Advice Column: To Be or Not to Be Gas Lit, That IS The Question

Dear Ghetto Genius, 

I'm going to get straight to the point. I'm dating a guy who tells me he wants to spend his life with me, loves me and I'm the best thing to happen to him but constantly starts these horrendous fights with me about practically nothing. He's been working nights and I see him in the morning. He's never really wanted to go a day without seeing me so I make time for him. One day he says he's too tired, I go by his house just to grab my PlayStation and there is another car parked there. No one answered the door. He later wrote me and told me he had some friends from work pick him up to go out for drinks and the other dude left his car and they went in the other guys. Okay I can maybe buy that. But then as of lately he's been online when he's supposed to be asleep and acting strange. Like getting mad about nothing and taking to the extreme of almost breaking up but telling me I need to try to make things work when they get bad. Now today he tells me he's going to a meeting after asking me over and I went by his job because I'm suspicious ASF seeing as though we just had a major fight the day before. His truck isn't there and he tells me it's parked at a different store. Okay maybe I can believe that but then he's back online again shit it says he was online when I was there. Am I fucking crazy or is he gaslighting the fuck out of me? I love him and I want to believe him but I feel stupid ASF. 

Thank you for any advice,

Cher

Dear Cher, 

Before I begin to unravel the ponderance you are pondering, I need to address something. 

I am having a hard time answering your tale of woe seriously because you used the word 'prolly' in the subject line of the email you sent to GG headquarters and I had such a visceral reaction to seeing it I couldn't read your email for a few days. I get lazy text speak, the ur and r u, and all that other monkey mouth bullshit that passes as a form of communication these days, but the word 'prolly' is just a fucking bastardization of the English language (which is already dumb as hell sometimes) and I have to question so many things about any person using that word, because what the fuck. Like what the fuck do you do with all that time you have saved by making an 8 letter word 6 letters instead?! Are you working on your PhD thesis and need every precious moment before you defend it to your professors? I mean, I doubt it since you are spending most of  your free time being super-stalky, but for reals. What is the fucking point of that word. It is almost as useless as me spending hours walking through the MGM Grand in Vegas last year, looking for J-Wundercunt, when he was 10 hours late meeting me at the hotel. Oh, wait, I found his degenerate ass at some table, because I can sniff that motherfucker out and I have the cognitive skills of someone who doesn't use words like 'prolly' in daily conversations. 

Jesus H. Christ, I have spent the last year going to therapy, trying to be a kinder, gentler, middle-aged bog witch, instead of the absolute cunt of disaster I was for most of my 30's and in like 5 seconds you undid that shit with the most asinine subject like I have seen in the 10 years I have been doing this dumpster fire of a blog, with my favorite fucking snatch-slapper, J-Wun and done. I did the math, and since I am going to have to go back to therapy or bleach my eyes because of your fuckery, Imma need you to slide me about 5 G's to start this process again. And I am still gonna give you the good shit, FOR FREE. Ok, I will make you a deal. If you promise to never use that word again, I will not go completely chupacabra on your ass and try to help you out of this clown shoes ass situation. 

There is one way you can redeem yourself, and for once it is not with cooter & tiddy photos, but please tell me you are an early to mid-twenty something and your parents named you after Cher Horowitz, from the iconic 90's rom-com, Clueless. Also, you aren't stupid AF, but you seem kind of clueless. See what I did there? Bing bong! 

As I mentioned before, I have been in the therapies for some time and I know a thing or two about being gaslit, and that ain't it, boo. I spent the better part of the 10 years I have been putting key to board on this blog preaching that men are simple creatures, most of them not in possession of the gray matter necessary to properly gaslight someone. That kind of Hannibel Lecter shit takes a couple of things: sociopathic tendencies, a narcissistic mentality, and simply the fucking smarts, to be able to play mental chess with someone. And y'all are playing checkers, but with only like half the pieces. King me, motherfucker. 

I am going to say some very simple words to you, and for fuck's sake (it's possessive, because the sake belongs to the fuck, don't come for me, people) heed my words, possible child: If he wanted to, he would.

You are PROBABLY scratching your head and wondering what in the angry beaver fuck is going on and I will try to break it down further. IF HE WANTED TO, HE WOULD. And you know how I know this? I am only this wise because of my experiences, some hard liquor, maybe a few recreational substances, but also because I have lived this shit. Like until recently. So do me a favor and walk with me, child.

