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

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

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! 

Advice Column: Those Who Can't Do, Teach

What's up GG? I've been wanting to write in for a long time, but never had a good enough question for you. Now I do. 

I have a friend (let's call him "Dave") who is turning 26 years old has decided he wants to be a life coach. My issue isn't his goal to be a life coach. Let me list some stats about this guy to make my point...

He's got no college education (not always a bad thing), jumps from job to job, always tries those get rich quick things, has two kids by two baby mamas (one of them is on its way), has no trust in his girlfriend (the 2nd baby mama), and is faking like he's a baller when he can barely pay his bills. 

How can you possibly coach anyone when you can't even run your own life? I've considered just hiding everything from this guy on Facebook, but part of me wants to ask him what he is going to "coach" people on. Maybe I shouldn't. 

What would you do if you were me?

Torn in Texas



Dear Torn in Texas,

Happy New Year!

Can I tell you how happy I am you wrote in? I was JUST telling my homegirl, H-Bomb, that I was looking for someone, anyone, to write in with something so good that I would bring more thunder to start 2018 off right. And you my friend, did just that.

You know what 93.47959% of people like me hate? Motherfuckers that you just described above. Especially young motherfuckers who think they know, but have no fucking idea. Truth.

I'm gonna be the ripe age of 39 this year. I barely have a hold of my fucking life. Sure I have a good job. Pay my bills on time. Use a condom whenever the girl I'm about to bang seems a little suspect and may have enjoyed one too many gang bangs for my liking. But NEVER, have I ever thought I would change peoples lives by doing shit that will probably ruin them forever.

Your boy, bottom line, is a fucking idiot. That is not a misprint, people. He's fucking stupid and should go fuck him and the horse he rode in on.

No college degree, kids from two different women, no stable job, can barely pay his own fucking bills and this motherfucker is trying to be a life coach?!

GTFOH! AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!

How would someone with all that shit I just mentioned, think for an inkling of a second that they could be a goddamn life coach? Hey man, good on you that you want to aspire to become something positive for people. But if you don't even have your own shit together, HOW IN GODLY FUCK, DO YOU THINK YOU'RE CAPABLE OF COACHING ANYONE'S LIFE.

Dude can barely pay his bills. How the fuck is he gonna be able to even pay attention?!

And what on God's green earth is this clown actually gonna "coach" people on? How to slash your girlfriend's tires when she done fucked up bc she sucked your homeboy's dick? How to get another month of cable without paying your bill on time? How to get rich without even knowing how to get fucking rich? C'mon, bruh. This cat needs to go build a bridge and get the fuck over himself. Like, immediately.

It's these types of people who make me scratch my head and wonder if I'm missing something or have a fucking screw loose. What's even more fucked up is that this dude is 26. Who would actually listen to this motherfucker? Like, for reals...who would pay good money to listen to some millennial whose life is worse than the average person, feel good about their advice, walk out of their session and be ready to go and grab life by the horns? Not me. No fucking sir.

Look, just bc you have a good idea, post some inspirational shit on social networks doesn't mean that you know anything. I know it. You know it. And the people reading this shit know it. We all know people like this. And you know what? All that shit is just a fucking front.

It's like, "Hey look at me. Look at what I'm doing. My life is so great. I hustle. I do this. I do that. I'm bout it, bout it."

Three words: SMOKE AND MIRRORS

The reality is what you pointed out - dude can't hold a job. Thinks he can make a million bucks overnight. Has no trust in a relationship...even though his dumbass is having a kid with the person he's with. I could go on and on with these types of fucks.

It's not hard to see right through these motherfuckers. It really isn't. Don't believe me, just watch how they are on social networking then hang with them in real life. All that positive shit they spit, ain't none of that happening when they are drunk and calling their girl a fucking cunt at a bar at 11pm. Or when they bitch about how life sucks and they pull the whole, "Poor me...I'm so lost and confused."

Fuck off and eat a 20 pound bag of dicks.

You my friend, need to call your homie out. Not out of jealousy. Not out of hate. But out of respect so he doesn't go and ruin other motherfuckers lives. Ain't no one trying to hear some speech that he stole from Gary Vaynerchuk, all while trying to get the credit. Fuck all that noise.

What this guy really needs is his own life coach and a goddamn therapist. Sounds like he's a train wreck about to go postal on the next mishap that enters his fucking life.

Avoid these people at all costs if you can. And if you can't for some reason, be real with them and tell them how it really is...they may not thank you for it, but at least they'll know how fucked up they really are. You're welcome.

