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

Looking For Marriage ONLY

Advice Column: DMA Disorder - Dong, Money, Attention Disorder

I need your advice really bad. I met my bf online & we hit it off great. Our first time fucking was fucking awesome. Now I feel like he really doesn't like sex at all. Over the phone (before) he was like yeah I'm a freak, I'll do you morning, noon & night but not really. He's got a big dick and he thinks that's all he has to do. He never goes down on me, doesn't kiss, touch, tease, plays with any body part whatsoever. I BEG FOR SEX!!! When I was single I was the bomb. No love for anyone just nasty, freaky sex. The kind where just from kissing we were panting like thirsty dogs in the middle of a NYC heat wave!! I've had a lot of partners who have said my pussy is the bomb. They always came back for more. Now that I decided to love somebody I can't have good sex?? I've tried everything and I mean everything. It's degrading to have your own boyfriend physically push you away. I have to play with myself like 5 times a day just to ease my horniness a little bit. I don't want to dump him he's a great provider & is kind & blah blah blah all that mushy shit but I feel like I may have to go cheat to get my fucking brains banged out. Please help!!!



Dear Whore Muffin,

I don’t quite know why, but for some inexplicable reason, I’m motherfucking popular, and I have a shitload of friends. And every single one of those friends at one time or another has been in love. But because love can be a fickle bitch, shit doesn’t always work out. However, I can tell you one thing for goddamn certain...

Not one person I know that has ever been in love, like FORREAL forreal love, has ever described their partner the way you did in your email. It’s obvious you’re about to shank this mother fucker in his well-endowed man part for not working your pussy right, but it seems to me that you can’t leave him because he’s great at opening up his wallet to pay for your shit and, oh, total afterthought on your part, he’s kind. And I don’t know what “blah blah blah” means, but in second grade, I learned something called “using context clues,” so I’m just going to go ahead and assume that for the most part, when he’s not pushing your unappreciative gold-digging ass away in the bedroom, this motherfucker treats you pretty decently. Maybe I’m wrong, but nowhere in there did I read that he was selling you on the street corner or calling you dirty names or pushing you face in for being, well, yourself.

You know what I’ve learned? Women who really are low-maintenance never feel the need to repeat (fucking CONSTANTLY, I might add) that they are low-maintenance over and over again. The same goes for the baddest bitches in bed. They are quietly confident in their skill to make a man’s eyes roll back as they suck, fuck, tease, lick, and kiss. No loud advertisements needed.

You are not a McDonald’s billboard. We do not need to know that billions and billions have been served. Ok, yes, maybe some men in this world have told you that your love canal is made of gold. Who are these men? How long had they been out of prison? I am told that anything feels better than a latex glove with a generous squirt of lotion inside. Read this next sentence very carefully…twice. NO MAN WILL EVER TURN DOWN A BOMB PUSSY, especially if that pussy belongs to the woman he loves. Let that marinate overnight.

So really, I think this can be broken down into some simple truths.

-Your pussy is in fact, not the bomb.

-You are an insincere gold digger.

-You need an attitude adjustment.

You say you’ve tried everything….but perhaps a nice thing to do might be to quit your bitching and act like someone who deserves a good fucking. Right now, I would say that you, in fact, do not deserve a good fucking because rather than leaving the relationship like a dissatisfied honest person would, you are thinking about cheating. You’d like to take a ride on someone’s Dick Express to satisfy your whims, but still want the security and cash from your current “love.”

No, ma’am, that is not how sanity works. No, no, no, no, no. Also, no.

I’m all about keeping it real. That’s something you need to work on. Keep it real with the people you claim to love. They deserve that much. And don’t think I forgot about you. You obviously think you deserve someone who is rich and attentive and well-endowed and all about you, you, you. I think you’re going to have a lot of competition from girls who aren’t so heartless and whiny, but I hope you get what you deserve. I mean…I hope you get what you want.

Bitches Be Trippin',

Flo-Rich

Advice Column: Gold Diggin'

J-Wun,

Big Fan here, Love the blog, follow your page and all that creepy stalker shit, ever make it to the South and hit me up, I show you how fucking crazy rednecks party.

Lets cut the shit and get right to the balls.

I'm 28, and recently been dating a much older man, (like 57 old), but we really do have a lot of fucking crazy shit in common, here's the problem, he's loaded. I like to party and I like to party on fucking yachts, but because of the age difference I'm nervous about the outcome. I live in a small town in Oklahoma where everyone likes to talk. Now, the money is fun, the trips to the lake, Vegas, Miami all fun, but it's not what actually attacts me. So, do I cut it off now before it goes to far to save face or to I say "go fuck yourself" to anyone that talks shit...

Give it to me straight, or just give it to me....