Several years ago, I wrote some columns about this dude I was dating. We will call him the Silver Fox Fuckboy, because that is literally what I call him in all the columns. Hell, that was even his name in my phone for some time. But hear me out bc there actually is a point to this story. We were on and off for about 5 years. In those 5 years, we were everything and nothing to each other at different times. We told each other we loved each other, we met each other's parents, we were ride or dies. I thought maybe, just maybe, he was the one. Mostly because I let him do butt stuff to me, but that is the kind of thing you do when you are in luuuuuurrrve. However, time and time again, when shit seemed to be going great, the fights would start. The evasiveness. The shitty comments. And then finally, we would break up. But the brown eye wants what the brown eye wants, and I would eventually find my way back to him. FOR FIVE FUCKING YEARS. 

Recently, we kind of rekindled things, but in a FWB way, not in a relationship-y way, mostly because dude lives less than a mile away from me and I liked to get dicked down. No shame in my game. This goes on for a little while, and then he posts something cryptic on twitter, and of course I had to respond because I knew exactly what the fuck he meant. And what it meant was that he was seeing someone; someone who was not me. Well shit. 

Here is why this is all significant, my little push-pop: in the few months he has been seeing this new person, I have seen him do a lot of the things that I would have given my left tit for him to do when we were together. Ok, that was dramatic, even for me, because I have fantastic tits and I would never do anything like that. I am sure I have you all sorts of mind-fucked now, because how would I know that he is doing the things for her he never really did with me? Because right before you undid all of the majestical healing I had undergone, I decided to try to be a more mature and rational person and stay friends with him. TBH, and this is some real shit, we make great friends. The SFFB drove me to and from Orlando last month (about 5 hours RT, each way) so I didn't have to drive myself to the airport when I was going to Iceland and had some crazy flights to and from there (for the record, I hate driving and I am a goddamn menace behind the wheel, so this was also a public safety thing.) When I have a shit day and need a wine buddy, this motherfucker always has a fresh box cracked. And that is also not a joke, dude loves his boxed wine. We live close to the ocean and sometimes we go for walks after work. Or he talks shit to me during March Madness, when my beloved Blue Devils lose and I want to cry and hit things. Basically, we took sex out of the equation and remembered why we hit it off in the first place, and I met his new lady friend and she is really lovely. That is not laced with sarcasm, either. She's a baddie. See, look at how mature I've become and shit. 

The moral of that long ass story was something I said in the beginning. IF HE WANTED TO, HE WOULD. And now this next part is going to be about as awkward as Joe Exotic waiting for his pardon when the former President was leaving office... that he never got. 

Your guy isn't gaslighting you. He is just doing what he wants, because he can. You can either muster up some self-respect, and grab your playstation one final time, and moonwalk the fuck out of his life, or you can continue to pine for him the way Joe Exotic was pining for that pardon. Fuck it, maybe go Carole Baskin and start unaliving people if your heart is really that broken. Bitches be crazy sometimes, and well, that's just motherfucking life if you're into that sort of shit. 

Oh, and the 'online' shit. GIRL STOP. All my socials say I am online all the time, even when I am sleeping or doing blow in sketchy bathrooms with people I just met. I have turned that notification off, and it still is trying to incriminate me. Do better, say less. Seriously, don't let people know you are stalking his online presence. It's giving me eau de desperation and that shit reeks. Also, stop doing drive bys - that fatal attraction shit is weak sauce, and even if you use the dumbest word in the history of words, I know you aren't that much of a dumb bitch. So stop acting like it. Even GG would be telling you the same shit I'm preaching. Why? Bc we think alike and know situations like this all too fucking well. 

May your vagina have mercy on his soul and never cross that bridge ever again...well, unless you're into real fucked up mind games and like to play the victim. 

Godspeed Soul Sister,

H-Bomb

Wait, What?! Podcast: Episode 24 - The Valentine's Day Special

Wait, What?! Podcast: Episode 8 - Let's Talk About Sex, Baby...Oh, And Other Shit, Too

"Per My Last Email": It's Getting Hot In Huuuurrrrrrr

Work. Some love it. Some absolutely fucking hate it.

And if there is one thing WE ALL FUCKING HATE, are those goddamn emails where we either shake our heads, lose our shit or are just mind blown at the fact that people either:

1) Don't know how to fucking read.
2) Don't know what the fuck they are talking about.
3) Can't comprehend basic life skills, let alone their fucking job.
4) Are clearly over their head when it comes to their job.
5) Fill in the fucking blank...because there are a lot of them.