Good luck,

J-Wun

New Year, New You, New Fuckboys

Dear GG Fam,

2 years, 3 months, 18 days, and about 6 hours ago I dropped some knowledge on you on the ways of the infamous and sometimes elusive Fuckboy. Lo and behold, some of those Fuckboys actually took time away from being a Full-Time-Fuckboy to read my pearl  necklaces of wisdom and, in the words of Bear Grylls, improvise, adapt, and overcome, so as to find new and fuckier ways to get in your DMs, and then into your pants/heart. However, someone threw up the H-Bomb signal (basically just  👌) and I knew it was time to come out of retirement and lay some truth bombs, in a way that only I, the mystical, scotch-laden goddess of snark can do. Hold on to your butt-plugs, bitches, cus I'm bout to blow your bunghole out with my newest revelations.

It is motherfucking 2018 and yet here we are, still getting played by the following kinds of mark-ass, bitch-ass, dick-hole, motherfuckers. We already know about The Married Man Fuckboy, The Convenience Fuckboy, The Zero Fucks Fuckboy, and last and most certainly least, The Back and Forth Fuckboy... but drumroll please... here are the 2018 Fuckboys.

1) The Girlfriend Experience Fuckboy

This one is ALMOST fucking harmless. Almost. He is the guy that says all the right things when you are together - "I think you are so great," "Tell me about YOUR day," "What do you want to do tonight?" You may even think you are in a relationship with this Rico Suave Motherfucker, because he says things like, "I am not seeing anyone else, just you," or things of that nature. You may even deign to have him meet your friends, talk about him like he is your boyfriend, exchange gifts during holidays, birthdays, etc. Seems like you two are well on the way to Relationshipville, aboard the Pound Town Express! He will cook you dinner, take you out, and might even introduce you to his friends, should you run into them when you are on the stroll. But here's the catch, Sugar Tits -  how does he introduce you? "Oh, this is MAH FREN Bitsy."  And before you can even swivel your head in disbelief, you have learned all that you need to know about this Fuckboy. He wants the trappings of the Girlfriend, without ever bestowing that oh, so coveted title upon your sweet head. Let me guess his reasoning. Could it be he is just not ready for a relationship? Yeah, sure, ok. Maybe, and here is my fucking favorite. He doesn't like labels. But he sure does love fucking you 17 ways to Sunday and buying you Tequila shots til your panties slide off like they were made of the same shit as fruit roll-ups. Before you next let him plunder your sticky-bun of fun, axe yourself if you are ok being a (girl)friend with benefits without the actual title of Girlfriend. If not, MOVE IT THE FUCK ALONG. Especially before you get so deep (and not the kind that puts your butt to sleep) that you develop actual feelings because you put your heart in the part of a part that spreads apart. 2018, boo. 20 motherfucking 18. We can say who, we can say when, and we for damn sure can say how much.

2) The Submarine Fuckboy

Now, now, you dirty bitches, don't think that the name of this Fuckboy has anything to do with his wang. This is not because he has a footlong-schlong and smashes your cervix like mashed potatoes. No, this particular Fuckboy earned his moniker from his ability sink deep (still not talking about fucking, ya whores. Jesus, buy some fucking dildos or something, you cock-hungry sluts) and then rise up fast enough for you to catch a glimpse of the periscope (just stop, hoochies) before submerging again for an indeterminate time. You meet a guy, you think he is cool, he thinks you want to smash (you do, shut it) but you also want to see about breakfast, cus you are a lady, goddamnit. So you all hang out a few times, and things seem to be going really well. He calls/texts the standard issue amount of times for you both to think the other is interested in this being more than a booty call, and then suddenly, the submarine submerges. And not into you, but to the depths of the ocean floor. So you, gentle flower, say to yourself, "Self, I think I just got ghosted. Oh, fucking well, plenty of chum in the ocean," and you start moving the fuck on with your life. But, wait! UP PERISCOPE! The submarine Fuckboy has surfaced again and is ready to start exploring your ocean again. Before you let him dive for your pearl, figure out if you want this so-so kind of lover. If not, see above.

