Wait, What?! Podcast: Episode 21 - New Year, New Crazy Shit!

Wait, What?! Podcast: Episode 7 - A Week To Never Remember

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

Mirror, Mirror On My Facebook Wall...

Mirror Mirror on my Facebook wall, what is the biggest lie of all?

I contemplate deleting my Facefuck page multiple times a day; but then I go back, like the junkie I am, and scroll through my feed to see what the fuck is up with all my peeps. It's not that I am sick of the kitten videos, BuzzFeed quizzes or even the 1,014,777 statuses my friends and family post of their kid getting potty trained. I contemplate deleting it because there are so many motherfucking liars out there.

I don't give a shit if you lie to yourself about what the fuck ever you want to lie about, but what cracks me the fuck up is when I read a post about something ludicrous, I cringe and am all, "Heeeellllllllllllllll naaaawwwww...that fucker is all about the smoke and mirrors today." This isn't another one of those columns where I give you a list of reasons why I hate Fuckbook or the people we hate the most, because that shit has been done more times than a bus stop skank and is so 2013. This is all about the biggest lies we tell Facebook, and the world, but we seem to forget that there are always one or two people out there that know all our dirty little secrets and can, and just might, put that shit on blast one day.

We get it, your life if fucking perfect all day, errry day. No really, keep telling us. I love reading about someone's so called perfect life, when I know that person is a grade A train-wreck, but on FB they are parent of the year, their kids are all on honor roll, and they just ran a marathon for charity. Better yet, they "Love their life so much because God has blessed them with this and that and blah, blah, blah, blah bliggity blah!" Bitch, please. <Insert eye roll here>. The only person you are fooling is yourself, which is even funnier because the more you post about your awesome life, the more people are figuring out that it is not so great. Hey, I'm not saying I'm a fucking saint because the reality is, we ALL do it. Let's not get shit twisted. I mean, who would want to constantly put, "My life is so shitty...Fuck this...Fuck that...Fuck everybody" on their page, right? What needs to be known though, is that there are a lot of motherfuckers out there that do it way more than others. I'm talking like DAILY. And for those that want to pull the "Well, if you don't fucking like it, 'unfriend' them or 'hide their news feed'." Hey assholes, why would we do that when it's shit like this that we talk about so those who need to get checked, get checked. That's just what we do so before anyone wants to go and stand on their soap box, preach a sermon and give whatever rebuttal you have, just know this - AIN'T NO ONE TRYING TO HEAR THAT SHIT. But I digress...

Oh, and what's that? You love the Lord? Good, I am glad you like posting Bible quotes and showing everyone how pious you are. Can you tell me what part of the Bible where it talks about what you did a few days ago? I think I missed that Sunday school class. I love the Hypochristians who claim to love the Lord, but will be the first to crucify some motherfucker for the same shit they just did. Let me guess...because you're a "changed person," you get to judge whoever the fuck you want, right? Tell me how that fucking works, y'all? Because I'm clueless to how someone is all, "Glory be to God...God is good," then does some ridiculous shit like stays up for 2 days high off coke, in Vegas, walking around clueless as to why they are broke as fuck but is all "YOLO, bitches" and is posting pics like they just partied with Justin Bieber, Charlie Sheen, Miley Cyrus and Lindsay fucking Lohan. Now that I think about it, in John 3:16 it said, "Thou shalt do stupid shit and give big ups to thy Lord and Savior because YOLO is thy best thing to the game and bitches can't be tripping off thy neighbor while posting selfies and all the greatest achievements one does for their friends, family, humanity and all mankind, son." My bad, peeps. What the fuck was I thinking?

And for those of you reading this, shaking your head and saying, "I don't do that shit, so this ain't about me," you are right. This shit ain't about you. But you better not be the other kind of liar; the worst one yet: The Relationship Faker. Those are my absolute favorite. I just rolled my eyes so hard reading about one person's undying love for another I think I pulled an eye muscle, because I know that couple and I know they would shank each other faster than two fuckers fighting over a menthol cigarette in prison if they didn't have kids, two mortgages and getting divorced wasn't going to cost more than staying together. But on good ol 'Book they are more in love today than when they met.