So today, I present to you a new segment that is part of the Ghetto Genius 4.0 regime.

WELCOME TO...

"PER MY LAST EMAIL"...

Hate that motherfucker that you just want to unload on but don't know how to? Don't worry, we got your fucking back!

You want to write something so cold blooded that it might get you fired so you're not sure how to tactfully make a Monkey Mouth Bitch eat their own ass? Don't worry, we got your fucking back!

Whatever it is, send us an email (jwunder33@ghettogenius.com) on what the fuck is going on and I promise you, we will have the response you've been looking for!

Please note, we are not responsible for you getting fired. If you are, you better make sure it was fucking worth it. LOL.

Oh, and if you are planning to leave your employer and want to send a really big FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING FUCKS email, WE DEFINITELY HAVE YOUR ASSES COVERED.

So without further adieu, check out the first of many...."Per my last email".

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

This Is 40

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



This bitch...SMH.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Then There Were Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XO

H-Bomb

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

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

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. 

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

Advice Column: Here's To You, Miss Robinson!

Dear Ghetto Genius, 

I am a divorced 32 year old mother of two. I am infatuated with the 18 year old maintenance man's son. I am not looking to find my kids a daddy or myself a husband. I just want to have some fun. My question is; is it wrong for a 32 soon to be 33 year old woman to sleep with an 18 year old man?? 



Dear Ain't Nobody got Time for a Salutation,

Hi, I am H-Bomb. How the fuck are you doing? Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, let's fucking do this shit.

I know, I know, y'all haven't heard from me in a hot minute. I may have even become fodder for a game of dead, jail, or rehab. Alas, my hiatus was nothing more than life getting in the way of fuckery, but I got that shit on lock and 'ol H-Bomb is about to start kicking it old school and wrecking shit on all your issues. And I know you motherfuckers got issues. I read the comments. I seent it.

So, little miss Cougar Tits got her honkers in a bind, cus she wants to fuck on the no-no bits of the maintenance man's son, aka, the gardener's boy. Cliche as fuck, sure. But, the truth of the matter is bitches need dick or bitches go cray. It's an irrefutable fact that I can back up with 100% certainty, as a bitch who goes cray when she doesn't get the dick.

You got 2 kids and the wrong kind of Big D? Someone get this woman some good dick, stat, before she loses her goddamn mind and becomes another statistic of a suburban ex-housewife gone butt-booty-crazy. How, pray tell, would I know you are the Mayoress of Suburbia and the Princess of The PTA? Cus I am a motherfucking snoop, yo. No, not Snoop Doggy Dogg; but I am nosy as fuck and I like to do my research on the magical internets.

See, when you send ya boy an email and he forwards it to me with his usual, "Yooooooooooooo, this is you, bitch. Put your scotch down and handle this," I see your email address and sometimes even your name. Quick search on FaceBook, in between my usual CornHub (did you see that shit on April Fool's Day? HILARIOUS) and online shopping nonsense, and I found you, saw some pics and got a feel for who the fuck this Cougar of the Cul De Sac really is. Guess what PumaPuss? You are not too shabby! I would knock the dust off your beaver, if you ever wanted to swing that way. Don't worry, 1 year away from To Catch A Predator, I am not going to divulge your identity. Your secret is safe with me, Ivanna Humpalot. But, on the reals, you are a hot piece of ass and I think you have a chance of riding the Pound Town Express all the way to Cougartown!

To be a Cougar or not to be Cougar? That is the question.

Be. A. Fucking. Cougar.

I know, I shocked the shit out of everyone with that answer. On the reals though, get yours. Get it in a house. Get it with a mouse. Get it in your box. Get it with the young Fox. You say he is the maintenance man's son? Sounds like he knows how to handle a hoe, then. Like Ghandi said, "Be the Hoe you want to see in the world."

Ghandi, Ron Jeremy, whatever. Don't let his age get to you either, Beaverella. If he is old enough to serve our great country, he is old enough to serve that fine coochie. Old enough to set the table, old enough to cum to dinner. And on dinner. And in her. I hope at this point I have made it abundantly clear: Fuck bitches, get youngins! Just remember to wrap before you slap, lest he has the clap. This is not the 80s and STD's are for teens humping in cars and old people fucking in the nursing home. Clap on, Clap off. No Clappers!!!