3) The Fixer Upper Fuck Boy

This one is the female equivalent of when a guy is dating a girl and he is acting all "Captain Save a Hoe." You can't fix stupid, lazy, cheap, etc. And this Fuckboy knows he's a Fuckboy, but he is in for the swag. When a girl gets her titties-a-tingling, thinking "I can help him," she done made her first fatal fucking error. This guys knows exactly what the fuck his end game is, and it is "get mines, til I can't and then move the fuck along." He comes at you from a position of  'weakness' but is really using that to his advantage. Down on his luck cus he lost his job/apartment/got dumped by his ratchet ass ex girlfriend (and it was totally her fault because she was CRAZY)? Oh, of course you will buy him some shit, help him get back on his feet, let him crash at your place til he gets his life sorted out, and put the pieces of his sad sack life in order. This motherfucker probably doesn't even NEED you to do this, but maybe has some latent Mommy-Issues where he needs a woman to take care of him, even though he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He preys on a woman's nurturing nature, probably even sucking dem titties like a baby (and if that is what you are into, good on you, I don't judge peoples sexy time things). This Fuckboy also typically has something called hand-to-pocket disease. You can do a quick little test that doesn't even involve sticking a Q-tip in his pee-hole. Simply don't reach for the check the next time y'all are out for dranks, dinner, looking at titties, whatever. Leave your wallet at home. If this fixer-up Fuckboy doesn't try to pay for something at least this one time, he's not in it for you, he is in it for what you CAN do. He ain't JFK either, so he does not need to be asking what you can do for your country (him). Tooooooderooooooo, Motherfucker. And make sure this ass-hat didn't steal your cash or your credit cards on the way out the door.

4) The Classic Fuckboy

I know, I know, people are all like, ''Dis Bitch H-Bomb don't think we know how to spot the OG Fuckboy?'" You know how I know you don't know? BECAUSE Y'ALL ARE STILL FUCKING WITH FUCKBOYS. Even me. There, I said it. Since I wrote my first Fuckboy Fiesta, I too have fell victim to the wily ways of the Fuckboy. I know, y'all are saying, ''What the shit, H-Bomb, you were better than that.'' And I thought I  was. But getting dicked down feels SO good and even I am prone to getting dickmatized. So, I must warn all my buttercups (D-Cups make me happy, btw, send nudes) be on the lookout for all the Fuckboys, doing Fuckboy things, like blowing your back out then calling you an Uber because your dumb ass answered the WYD text at 12:40 am, when you know damn well your kids had school in the morning. Or, inviting you out to dinner and being on their phone the whole time ON TINDER. Fuck that noise. And if a guy won't claim you after he claimed your butt-hole, then tell him fuck outta here with that Fuckboy bullshit. If you want to keep telling yourself it's just sex, and it is ok if he is a Fuckboy, then I don't want to hear your shit when he says, "I just saw this" and but had that shit on read for 4 hours. Naw bitch, that ain't us.

With all these new variations of Fuckboy's popping up like a damn game of whack-a-mole, I used to feel like maybe I could rise above, be smarter, be better, DO BETTER. Nah, fuck that shit. I like getting my kitty petted like the next girl and I like riding the PTE all the way to O-Face Town. So if you can't beat them (and no, I am not saying catch a case dear hearts, most of us are too pretty for prison and we all know I will get traded for a menthol ciggy about 5 minutes into my stay at the Graybar Hotel) then join them.

LETS MAKE 2018 THE YEAR OF THE FUCKGIRL. THEY CAN'T BE A FUCKBOY, IF YOU A FUCKGIRL FIRST.

BOY BYE. 

15 NYC Roommate Horror Stories That'll Make You Want To Live Alone Forever

Comedy Central

1. The freeloader:

"I was living in a five-person studio when one night I woke up to a random person opening the door to my shack and climbing into my bed like it was empty. I tripped over the guy to get outside, and found my flatmates with their buddies — they'd gotten drunk, found a homeless guy, and thought it'd be funny to bring him back. They lost track of him and he just climbed in bed with me. I couldn't get out of that apartment fast enough!"

—Torey M., Facebook

2. The vomit venture:

"I moved to Brooklyn with two girls I'd met on Facebook. A few weeks in, I awoke to our doorbell at 1 a.m., then heard footsteps, then a SPLASH. When I opened my bedroom door, my roommate was literally spewing vomit all over the hallway, my door, even my toes. She had a group of people over who were walking through the vomit, tracking it all over our apartment. Luckily, my other roommate charged downstairs to make everyone leave, but I was stuck bleaching and cleaning up until 3:45 in the morning."

—Anna Kopsky

Apatow Productions

3. The full package:

"I'm a girl, and I used to live with three guys in Brooklyn — one of whom would watch porn in our living room in broad daylight and jack off to it. One time, he came home at 3 a.m., screaming, 'BURN THE WITCH!' repeatedly out the window to his girlfriend. He also was in jail at one point for heroin possession, and actively did shrooms and other psychedelics. But that's not the worst part: He also set up a hidden camera in our bathroom to watch me. We called the police and kicked him out after that."

