Wednesday, August 14, 2019

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



Tuesday, August 13, 2019

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.






Tuesday, July 30, 2019

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. 

Thursday, July 25, 2019

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.

Tuesday, November 27, 2018

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



Tuesday, February 27, 2018

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


Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Advice Column: Moveon.com




Dear J-Wunder,

I took a look and saw you are still around so figured I would hit you up for some advice. I need to know how to deal with this. There is this chick, not just any chick. She's been my home girl for years. We grew up together, I've known her since grade school and I swear to god I have wanted her my whole life. I love her. She loves me. I can't picture my life without her in it. But like any other man out there, I have been hesitant to take a plunge into commitment and have led her on for almost our entire lives. Over our adult years we have had the most amazing sex of our lives. Its all there, she is cute, sexy, funny, she can suck dick, and when we would fuck, it was some shit from a goddamn fantasy. 

No one else has ever looked at me like she could read my mind the way she does. She looks at me, can say "hi" and I know she wants to fuck me with that look. This girl can look at me and it is as if she is digging into my fucking soul and grabbing my dick at the same time. I'm telling you...she gives me the look and I want to tear her clothes right off her. This is some crazy shit. Anyway, she has tried to get me to settle down, but for some reason I just can't. I know I could have her. And I know when I settle down it is her that I want. She's told me she wants to take care of me and I don't want to give that up. Even though no one has ever compared, I string her along. What the fuck is wrong with me? 

She has recently told me that she is getting serious with one of the guys she is dating and wants to know if there is ever a chance to make something work between us because she loves me. She wants to actually date, be a couple, all that. Should I just try to get my shit together and actually take a chance on this? I'm sure at some point she will give up and I will no longer have the possibility of being with her. Right?

Never Say Never







Dear Never Say Never,

I think you may be one of the first men to ever make J-Wunder jizz just by reading a request for advice. Was your story particularly hot? Naw motherfucker, it was bland as week-old white bread. But the reason he creamed his pants is because he legit thought you were my ex-boyfriend writing in to fuck with me and he was going to make me answer some secret shit about my own life, like the sick fuck he is. But, he forgot about my powers of perception, i.e. reading, and that I could see the email and know that you are not, in fact, my ex-boyfriend. He's still a sick bastard, but imma treat his ass in a few months when I see him. Let's get down to the matter at hand.

You are the quintessential fuck boy of the worst kind. You have a woman, whom you profess to love, love fucking, and think is the goddamn tits. AND YOU STILL DON'T KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE WITH HER. I swear to God, and you can call the fucking cops on me, I want to drive to your house and beat the shit out of you. And I am not one who is prone to fits of violence, but I have been that girl. For twenty goddamn years I was that girl. And let me tell you, I am the fucking bees knees, too, so I know how that poor girl is feeling right meow.

Let me tell you my tale of woe, in the hopes that you can learn from my ex's fail. And fail he did.

Picture this, South Florida, 1997. I am a young, hot, nubile goddess, just discovering the joys of boys and the O-Face. I have a very nice best friend, whom I hung out with quite often and one day he introduces me to his other best friend. I shall leave him nameless, but there are many people who will know exactly who the fuck I am about to put on motherfucking blast. Anywhoosies, I meet said friend of friend and we are like DAMN, but we stay friends. I end up dating another friend of theirs, and one drunken night when I am mad at the friend I am dating, I end up hooking up with the first friend of a friend. Yeah this is getting convoluted, so we will call the ex A.

A and I mess around, that one time (I am 20 by now, so 3 years of eye fucking each other have passed), but then I go back to the other guy and we go back to being friends (Thanks DMB). I move away, another few years pass (ok, like 6) and I am out and about with my bestie one night and I was like, "You know who I would love to see? A."  And as if through some sort of slut magic, A walks by about an hour later. We catch up, reminisce on the good ol' days and make plans to hang out. This time hanging leads to banging and banging leads to feelings.... but alas, young A is not ready for the trappings of a girlfriend and after a few years of toe curling sex and good times, we go, cue Dave Matthews, back to being friends. To make a long story longer, this goes on one more time, and one more time we get this close to being a thing, and then, like a fart out of J-Wunders butthole hair, poof, its gone. Same thing, he doesn't want to be in a relationship, blah blah blah.

Now, let me sidetrack - Karma did kick him right in the balls, because he did get into a relationship with this batshit crazy broad who ended up...drumroll please. LEAVING HIM FOR ANOTHER WOMAN. Thanks, Karma, you mah boo.