"BUT WHAT IF PEOPLE FIND OUT?" I know sweet tits, you are mom and a fine, upstanding, pillar of the community who wants to see some 18 year old's 'pillar of the community.' It's a risk, and the other PTA Putas could be find out you are a harlot who wants to get her cookie eaten like the last supper. I get it. I too have to live a double life; that of a person who is respected in the community and deals with fancy fucks all day long, but also longs to get filled out like an application by the pool boy. The older/younger fantasy works for like 99.9% of the free world. Every woman has lusted after some young stud, and every dirty old man, is well, a dirty old man. Deal with it. And if someone has some shit to say to you about getting your o-glow from the barely legal boy, please direct them to this link: 

Flash Furniture

Then, buy them this chair and tell them to take a fucking seat, shut the fuck up, and if they want to stay and watch you hump your hottie, to pop some popcorn and enjoy the show! You good? Yeah, I think we are done here.

This shit is waaaay too easy,

H-Bomb

PSA: So You Think You Met A Fuckboy?

Dear GG Fam:

Have you or one of your squad fallen victim to a Fuckboy? Do you think you or someone you know may be vulnerable to Fuckboys? Did you wake up this morning, and say to yourself, "Self, I think I just fucked a Fuckboy?" 

Do not fret, my pretty, because it is not your fault. If you or one of your homegirls has been or is currently being fucked on by a Fuckboy, it is because Fuckboys are replicating at a rate faster than that of chlamydia during spring break. You see, before, you could tell a Fuckboy from a first glance - his Affliction shirt, day-glo orange tan, car that overcompensated for a small penis - the obvious Fuckboy give-aways. But today's Fuckboy has become faster, swifter, cleverer (but not really) and all-around, fuckier. Today's Fuckboy has a certain way of getting past Fuckboy radars of yore. Or women, as a whole, are getting dumber. I am going to go with what is behind door number 1, Bob. 

I will admit, I have seen some Fuckboy fuckery firsthand, and will now breakdown some of the more common species of homofuckboyious, more commonly known as "Fuckboy."

1) The Married-Man-Fuckboy:

This is the Fuckboy who is currently explaining to his wife why he has an Ashely Madison Account and his browser history is full of a website called backpage.com. Because trolling for strange punnany on Craigslist is so circa Fuckboy 2010. No, this Fuckboy thought he was going to have his cake and eat it, too, but that Ashley Madison tricked more Married-Man-Fuckboys than Thai LadyBoi in Vietnam into them thinking they had their Fuckboy game on point. However, now that the Ashley Madison spot has been blown up, I think we are going to see a The Married-Man-Fuckboy kick it old school. With the advent of the internet, we saw a downslide of skeezy men in bars, hitting on unsuspecting women, with obvious wedding ring tans and game so smooth, Billy Dee was getting the vapors in his no-no parts. Beware of The Married-Man-Fuckboy, and all of his "my wife just doesn't understand me like you do" bullshit game. And remember, Fuckboys, ain't shit, like bitches, hoes, and tricks. Ba-LEED-dat. 

2) The Convenience Fuckboy:  

Did you change your name to 7-11? No? Hmmmmm. Well, this type of Fuckboy is under the impression that you are there for his convenience and amusement. The real shittery of this Fuckboy is that this one isn't always about sex/dating. Maybe this Fuckboy thinks you may be attracted to them, so they, in all their Fuckboy bullshit ways, figure out a way to manipulate that to their gain. This Fuckboy usually also suffers from another disease, called hand-to-pocket disease. Are they down on their luck and need a good friend "to help them until they get back on their feet" or some other such monkey-mouth-bullshit? This Fuckboy is almost the worst of all (but wait, you will meet the worst soon), because they know all the right buttons to push to get you to buy them dinner, take them to concerts, wine them, dine them, but ain't no one 69-ing no one. Take this simple, one question "is this a Convenience Fuckboy" test: when you ask Fuckboy to hang out, do they always have some excuse or fuckery in their life, but when they want something from you, they call/text non-stop, until you breakdown and give into whatever it is they are wanting to do, but just don't seem to have the funds, a ride, or anyone that actually wants to hang out with their Fuckboy ass? You know the answer, sister girl. Rule numero uno: Fuck bitches, get money. NOT Fuckboys fucking on bitches and getting money, rides, dinner, movies, etc. If they want to treat your ass like an amusement park, charge that Fuckboy admission. Change your name to Busch Gardens. Stop shaving your pubes. Go fucking nuts. But, don't get tried by a Fuckboy anymore.