—ladydee

4. The butterfly:

"My roommate and I were texting about my dog on my way home from work late one night. When I got home, we started talking through his door. I knocked on his door to thank him, and when he said, 'Yeah?' which I took to mean, 'Come on in.' I opened the door to him on his bed, in butterfly position, with no pants on. Then, he slowly closed his laptop. He was masturbating. I made eye contact with my roommate while he was masturbating."

—glennam45

NBC

5. The intimidator:

"Soon after I moved in with my new roommate, she'd wait for me to come home, asking where I'd been. She told me that she wished there were a realistic Hunger Games theme park, where she 'could actually kill people.' She also told me a story about how at some college in China, a student was made fun of by his roommate. As a chemistry major, he had access to a variety of chemicals in the lab and ended up poisoning his roommate. After telling this horrible story, she told me that that was why one should 'never mess with their roommate.' I was VERY cautious around her."

—nikegurly07

6. The pukey pal:

"I ended up living with a girl who insisted that she didn't speak any English, even though I saw all of her homework written in English, so we could never work anything out. Also one weekend I went to visit my family, and when I came back I found one of her friends asleep in my bed, and she'd puked all over my brand new sheets."

—Viv Jean, Facebook

Bravo

7. The dog debacle:

"I found a roommate on Craigslist, and she seemed sane. Then one day, after brunch, she pulled me outside to scold me for not doing HER dishes, because 'she worked more hours than me.' She continued by explaining how she didn't really NEED a roommate, and that she just chose me so her dog would have company. It compounded exponentially from there, and later on she accused me of killing her dog, which died about four or five months after I left."

—Jen Anne Gillette, Facebook

8. The sponge situation:

"I once realized my roommate was using the bathroom toilet and shower sponge to clean some dishes. When I told him it was for cleaning the toilet, he just shrugged and kept going. Needless to say, I spent the rest of the night rewashing them. Disgusting."

—l4df8

NBC

9. The case of the cat:

"I once had a fantastic roommate who had to move out suddenly. Unfortunately for me, the girl who moved in after him was awful and barely paid attention to her surroundings. One night, she left the window open, my cat got out, and when the cat returned, it was pregnant. I was furious."

—bernardb4

10. The pig party:

"One morning I came back to my apartment at 7 a.m., and there were five shirtless dudes I'd never seen before, passed out in my living room. To top it off, an actual teacup pig (that I'd also never seen before) came running around the corner — and then started eating out of an ashtray. They all belonged to my roommate."

—kaitlynleef

Universal Studios

11. The satanic sweatshirt:

"My roommate was a college student I met on Craigslist. One day she had this sweater hanging up to dry in our living room. I told her how cute it was, and she gave me a deadly serious look. 'Um, thanks, I might throw it out though. I think it's possessed by the devil.' I asked why she thought that, and she said, 'The woman I bought it from told me.' AND YOU STILL BOUGHT IT AND BROUGHT IT INTO OUR HOME? OKAY."

—wrestlecrow

12. The Dave drama:

"In July 2009, my friend and I moved to Manhattan Valley. We did a Craigslist search to fill our last room, and found Dave. Things were fine for three weeks, and he'd been doing some freelance carpentry work with our landlord on our building. One day, we realized we hadn't seen Dave for some time, and his door was ajar. We peeked in, and all of his stuff was still there, with a note on his bedside table. He wrote that our landlord was 'an awful person and we should avoid him at all costs.' He apologized for leaving in the middle of the night, stated he never actually paid his share of the first month's rent and security, but left all of his stuff and told us to 'sell it to cover his share.'"

—Allie Amanda, Facebook

LOGO TV

13. The comb confrontation:

"I lived with a girl I met on Craigslist. One night I asked if she borrowed my comb, and she got up in my face, screaming about how if I said one more word to her she'd kill me, then hunt down my family, and 'baptize herself in their blood.' She continued to yell various other threats through my closed door. I moved out."

—ImpossibleGirl

14. The terrible towel tale:

"I came home one morning at 7 a.m. to get ready for work. There was a towel in the bathtub that was still kind of wet and had sand all over it, so I rung it out and hung it over our patio balcony. I didn't think too much about it until I later asked my roommate if she had fun at the beach. Confused, she replied, 'I didn't go to the beach. My girlfriend and I tried cocaine and threw up in the bathtub last night."

—Anonymous

FOX

15. And the water bottle war:

"One of my roommates in the city was from Egypt, studying and acting in NYC. She was strange from the start, but the strangest thing was that she kept always two or three water bottles in the bathroom beside the toilet with the squeeze top, and I never asked why they were there, but one day she randomly said to me, 'If you're wondering what those water bottles are for, it's just... how I clean myself after I poop.'"