Let's go to the present-ish day, because while I am a brilliant, ball busting, bitch, I am not always good with the "love stuff". A and I get back together, again. A couple of years ago, we got reacquainted (due to the death of the friend who introduced us, very sad) and started hanging out again. And just like spooning leads to butt-stuff, we started hanging and banging. This time I was smart; I told him that we could be fuck buddies, but that we could not be kissy-kissy in front of his family or friends and that we had to keep all the PDA shit behind doors and tied to the bed, just the way I like it. This went on for a few months, and then one day he kissed me in front of his family - I should probably tell you that his family and I are VERY close. His family adores me, and I them. His mother has always told me I am the favorite of any girl that his son has brought home and so on and so forth. You get me, fam? It is not just him I am dating when we date, I am dating the whole family. Which is why I didn't want to do this for the third time.

But, like all dumb bitches who are dickmatized, we make it official. My iPhone becomes an usPhone and we do the damn thing. I told him, don't fuck with me if this is not what you want, because I am too old for this shit and I ain't got no time to be someone's "maybe." Lo and behold about a year later, he tells me he loves me, but is not IN LOVE with me. So we bang, break up, and I move on with my life. JUST. LIKE. THAT.

Flash forward a few months ago. Just fucking follow along, don't read too much into that last sentence, dick bag. I have a point. I start dating this very nice man (yet, also not into the relationship thing, but that is another column for another time) and things are going swimmingly. I am over at the ex's house, because now we are just friends and get along great. For reals. I have gotten over the shock and awe of being a 3 time loser in the love game with this fucker, but we cool. We are all hanging out and drinking and he gets a little tipsy and confesses to me that he thinks he made a mistake. He thinks I may be the one and he fucked up, he's fucked up, and all that sad sack bullshit. But guess what???

NOT TODAY, SATAN.

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me... Fool me three times, you lucky I don't pull your nuts through your trachea and then punch myself in the face.

Also, his mom pulled me aside after brunch and told me she was sorry about her son. See, my friend, it is not just the person you fall in love with, you fall in love with the whole package. For once, I don't mean the dick. I am just as surprised as you are. Trust.

Do I need to spell out the moral of this Melrose Place After School Special? Don't fuck with her unless you plan to fuck with her FOR LIFE. Don't make her stop living her life so you can keep her in a well and just rub lotion on her when it is convenient for you. You have seen Silence of The Lambs, right? Buffalo Bill dies in the end, after getting shot by some bitch that was chasing him. Ok, maybe that is a dark simile from my favorite movie, but damn son, don't sit on your dick waiting for what ifs. Don't think that the bigger, better, deal is going to walk through your door and sweep you off your feet. There are no Victoria Secret models trying to make a house husband out of you. If this is the girl of your dreams, then fucking do something before someone else realizes how fan-fucking-tastic she is and you are relegated to getting blowies by the former hot chicks from your high school that got fat. She will move on. She will do better than you. I promise you. Because she is me, and that is exactly what the fuck I did.

Have a blessed day.

- H-BOMB

Monday, January 22, 2018

Tales From The Cryptic



It's 2018. The year one would think the shit that annoyed us on social media, would come to a fucking end. Well folks, I'm here to tell you, that what I thought would stop, has gotten fucking worse! AND we're not even a month into the New fucking Year. What in the actual fuck?!

What I would like to discuss today is regarding those motherfuckers who act like they don't want attention, but in reality, love the fuck out of it. I'm talking about you cryptic-ass motherfuckers. And to make this column even better, I've created a short list of people, unlike you and I, that I'd like to throw into a pit of fire, while urinating on them and singing, "Face Down, Ass Up" by 2 Live Crew...bc I fucking love me some 2 Live Crew. Let's begin, shall we?

1) Calling Doctor Attention:

Oh, you all (except you fucks who are guilty of this crime) know who the fuck I'm talking about. Those piece of shit motherfuckers who ALWAYS check-in on Facebook when they go to the hospital. Doesn't matter if it's for an annual physical or the common cold, these assfucks will do whatever they can to make others wonder. "OMG, what happened? Are you ok?" "Dude, what the fuck is wrong?!" "Please call me." "I hope it's not anything serious." I mean, I can go on for days with what people will comment on these types of posts. You catch my drift. The best part about all of this is how the person posting the status or check-in, is that they will not respond to ANY comments. You know what I say to that? I say, "FUCK YOU, YOU ASSHOLE." Hey, if you're gonna post some shit like that, why not tell us what the fuck is going on. Because let's be real...you like the attention. You like that people act as if they care. You are the only motherfucker on this planet that posts hospital check-ins 2-3 times a month, which makes us think you either have a serious and fucked up STD or AIDS. Not sure but, in our minds, you're dying, and we'd like it if you'd stop being such a cunt and tell us when your funeral is.


2) Jesus Take The Wheel:

"Pray for me..."

