and spin yarns. We are funny motherfuckers, even when dealing with our day to day mundane bullshit. And we missed that. We missed the fuckery, the funny, the family that is the GG Fam. So when that fool texted me, “It’s time H-Bomb, it’s time.” I knew it was MOTHERFUCKING TIME.

However, this isn’t going to be the Ghetto Genius from the past. That is dead, and we are going to let it rest in power. Homegoing celebration is today, drink at your own risk. We are not responsible for the impregnation of any bitches that you fucked pouring one out for the homies. I made it 39.78 years getting so white girl wasted I could call the cops on someone else’s bbq and managed not to get a parasite, you can do the same for 5 minutes. 

Ghetto Genius 4.0 is not your average reboot, either. We didn’t get rebranded cus we got bought out, had some scandal, or needed an overhaul for our sad, tired, asses. We are new, maybe not improved, but different. We will still bring the fuckery and the funny, the raw shit, and all that, but we are doing it on our own terms. You can get right, or get left, because the only middle we are is aged and we aged like fine motherfucking wine. I don’t care what J-Wunder said about himself, I am looking good as fuck for almost 40. 

If you want to talk to us, get at us at ghettogenius4.0@gmail.com you can send your thoughts, suggestions (but keep in mind who you are sending this to), or questions (we love them shits, keep em coming), because we do love our fans. But if you act a fool, you will get treated. 

Strap in, or in my case, Strap on, and let’s get this motherfucking party started. But, I gotta be in bed by 10 because I got shit to do tomorrow. Welcome to the Ghetto Genius 4.0. - not kinder or gentler. Just better. 

XO

H-Bomb

PS - This is for you L-Train and J-Shap...Rest In Paradise.

So Long. Farewell. Send Nudes.

The time has finally come. Ok, well, it should have came on November 8th of this year. Not gonna lie, it would be a travesty if I didn't have one last post in me to say, "Peace out, motherfuckers."

I know I've been notorious for retiring then coming back 2 weeks later. I think I did that shit 27 times in a span of 3 years. But today, it's officially official. 

For 8 years I only had one goal...to make motherfuckers laugh. Guess what?

MISSION.FUCKING.ACCOMPLISHED. 

Whether it was with my advice columns, my personal stories or some random ass list from the interwebs, what I was set out to do, I did it. And for that, I say THANK YOU to every single person who followed me and became my ride or die.

Few things I learned in my 8 years of fuckery:

1) I was an influencer before that shit ever existed.

2) Blogging was cool years ago...now, everyone wants to be a fucking blogger. BTW, some of y'all are great and some of y'all need to just stop right now because you're fucking terrible. 

3) Mommy bloggers are the most fake personas out there. How do I know? If I could only show you the plethora of emails I have that counter their posts about "how happy they are with their marriage and how much they love their kids." I got you cunts on lock and you ain't fooling me. And no, I would never expose them...I'm a dick, not an asshole. Wait, what?

4) There is only (does that even make any fucking sense?) so many times you can talk about the same fucking topic before it gets boring and fucking retarded. Yes, even my shit got boring and fucking retarded.

5) When you're at your peak of social media, everyone is on your nuts until you leave, something happens or you file restraining orders against Stage 5 Clingers. 

6) My crew is the best fucking crew. Thank you fucks for an amazing 8 years.

7) I've shit my pants one too many times as an adult and told the whole world about it. 

8) How did I survive banging all those women without getting AIDS or an STD?! #teamrawdog

9) How am I not dead from all that goddamn drinking?! I might have a fucking problem. 

10) People who say they aren't crazy, are fucking crazy.

11) Never post your cell number on Instagram when you're drunk as fuck for the world to see. Never got so many nudes from chicks and gay dudes in my fucking LIFE! 

12) Social Media is now the place for people to find validation. Three words to you people: EAT.A.DICK.

13) Humility, if shown, is a humbling fucking experience. 

14) Canadians LOVE their boy, GG. 

15) Chicks with no teeth LOVE their boy, GG.

16) To this day, females are still more honest, more blunt and more gross than dudes. XO

17) The older I get, the sexier I feel.

18) #17 is a total fucking lie. 

19) I wonder what that crazy bitch that went nuts at my NYC book signing is up to these days? 

20) I really can't believe how many times I've shit my pants as a grown ass adult. 

Thanks for laughing at me, my stories and all my posts. If it wasn't for my following, I wouldn't be here or would have lasted so long. But, like that one famous dude once said, "All great things must come to an end."

The end is here. It's today. And it's so goddamn glorious.