Red on the Head and Fire in the Bed,
Liz


Dear Fire Crotch,

What to do, what to fucking do? A dilemma that’s only a dilemma because of what OTHERS think. One woman. One old ass mother fucker. A shit ton of cash…that’s not yours, rather, Old Yambag Magee’s. Now, is 57 really that fucking old you ask? All depends on who you fucking ask I guess. But a 30 year age difference? Shit, bitch titties. People WILL talk…for two reasons: 1) You’re after something if you can’t get 20-something goddamn dick and 2) You’re after something if you can’t get 20-something goddamn mother fucking dick. No one would bother to question Mr. Rich Fuck because he carries all the dough so pulling in bitches ain’t gonna be no thang. You on the other hand…you got an agenda that bugs the living shit out of others who surround you. Here’s my advice:

FUCK ‘EM.

Let me say that one more time and spell it out for you:

F-U-C-K ‘E-M.

See, I was about to go out on a limb and call you a gold digging ass cunt. But then I thought about it over and over til I was drunk enough to come up with some logical advice. That’s why “Fuck ‘em” was the start of what I’m about to say.

Haters gonna fucking hate. And that’s cool. It’s up to you though, to either embrace this shit and feel like a cuntrag or move the fuck on and go about your business. You know...like going on lavish trips, getting spoiled rotten as fuck and sucking dudes dick when he says, “Hey Big Red, pull out the knee pads, time to suck daddy’s dick”. Oh, lets not forget about the boning part. Because lets be honest, old dudes love to fuck too.

I’m not really interested in what the fuck you two have in common. Because if I was, this column wouldn’t exist and I wouldn’t be on the brink of 1.5 million hits. You’re welcome. Mother fuckers don’t want to hear what you and some rich fuck have in common, they just want the meat of what the fuck is going on in my head and what bullshit I have to say next. Real talk.

Anyway, you need to ignore all these other fucks and keep on keepin’ on. You’re 28 and having a blast with life…well, you're having a blast with this mother fucker IN your life is more like it. You have probably done more in your few months of living than anyone will ever do in their goddamn lifetime. Who gives two shits about the rumor mill? Haters hate because they want what you have. They want those fancy trips. They want the nice watches. They want the designer clothes, extravagant dinners…they want to be spoiled…at someone else’s expense. I mean, who the fuck wouldn’t? And for you readers out there who are probably saying, “Fuck that…I have more self respect than to be a gold digging ass bitch”, you know what I have to say? Fuck you for lying to yourselves. Money doesn’t buy happiness but if it ain’t your money that you’re spending, you won’t give two shits and would be rocking a goddamn smile from ear to fucking ear. True story. This isn't about self respect, morals, dignity and blah, blah fucking blah people, it's about living the fucking dream because you can.

You love your life. You just don’t love the shit that’s being said about you. So obviously, there is some small piece of your goddamn heart that cares what other people think. Good for you. Congrats on having a conscience and shit. Congrats on pointing it out and writing to me about it. But something tells me, that guilt will die…why? Because your life won’t be the same. Bottom line: you’ll be a broke ass bitch that will never be able to find a dude like Richey fucking Rich. Fuck what you have in common with this dude…hell, if a bitch was spoiling me fucking rotten, I’d find some shit to have in common with them too. It ain’t that hard. You like tennis? Funny thing bitch, so do I. Oh, your favorite food is Italian? Lucky for you, I cook a mean mother fucking meatball mother fucker…Emeril don’t got shit on me…BAM BITCH! You like sex? Well, I LOVE sex and if you take me on your yacht, not only will I let you fuck me, I will jizz on your face and slap you around with my cock til I get hard again. See, it ain’t that hard and I know you know that I know you know what the fuck you were thinking when you said you two had some shit in common. Bitch please. Dude was born in 1955. You know what happened in 1955? I hope you do because I fucking don’t and I’m fucking older than you. BTW – Just because you both like cocaine and recite quotes when high as fuck, doesn’t mean shit. Just sayin’. But I fucking digress…

Do what you dig. You wouldn’t have been seeing this dude if you were planning on feeling guilty, right? Why should you? No need to explain you both love Philosophy and literature from the Renaissance Era. Hell, no need to explain how you two fucking met in Mexico drunk because he thought you were a hooker he wanted to give a Blue Waffle to with a slice of a Dirty Sanchez. You know why you’re in this mess so stay in it. People are already gonna assume it’s about the money. No one gives a flying fuck about other reasons because they don’t want to see your point. If the mother fucker was broke, then maybe. And since that's not the goddamn case, you run with Mr. Money Bags and you have that mother fucker spoil you rotten. Because at the end of the day, that’s what makes him happy – you sticking around, seeing you with a big ass smile on your cute little face, while you suck his dong and he rewards you with some Cristal and other things US mother fuckers will never get to experience.

Be true to yourself and the game. And remember, “Don’t hate me because you ain’t me.” Words to fucking live by.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I got this one rich bitch who’s taking me out to dinner, then sucking MY dick. I got class too, bitch.

Keep your game tight and your pussy tighter,

J-Wunder