This just in: FUCK. THAT. NOISE.

Now, I am not hating on love. Far from it. I LOVE, love. I love people in love and all that romantical and sexical shit, because that is the best shit out there. Can I get an Amen?

What I can't stand is motherfuckers who profess their love and devotion for each other all up and down Facebook, but behind closed doors want to throat punch a motherfucker every chance they get. When I see an, "Oh, my babe is the best and I love them to death," but know you make your babe sleep on the couch and wouldn't fuck him with H-Bombs snatch and Flo-Rich pushing, I almost piss my pants from laughing. It almost makes me look at myself in the mirror and ask myself, "Self, what the fuck just happened and did my homie just start acting lessons? Because this motherfucker just won an Academy Award, yo."

YOLO this, bitch. The older I get, the more I can see the bullshit from the real shit. I think that goes for most of us, too. We all know what the fuck is up, so people need to quit trying to "Fake it til' they make it" and keep shit real. That's how we do here.

Reality. It's not just for television anymore.

If Sprint Had To Be Honest About Facebook

Instagram And The Female Douchebag

The male douchebag has existed and been detested since time immemorial. There were probably Carthaginians ripping on ancient Roman douchebags for wearing goofy wreaths on their heads and manscaping their nipple hair. “Look at Caesar over there with his dumbass plant hat and smooth man cleavage. I hate that douchebag.”

Present day male douchebags come in all shapes and sizes, but whether it’s the TAPOUT t-shirt wearing meathead, the gel-haired guido with a tanning addiction, or the uncomfortably preppy frat bro, we love to loathe them all. However, a previously well-hidden douchebag that has flown under the radar and remained relatively historically insignificant has recently been thrust into the spotlight via social media. I’m talking about the female douchebag.

Instagram changed the game forever and made it incredibly easy to identify the fem-douche. This is where she posts all manner of inappropriate pictures that she would never share on Facebook or any other form of social media where the normal rules of society still apply. The she-douche is really into herself. Way more into herself than the normal self-obsessed human. She lives for a good gym mirror selfie after an intense ab workout. She doesn’t even care that there are other people in the gym watching her snap pictures of her toned stomach and firm glutes at flattering angles via mirror, and she makes sure to include a geotag of Gold’s Gym so every creepy Instagram follower knows where to find her if they feel like transitioning from social media stalking to real life stalking. Underneath this selfie is usually a bevy of illuminating hashtags: #progress #thinspiration #girlswithabs #strongisthenewsexy #iamthenewsexy #iwouldfuckme #wouldyoufuckme #tellmeimpretty #lookatmybodyihatemydad. With every double-tap, she gets just a little bit wetter, and thinks she has a little more in common with Kim Kardashian or a Victoria’s Secret Model.

The female douchebag, much like the male douchebag, waved bye-bye to shame and remorse long ago. She uses fitness as a thin veil to disguise her generally skanky behavior. Her Instagram account exists solely to broadcast the message that she is hot, and she is only getting hotter by doing squats on the reg. She’s not photographing the perfect sunset, capturing her plate of food in just the right light, or taking pictures of her dog being silly and cute like normal miserable people; she’s just making sure to include at least a few inches of cleavage in that selfie of her holding a martini. She is savvy. She knows her following of 2,762 creepers, comprised mostly of complete strangers and sexual predators, doesn’t really care that she’s enjoying an alcoholic beverage with her friends, but they do care about her funbags. She knows they don’t really care that her city is enjoying perfect summer weather, but they do want to see a neck-down POV shot of her laying out at the pool. She thrives on attention driven by sexuality. Without it, she would die, and the lady d-bag does not wish to die; she wishes to live a long life where as many men as possible have imagined her completely naked, because she’s bombing their feeds with pictures of her almost completely naked.

This girl is the reason you can’t open Instagram in church. Your normal friends post lovely pictures with interesting filters that keep you in the loop on their respectable daily activities, but not the female douchebag. One second you’re saying The Lord’s Prayer, and the next you’re staring at a photo of her twerking upside down at the bar in a skintight dress with her ass hanging out. It’s okay though, because she hashtagged #workhardplayhard. Have fun explaining that one to Saint Peter, you perverted son of a bitch.