Much love and many thanks!

Your boy,

J-Wunder...aka Ghetto Genius

It's the Final Fuckboy

If you read the title of this column to the tune of the "The Final Countdown," then you are welcome, and please, continue reading. If you didn't, you can still keep reading, but you need to tighten the fuck up with your musical knowledge.

For this, possibly my last, installment in the Fuckboy series, I am going to describe the Final Fuckboy. Once you  have defeated all the other Fuckboys, you can rest not-so-easy, knowing that you will still have to do battle with the Darth Vadar/Voldemort/Gandalf of Fuckboys. You will need to be prepared. Here is my step-by-step booklet, to get your Fuckboy Game on track and not your wig pushed back (RIP Biggie).

First of all, you have to recognize that you are dating a Supreme Master Fuckboy. He is probably going to be a 'lil bit older, maybe perchance, a bit fucking wiser, but lemme remind you - HE AIN'T SHIT. So no matter what Fuckboy Sorcery he throws at you, he still ain't shit. With that being said, be prepared.

The Supreme Fuckboy is a tricky ass combination of all or most of the Fuckboys we have talked about. Just to refresh your memory, these are the ones: The Married Man; The Convenience; The Zero Fucks; The Back and Forth; The Classic; The Fixer Upper; The Submarine, and last but not least, The Girlfriend Experience. And when you have so many types of Fuckboys rolled into one, you may almost think that you are, in fact, not dating a Fuckboy. Oh, but my dear heart, you must now realize that this is the biggest, baddest Silver Fox of All Fuckboys.  He will huff and puff and blow your wall down. And then show you what a Fuckboy he is.

Because this is the Black Belt Cobra Kai Fuckboy, you gonna have to sweep the leg and then crane kick the fuckboy the fuck outta this motherfucker. Recognize that just because you have an elderly gentleman caller who seems to not be a Fuckboy, heed my warning. He. Is. A. Fuckboy. Plain and simple. No matter what silver tongued tales your silver haired fox spins you, and trust me that shit will be platinum, he is still a Fuckboy. Say it with me - He is still a Fuckboy. Now write that shit on the chalkboard 50 times. Tattoo it on your hand. But never, ever forget that the older the berry, the fuckier the Fuckboy.

Now, I am sure a few of you are wondering why I would know so much about the Supreme Fuckboy. Oh, you know BECAUSE I WAS FUCKING DATING HIM. And it wasn't until we were going through our final days that I realized that this mid-life-crisis Fuckboy, was in fact not just any Fuckboy, as we had often joked, but the actually Fuckboy Supreme. Here's why:

1) He told me that because he was honest with me about not wanting to be in a relationship that I shouldn't be upset that things were ending. I had to not so gently remind him that just because you say you don't want a relationships, doesn't negate the fact that when you are solely dating (not just fucking) someone for 5 months, that a label, just like this Fuckboy, ain't shit. If I am honest with you and say I don't want to shit in your living room, and then I take a big nasty hot flaming shit in your living room, after taking little ones in the corner, you can't be mad at me, because I was honest about not wanting to take the shit, it just kind of happened.

2) As we were fighting he told me he loved me. That is THE Fuckboy move. Oh, you think that if you drop some L bombs on me, I am going to be ok with all your tired ass bullshit? Nah, brah, cus guess who I love more than any Fuckboy? Me, motherfucker. M.E.. And I have the receipt for the batteries I bought last Friday to prove it.

3) He went on a date the same night he fucked me in the morning. You know what that is. That is just fucking nasty...but he wanted to be honest with me about, so he told me 2 weeks later. Last time I fucking checked, honesty meant kind of the fuck when it happened, not two weeks later.

There are some other things, but I think you all get what I am throwing down. Just when you think it is safe to get back on your Hoe Stroll, you gotta keep your head on a swivel, so you can be prepared for the Supreme Fuckboy. He is out there, lurking in book stores, and buying you drinks at bars, making you think he is not actually sent from Hell to test your resistance.

And the funniest part of all of this? Because it is actually fucking hilarious. That when I defeated the Fuckboy Supreme, the fucking Portal to Fuckboy Purgatory opened up and I was contacted by not one, not two, but four of the ghosts of penis past, all hitting me with the the Fuckboy mating call of, "Hey, sup, WYD, How you been?" And if you are done with the ways of the Fuckboy, you gotta hit back with the, "New phone, who dis?," and then moonwalk the fuck back to your fucking happy place, full of batteries and boxed wine.

Hip Hop Hooray for Spinsterhood!

H-Bomb