3) The Zero-Fucks-Given-Fuckboy: 

You must be so careful of this one, because the Fuckboy is so strong in them, they actually don't have any fucks to give, or so they would like you to believe. The Zero-Fucks-Given-Fuckboy is a borderline narcissist, if not a complete narcissist; that is another reason why you have to be uber-careful with their trickery and devil-penis-sorcery. They will lead you down a path of roses and sunshine, making you believe that they are in it to win it, and saying and doing all the Fuckboy Shit to make you think they are, on some level, picking up what you are throwing down. Then, as fast as you can say "abra-ca-Fuckboy" they pull one of their zero fucks out of their messenger bag of bullshit (because you know this Fuckboy is probably a hipster, on some level) and ghost your unknowing ass. And you say to yourself, "Self, did I just get played like the Ravens did by Oakland last Sunday, by this Fuckboy?" Now, here is where this Fuckboy gets their name. This kinda Fuckass-Fuckboy-Bitchface McGee earned his rep as the Fuckboy of Zero Fucks, because he will ghost your ass and then do some nefarious fuckery, like tryna get with one of your homegirls. He will give Zero Fucks that he is tryna kick game, and poorly, with your mothafucking bestie from the jump. He will pay no mind to the fact that he KNOWS that your ride-or-die bitch is going to send you screen shots of your conversations, and he will KNOW that she knows that you know that he knows he is spitting the SAME.EXACT.GAME to her. Because this motherfucker gives what? ZERO FUCKS. You almost have to admire his tenacity in being a Fuckboy. Nahhhhhhhhhhh. Fuck this Fuckboy, right in his Fuckboy dumper.

4) The Back-and-Forth-Fuckboy: 

Oh, this Fuckboy. This motherfucking Fuckboy. This is the worst of the worst. If the 3 aforementioned Fuckboys got together for a circle jerk in hell, and by some sort of slut magic produced a baby, it would be this Fuckboy. This guy, because he is not really a Fuckboy at first, doesn't even know he is playing games and dipping his toes in the pool of Fuckboy. Y'all meet, you hit it off, you start a thing - dating, fucking, beastiality (I don't know your life), and then shit starts to get real. And that is where Mr. Nice-Guy becomes The Fuckboy of all Fuckboys. He likes you, but he is not ready. He still has feelings for his ex, but you know, he is feeling you. He wants to be single, but he LOVES spending time with you. He likes you, but just can't do another long distance relationship (but will hang out, fuck you like it is his job and he is picking up a paycheck on Friday, and still tell you he adores you). He got baby momma drama, so he gotta keep you on the DL. I can keep going, but you get it. I get it. We all have gotten this or some sort of foolery equivalent to this before. You want to like this Fuckboy, too, but at the end of the day, if he is spitting this kind of foolishness your way, HE IS A FUCKBOY. The end.

I know, you are probably wondering how I know so much about Fuckboys? Well, you see dear heart, I am a Fuckboy magnet. Most of these scenarios mentioned above are ones that I have experienced or witnessed first hand. So, please, take what you have read to heart, and when you see the tiniest glimmer of Fuckboy beginning to rear its fugliness, you can pick up your Michael Kors tote and beat that Fuckboy within an inch of his life. Whatever you do, do not fall prey to his Devil-Magic-Fuckboy ways. There is not enough Rose and weed for those broken hearts. Trust me.

I would drop the mic here, but instead I am going to swing it and see how many Fuckboys I can knock out with it.

XO

H-Bomb

It's MY Birthday and I will celebrate as long as I want to

This is what happens when THE CREW is separated by thousands of miles and time zones and other logistical nightmares. One of us gets a wild hair in our taint about something, and without even thinking about the feelings and emotions of the other members of THE CREW, pens some silly nonsense, bashing people for their thoughts and actions, based solely on their own narrow minded perspectives. Well, that and the fact that we all probably have a combined -1,000,000,000,000,000 fucks to give about what other people, even our own dearly beloved CREW, think of the shit we say and do. So, there's that.

Usually, J-Wunder and I are so copasetic it is scary. For those of us old school motherfuckers who used to watch The Patty Duke Show on Nick at Nite, we are basically identical cousins. But only in our thoughts. We couldn't look less like each other if we tried. For fucks sake, I have hair. But, we are so much alike in our mindset that we have joked that we are Siamese twins, separated at the genitals. USUALLY. But yesterday this shit dick wanted to attack one of my most sacred and loved traditions: The Extended Birthday Celebration.