She makes it infinitely more difficult to explain what Instagram is to your grandma, because you’re afraid to let granny scroll through your feed when there’s a solid chance the fem-douche you follow has recently uploaded a photo of herself doing downward-facing dog in nothing but boy shorts and a sports bra.

“Who’s this young lady bending over in her undergarments, honey?”

“Oh God! Grandma no! Look away!”

I should make it clear that I’m obviously all for yoga, working out at the gym, and anything else that betters your odds at a long and healthy life and makes you look awesome naked. However, if the only reason you’re doing healthy activities is so that you can bless the world with your body in the form of a scantily clad Instagram post, maybe you need to get your priorities straight. The male douchebag has been ripped apart incessantly for being an annoying, attention-seeking, pathetically lame waste of human flesh, so why not his female counterpart? It’s time we acknowledge that she is alive and well, and now easily identifiable via her hilariously self-serving Instagram account.

You might be asking, “Why don’t you just unfollow her?” Well yeah, but then I’d miss out on all those super hot pics.

We men are just a bunch of thirsty pervs. If you give us something to ogle, we will ogle, and we will double-tap, and we will reinforce the obviously unhealthy behavior that this column intends to make light of, because we are horny morons. I guarantee at least a few dudes reading this thought, “Holy shit I need to download Instagram!” And as we speak, they are being sucked down the rabbit hole of #fitspo pics, never to emerge.


via - Post Grad Problems

Keepin' It "Thug Life"

I recently, started following your ghetto genius blog, and facebook page. It is a breath of fresh air. All jokes aside I am firm believer in the "THUG LIFE." Do not get me twisted, I am not running
around screaming westside mother fucker, ride or die, but believe the term thug life is used to describe a dying breed. The youth of America is so consumed with how big their cocks are, and how much dick they can swallow they forget the very essence of life. 

Don't get me wrong I love blow jobs more than anyone. I am pushing 30, have 3 beautiful free loading kids, and a wonderful wife. How do you raise your children in a society full of skinny jeans and duck faces?? I do not understand how we went from 2pac, NWA, DMX.. to loving your hood, and hanging with the homies to being a bunch of skinny jean wearing, no respect having bitches. I remember chillin
all night and getting wasted, but still having the pride to get up and go to work and school. Where is the pride in the youth today?? Where did parenting fall off the fucking map? I am not saying it is every single parent out there fucking up their kids, but goddamn. We went from loving our people in music, taking care of each other in the streets, and now they all want to take Molly, and drive a fucking million dollar car. I love getting fucked up. If I did not have so many fucking kids, I would get fucked up all the time, but I would still go to work, not free load of my momma and pops.

I have spent the years aging and keeping quiet and reflecting on my past. I watch my 2 boys and little girl grow, and I pray they never struggle like I struggled. I pray they never witnessed the shit I have witnessed.

I will always love the thug life, but as everything in life I will evolve with it. I used to hustle on the streets, now I hustle my 401k and stock options. It pains me to see people I have known 15 years making ends meat, still doing the same shit we did way back when.  I am almost 30 and still finishing my BA degree, I work 65 hours a week as a restaurant manager and bring home enough to keep the old lady happy. Real niggas recognize real and I have respect for you and your team. I do not expect any email back or nothing. Stay keeping it real my brother and be easy. Lastly, I absolutely love the blog, As my nigga Pac would say, "All I want is money, fuck the fame." Never forget where you came from, with out our past our futures are bleak and unguided.

Respectfully,
Sean



Dear Sean,

Your email right here...the one you wrote...the thousands of people reading it...are shaking their heads and saying, "That's real talk right there." You know what? I'm one of them, homie.