—beckye4

via - BuzzFeed

Don't Fuck With The "Wolfman"

Out of all the houses to break into, these two burglars made the worst choice possible. The pair of thieves are Garfield Morgan, 54, and his 36 year old buddy Kim Gorton. While both are life-long burglars, their careers ended on the worst note possible. Usually you want to exit the game with a big score. Unfortunately the “big score” they encountered was not what they had in mind.

Harry Harrington stands 6’7″ and weighs over 300lbs. These are not 300 pounds of couch potato. This is pure muscle throughout, and no doubt quite a large package between the legs. You see, Harry is also a notorious homosexual sex predator, with a long record for assaults on gays. Being such an aggressive and predatory sex assaulter, with an enormous build, this is one dude you don’t want to cross. But these two guys not only crossed him, but broke into his house!

Known also as “The Wolfman”, Harrington man-handled the men with ease. He proceeded to tie them up, then did what he does – assaulted them for five days straight!

The cries for help were so overwhelming, that a neighbor eventually heard the men and called police.

The men were completely filled with trauma and pain. The ordeal they went through must have been unthinkable. Though many commentators believe they got what was coming to them, and then some.

It’s hard to believe that some think that five days of being raped by a guy called “The Wolfman” is really justified for thieving. On top of that the men will be doing more time inside. Harrington is also headed back inside as well for his assault.


via- SomeDaily

What The Fuck Were You Thinking When You Got Dressed This Morning: RompHims

"It's fashion, look it up."

- Random Dude

"The ‘Male Romper’ Is Offensive Because Rompers Should Be Gender-Neutral"

- HuffPo

Man, y'all need to STFU. Thankfully, the meow meow of the RompHim has died down, but I have been following this trend and became somewhat obsessed with the memes because of how silly this shit is. And I love silly shit. For reals. This was a few days of pure fucking comedy gold. But seriously, dudes need to leave their girl's rompers on the floors and at the racks of Target, where they belong. 

If you are going to call me a sexist, hater, or what the fuck ever your candy ass wants to call me, go for it. I don't give a fuck. But let me tell you what most non-millennial-bunny-hugging-everyone-gets-a-trophy-did-you-just-assume-my-gender people think about the RompHim.

That. Shit. Is. RI-GODDAMN-DICULOUS.

I am ALL for breaking the glass ceiling and challenging gender norms and stereotypes. Girls want to work in male dominated industries? DO THAT SHIT. Little boys want to play with dolls? Fuck, yes. I will buy you the prettiest Barbie in the goddamn bunch. Do my 30 somethings (and up) remember in the 90's when there was a runway show and some super hot male model was wearing a leather skirt and a mesh top? That shit made me tingle in the bathing suit area. And do I need to say anymore about gender-fluid Ruby Rose? I didn't think so. Take a fucking seat.

But a Male Romper, AKA RompHim? Pass me my bag of nopes because imma need all of them shits today. The RompHim being 10lbs of "fuck no" in a 5lb bag is just that for one very simple reason:

Kibbles and Bits.

I will take, "What are things I do not want to see hanging out of your shorts, for a 1000, Alex."

No, good sir, I do not want to see your saggy ass, turkey gobble, hanging out from your floral RompHim. I just fucking don't. I don't want to see it in your house, I do not want see it with a mouse. I do not want see your sack, I do not want to see your crack. I do not want to see your junk, nor will it make me want to swallow your spunk.

For me, and most of my fellow ladies (and probably lots of men, too, because equality motherfuckers), it is about aesthetics. And TBH, your biscuits and baby-gravy-maker are NOT that good looking. Don't get me wrong. I love the cock. Love it. Love a good looking cock and appreciate all the joy that a fuckstick can bring. But, not all cocks are pretty - some look like someone smashed their man-meat with a meat tenderizer and then used a band-aid of hot coals and broken glass to attend to the wounds. And those would be the first fuckers rocking a RompHim, twigs and berries just flapping in the breeze. Yeah...NO. 

Now, imagine if girls started walking around with their Mud Flaps hanging out, looking like Dumbo's ears when he learns to fly...you wanna see that shit? Cus I don't. And sit down, you pussy pervs who do. I know one of you sick fucks does want to see that, but you are the exception, not the rule. Samesies when it comes to beanbags hanging out of RompHims. Ya dig?

I am glad to see, that much like my virginity in high school, this was a fleeting trend. I hope to God I don't see dudes wearing the equivalent of high-waisted shorts for girls, because just like I want to do when I see that shit, imma hand you some Vagisil for your hot-pocket, because you are one more muggy day away from getting coochie cheese all over your shorty-shorts. 

BOY BYE. 

H-Bomb