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ABOUT?! Like, for reals. That's all you're gonna post, motherfucker?! PRAY.FOR.ME. Really, bitch? Pray for what? You dying? Someone in your family dying? Wish that your side chick told you to put on a condom after you just blew two months worth of baby gravy into her hot pocket after she stated she wasn't on any birth control?

WHAT.THE.FUCK.

And just like "Calling Doctor Attention," the comments flow in at a rapid fucking rate. "Prayers." "Prayers to you and whatever is going on in your life. Love you." "OMG. I just texted you. What is going on?" "Did you tell mom? Call me ASAP!!!!!" One thousand comments later and STILL, no response to any of these motherfuckers and what you'd like them to actually pray for. How bout we pray that you stop posting stupid shit like this and just keep all your personal bullshit off social media, fuckface. How does that sound, twat?

Next.


3) Give Me A Break-er:

"I can never get a break..."

Welcome to the real world, motherfucker. You can't get a break, huh? Take a number bc there are millions of motherfuckers in this world who can't get a break...shit, they can't even get a goddamn job for fucks sake. What do you want us to do? You think we have some sort of magical fucking wand where we will take all your troubles away then hand you a check for 400 billion dollars, asshole?

Do us a favor and stop with your cryptic post. What good are you doing? To be honest, while you post some shit like this, your asshole friends are all thinking, "Damn, this motherfucker is at it again. Posting some whack ass shit when they be living at home with their folks and don't have to pay for shit. What happened? Nail salon closed early? Your cobb salad came with blue cheese when you specifically said NO GODDAMN BLUE CHEESE?!"

AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT.


4) The Oversharers: 
       
With all the evidentiary support we have out there that we are being watched, monitored, data-mined, whatever the fuck, WHY DO YOU STILL PUT EVERY GODDAMN BREATH YOU TAKE ON FB?!

Like, we LITERALLY know there are apps and quizzes that say, "WE USE YOUR INFORMATION." The only person bringing mining jobs back to America is Zuckerfucker - and those are data mining jobs.

If you wonder why you are seeing ads on the book of faces about some shit you looked up .0000000087412 seconds ago, it is because the book is straight up creeping your shit. That you post. Every 45 fucking seconds. There you are...letting every goddamn Tom, Dick and Harry know when you change your relationship status, when you stayed in a hotel room doing choke sex and blowing lines off the room service cart, when you are 8 minutes pregnant and when you wish a motherfucker would.

Shit, I remember the days when, if we wanted to know something about them, we just asked. You actually called a motherfucker. On their land line. And asked them what the fuck was going on in their lives. Now, you just open up the Book or the Gram (did you know they are both owned by Zuckerfucker?) and you can straight up see pics of newborn babies, covered in they mom's placenta, and the proud parents beaming "here she is." Now can you go the fuck away and deactivate your shit, you oversharing assholes.

5) "It's Complicated":

"Fuck my man. I'm deleting all his friends from my friends list. Whatever he told you, he's a liar. I can't believe I was so stupid to be with this person for so damn long." Blah, blah, blah, blah, fucking B-L-A-H!

Those that air their dirty laundry, especially while in relationships, are the bottom barrel of fucktards.

Do y'all know how fucking stupid you sound...to EVERYONE?! True story.

There you are...thinking you've got this and through shit like Facebook, you think you're showing the world how independent and strong you are. Sure, in your mind, that's what you convince yourself of when really, every motherfucker reading your shit is thinking, "Here we go again with this bitch." "She's got to be the dumbest motherfucker on Facebook right now." "Damn, she's leaving him AGAIN?!" "Didn't these assholes just get back together two days ago? They broken up "for good" this time?!"

GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE WITH THAT NOISE.

Few things:

1) You're an idiot.
2) No one in their right goddam minds believe anything that comes out of your mouth when it comes to relationships. Why? Because you're the worst at it.
3) While you think we have your back, we're just laughing at you.
4) There is not enough popcorn in this world to see your life collapse into shambles. Sucks for us.
5) See 1 through 4.

Why must these people do this to themselves?! It's the best and worst thing that we see on the daily. Hey, we get it...you suck at relationships. You are the prime example of what not to fucking be or do. What you have isn't called love. It's called being DYSFUNCTIONAL, you silly fuck.

So there you have it. Five amazing assholes we hate to love and love to hate. Now, I know a lot of you will say, "Well, just unfollow or unfriend them." Why on earth would we do that? Because we're bitching about it and it annoys the living shit out of us? That's the easiest and most obvious thing to do. But why do that when a lot of us enjoy watching train wrecks that have absolutely nothing to do with our lives?

Social media is a love/hate. We love it and hate these people. We just can't turn away. Can you blame us?

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Peace out, bitches!