Like I said in my interview with Tiff Thompson from the Toronto Standard, I came from nothing. I never had shit. I grew up hood. I saw people do drugs, get shot and do things I would never wish on my own worst enemy. It was rappers and artist like Pac, Biggie, KRS-1, EPMD, Run DMC, DMX, Public Enemy, NWA, DJ Quik, etc. who represented that life you speak of. They were real. They were the people I listened to and still did my thang. I'll be honest, the choices I had in life were to join a gang, slang drugs, go to prison and probably die doing all of them. Instead, I chose a different life. I went to college and grew the fuck up.

Everybody wants to be somebody nowadays. You hit the nail on the head when you said:

"I do not understand how we went from 2pac, NWA, DMX.. to loving your hood, and hanging with the homies to being a bunch of skinny jean wearing, no respect having bitches. I remember chillin

all night and getting wasted, but still having the pride to get up and go to work and school. Where is the pride in the youth today?? Where did parenting fall off the fucking map? I am not saying it is every single parent out there fucking up their kids, but goddamn. We went from loving our people in music, taking care of each other in the streets, and now they all want to take Molly, and drive a fucking million dollar car. I love getting fucked up. If I did not have so many fucking kids, I would get fucked up all the time, but I would still go to work, not free load of my momma and pops."

Generations change. Some for the better, some for the worse. Today's youth, think we don't know what the fuck we're talking about and that we're stupid. They think they know better. But the reality is, we were once like them too. The difference, we keep true to how we live, how we love, how we roll and how we do. With shit such as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and all the other mumbo-jumbo shit, this is were society is. This is what they know. It's how to be something/someone they wish they could be, but behind a computer screen. Back then, music became something we could relate to. It was something that told a real story about life, friendship, responsibility and the hard times some of us face. The people who know what I'm talking about know what "Thug Life" is. They know that our shit is as real as it gets. We will forever and always keep it 100. Straight up.

I started this blog to show what life is with humor and humility. This is why me and my crew stay humble. We aren't out for stardom. We are just out there to give folks something that they can read and say, "This shit just made my day. What these cats are preaching is real talk through all walks of life." Whether it be friendships, relationships, family, bitches, douchebags...whatever...the realness is what keeps fans and folks like yourself coming back. Our generation knows it. The problem is that today's future have no fucking clue. 

We all love to fuck, get down to get down, smoke weed, do stupid shit...and at the end of the day, still hold down our responsibilities. Take care of our family, kids, wife, husband, boyfriend, girlfriend. Because that's what we do. Work hard, play harder. I'm no genius by any means. I just preach the essence of life and what it's all about. Giving advice, telling funny ass stories, spitting knowledge...that's what I want people to appreciate. The things that surround us, the problems that occur, the blunt honest truth and the laughter that needs to be had. End of story. 

These days, everything is all about hater this, hater that. Shit, we're all haters. Some just take that shit to a whole new level. Why? Because they got nothing better to do. Mother fuckers are too focused on the pointless shit and are just looking for a response. Us "Thug Life" folks know not to get all up in that because we have our own goddamn agenda. An agenda that has gotten us where we are today. Successful and thankful for what life has given us under some fucked up circumstances. 

It is bad to see folks we knew still doing the same shit (which is nothing) they did years ago but you know what? That's on them. You can't change if you don't want change. You can't move forward if you keep standing still. For that, I don't feel sorry for those people. Neither should anyone else. 

The skinny jeans and bling bling bullshit is what is the norm nowadays. To some, that's keepin' it real. To others, that's just a circus show waiting to become a train wreck. I love train wrecks as does everyone else. To each his own, I guess. 

It's refreshing as fuck to have fans like you and the 156K+ other fans who think and feel like you do. About music, life and the latter. That's why my CREW and I are still around...because we don't take shit for granted. We take what is given to us and we run like a mother fucker with it. For that, I thank you and every single person who supports this blog and the Facebook fan page. 

Keep it 100 and always keep the "thug life" alive. Always.

Much love, 

J-Wunder

Don't Drink The Kool-Aid

I'm gonna be honest with all you fans. I've been a little angry lately. Fuck, I guess sensitive too. That's right. Your fearless leader, J-Wunderful, is showing his "human" side. Have I been hating? You know what...I sure have. Why? Good question. The answer to this is that I found myself consumed in the world of negativity. Fucked up shit, right? See, I'm usually a guy who doesn't give a fuck. I'm laid back. Chill. Easy going. Cool as the other side of the goddamn pillow. I'm that guy who loves everyone. I'll accept you if you accept me. I won't give two shits about you if well, if you don't give two shits about me. For reals.