For those of you in my inner circle, you know that when it comes time to celebrate my expulsion from my mom's lady cave, you had best have your dancing, drinking, and fucking shoes on and be in it to win it. My birthday celebrations are usually on par with what I can only describe as "If Mardi Gras were to be moved to Las Vegas." I have to start reminding people in October that it is a marathon, not a sprint, to stay hydrated and make sure have stretched properly before hand. And yes, my shit has lasted for a month before.

Now, before people start attacking me for being a grade-A attention whore birthday cunt, let me give a point-by-point rebuttal of Mr. Wundercunt's searing dissertation of my sacred birfday tradition.

1. The Only Child

Nope. Definitely not an only child. I am the youngest and the only girl. One would think that kind of birth order fuckery would be why I am the Birthday Princess for as long as I can possibly be, but there is more to it than that. Grab your tissues and turn off Iyanla, cus I am about to make you cry harder than the time that kid hit you in the dick with the wiffle ball bat.

My brothers and I have birthday's that are very close together. Like just a few fucking days apart. And around a major national holiday. I got shafted on my birthday as a kid more than I got shafted by anything as an adult. True story. Growing up, if I wanted a Barbie themed birthday party, that fucker OG  wanted a G.I. Joe party. And guess what? My moms was NOT trying to throw two birthday parties in two weekends, around Thanksgiving, for two kids whose idea of fun was to torment each other on the regular. Momma dukes ain't got time for that.

So how did we celebrate our birthdays? Together, at Thanksgiving. It all of a sudden makes sense why OG loves pumpkin pie so much, besides the fact that it is fucking delicious, it also reminds him of his "birthday cake." When I got old enough to properly celebrate my descent from heaven to walk amongst the mortals, I made sure that I made up for all the missed birthdays of childhood. Now I dare a mother fucker to tell me that I can only celebrate my birthday for one day. I will politely tell them to please eat this bag of dicks I have put together, just for them.

2. The Home Schooled Kid

While I was not homeschooled, the fact that my birthday falls around Thanksgiving means several things:

- I rarely got to have an "in class" birthday party. You know, before all the schools got freaky-deaky about what you could bring to school, and you would bring in cupcakes for the class or some other deliciousness that was full of high fructose corn syrup, gluten, and peanuts. The kids would get all jacked up and sugar and sing to you. Yeah, that happened like once for me. ONCE. I might as well have been home schooled when it came to my birthday.

- As I have mentioned several times, my birthday falls around a major holiday, which means that even if my moms was trying to have multiple parites for her multiple fuck-tard children, like half of my class would not have been able to go, because their family was all "you need to spend time with us." Selfish fucking bastards. I remember having one birthday in elementary school that fell the weekend BEFORE thanksgiving and I got have a birthday party. That shit was so live, kids were jumping out of the windows of my house and being all kinds of cray. It was pure fucking magic.

3. The Celebutante

This one is a little tricky to refute, because I have joked that I am the mayor of West Palm Beach and that I know just about everyone, or am one genital touch removed from everyone. Kind of like the Kevin Bacon game for your privates. I have either banged you, someone you know, or you have banged someone I know. In some instances we met in school and have remained friends for 20+ years, but the probability of us knowing or having touched mutual friends no-no parts is still high.

Because I know a lot of people, I can not expect everyone to be able to be at the same place, at the same time, on the same day. I am a crazy bitch, but that is just ludicrous. Being the benevolent human being I am, the multiple birthday celebrations are not so much for me (haha who the fuck am I kidding? Of course they are) but for the wonderful friends of mine who can not all be in the same place at the same time. Kids, work, beating that bitch's ass for looking at your man, I get it. Life if busy and we are all busy. I have at least 2 major parties around the birthday season, but I also say yes to every person who wants to take me out to dinner, drinks, strip clubs, card board boxes under the bridge, or the van down by the river, to celebrate my birthday. And because of my overwhelming kindness, my birthday often stretches out far longer than my actual birthday of 11/22. Please, feel free to send presents. I am size 7 in shoes.

I get that all of this sounds like me just being an entitled little brat. But please allow me one last time to defend myself: Fuck you if you don't like how long I celebrate my birthday for. No one wants your party pooping ass there any damn way. Haters to the left.

And to my dearest, most cherished homeboy J-Wunder. The next time you write some shit attacking the things I love most: me, birthdays, booze, me, parties, me, Imma beat your ass like Solange did to Jay- Z. Funny how both your names start with Jay. Now do me a solid, and eat this bag of dicks I made for you. I even put extra Siracha on it, just the way you like it.

Kisses Bitches!

H-Bomb