I drank the Kool-Aid folks. I drank that nasty ass Kool-Aid of hate. Of anger. Of "I'm gonna let everything surrounding me bug the shit out of me". That's not me. But you know what? That's the fucking life we live in. Real talk.

I have a fan page with over 126,000 fans. I started that shit back in August 2011. I have a blog with over 2.7 million hits. I started that back in November 2010. Do you know what my biggest fear was? Haters. Not gonna lie...the haters scared me. Scared the shit out of me to be honest. Not because I felt it was gonna put me in this state of goddamn depression but, because I was that guy who loved EVERYONE and was accepted by EVERYBODY. Then I realized, life is a fucking bitch and not everyone is gonna like you, what the fuck you say, how you say it, why you say it, why you do it and blah, blah fucking blah. I cared too much. I was consumed on what others thought rather than what I thought. Hence, hating. Me being one of them...as of late.

I'm a blogger. A writer. It's kind of ironic since I hated fucking English, don't read books and never could write for shit (I probably still can't). But look at what the fuck happened?! I started a blog and fan page...then shit blew the fuck up. BOOM! The only reason why it did was because one thing - I DIDN'T CARE. I did what I felt was right without worrying what other people thought. Mainly, what those negative mother fuckers thought. I wrote the shit I wrote, posted the shit I posted because it made sense. Shit, it MAKES sense. So much sense that it has gotten me to where I am today. Successful in the blogosphere of comedy and entertainment and my life story. My shit puts more smiles on peoples faces around the world than angry and mad ones.

But I drank the Kool-Aid.

As I was sipping on some scotch tonight it hit me - "What the fuck are you doing, Wundercunt? You of all people should know that haters gonna hate. So why join the movement? Why stoop to the level of negativity and gives those who are looking for you to respond, react, make such petty fucking shit a goddamn big deal? Why make something you know surrounds society, your problem?" That's the million dollar question, peeps. Why?

See, what I do is different. New. Refreshing. Entertaining. That's why I'm still here today stronger than ever. Before I drank the Kool-Aid, negativity was a compliment. It told me, "Man, you're a talented mother fucker. Your ass got a fucking gift I wish I had. I need to do something to stop such awesomeness before you make it spread like wildfire." It was motivation. It made a mother fucker like me smile. I just kept it in my back pocket as motivation and 25 cans of Red Bull to give me a pick-me-up. It was something I NEVER responded to. Truth be told, there really wasn't much hate going around. It came in waves. When it came, I just got better. Funnier. More truthful. But truthful in a sense that it never was directed towards anyone in particular, more like, generally speaking. That's why people love my shit. I say things people are thinking and wish they could say. I guess you can consider this blog a goddamn therapy session. You're welcome.

But I drank the Kool-Aid.

I focused on the shit that didn't matter and ignored what did matter. Who the fuck does that? You know who? People that love to be miserable. I'm not fucking miserable. Fuck all that.

But I drank the Kool-Aid.

I was starting to become miserable. My job is to write shit and make mother fuckers laugh. Tell them the fucked up shit that has happened to me while not giving two fucks about it. My misery should be everyones entertainment. What am I saying...MY misery is my fucking entertainment. Only the fucked up, hilarious shit happens to me (and The RINGER, too).

But I drank the Kool-Aid.

I had to go back to the basics tonight and realize that opinions (a.k.a. hater comments) are just compliments. They are. Trust me...they really are. If someone will take a goddamn second to give you their negative opinion (in your time of success), then it is without a fucking doubt they are complimenting you because they want to feel what you feel. Want to be what you are. Call me crazy but, it's the mother fucking truth. We're all haters in some way, shape or form. We ALL drink that nasty ass Kool-Aid. Some just choose to be addicted to it. While others take the high road and move the fuck on.

Opinions are just compliments.

“The reason we struggle with self-confidence is that we compare everyone’s highlight reel with our behind the scenes.” This describes what I'm not, but at times, can be. As a society, 94.4830% of us will say, "I have all the self-confidence in the fucking world. I aint' no hater." You're a hater. Trust me. We all are at some point in our lifetime. The difference is, when will you stop to realize that you have a highlight reel of your own? No two people live the same lives so why even care (good or bad)? It's this quote that knocked me the fuck back to reality and back to being J-fucking-Wunder: Man of entertainment, advice and all things funny.

Opinions are just compliments. Success isn't just handed to you. Life is a fucking bitch. Haters gonna hate. Players gonna play. Cuntbags are gonna be cunts (I had to throw that in here).

Let's be our own definition of success and realize that the negativity that surrounds you holds you back from being whatever the fuck you want to be and cons you into wanting to live someone else's life.

Don't drink the Kool-Aid. Smile, nod and move the fuck on. Trust me, you'll be better for it.

True story.

The Mayonnaise Jar and Two Cups of Coffee

When things in your lives seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 cups of coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. The students responded with an unanimous "yes."

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar effectively filling the empty space between the sand. The students laughed.

"Now," said the professor as the laughter subsided, "I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things--your family, your children, your health, your friends and your favorite passions--and if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.

The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house and your car.

The sand is everything else--the small stuff. "If you put the sand into the jar first," he continued, "there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff you will never have room for the things that are important to you.

Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your spouse out to dinner. Play another 18. There will always be time to clean the house and fix the disposal. Take care of the golf balls first--the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented. The professor smiled. "I'm glad you asked.

It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend."

Real Talk

I don't understand the words that are coming out of your mouth

 
So here we are folks...12 hours ago, I got into a Facebook standoff with someone I apparently went to school with back in high school. What I thought was hilarious (along with others) she took as an opportunity to school me on the aspects of whatever the fuck she was trying to prove. The end result -  The bitch got fucking destroyed by the man they call, J-Wundernuts. If you missed this exchange, you can catch it here:

The Hating Game

Now, we all know two things: 1) I'm not even close to being a hateful person, 2) I'm fucking funny (sort of). But how does one person think they can get away with trying to school me, on some shit they have no clue about? One of my readers put it best when she said:

Her posts remind me of a quote from Billy Madison, "What you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response, were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."

As a blogger, my job is to do the following:

1) Be funny as fuck (or try to be).
2) Give my personal opinion.
3) Be real no matter what any mother fucker thinks, and tell America what they are thinking but not saying.

Three basic principles I have stuck with and never backed away from. Rewind back to yesterday, and up pops the 1,578th person who has an issue with a goddamn link I posted. A picture of two ugly mother fuckers who found love. Funny? You bet your sweet ass it was funny. So funny that over 40 people shared it via Facebook. However, it wasn't funny to lucky #1,578.


Now, I understand everyone is entitled to their own opinion. That's the beauty of living in this country. I don't mind it because I knew going in to being a blogger, I would get heat for a ton of shit I write or post (comes with the territory). However, when you try to bust knowledge on something that doesn't make any fucking sense and is 10,000 times over your head, game over friend. One reason why people read my blog...I'm honest, state facts and tell the truth (sometimes) in a funny and fucked up sort of way. So as the Hamburglar decided to go off "ABC After School Special" style and talk about how hateful and sad I was, as an individual, she made way for me to put on my anaconda choke.


People, it was yesterday's experience that made me realize something. It made me realize that people like Fuck Face Magee who air their dirty laundry on Facebook about how shitty their marriage, life, blah, blah, blah is, are helpless, hopeless and fucking idiots. Look, saying shit once in a while, by all means, have at it. But every fucking day? Get the fuck out of here with that shit. You think anyone wants to hear that? Even your goddamn friends? Anyone that responds back to your issues, guess what? They are just as fucked up as you are or probably worse. Misery loves fucking company. No one has to explain shit to me and tell me why their life is so great. Do you know by doing that, everyone knows that your life fucking sucks? Not sure how some people can bitch about how shitty their life is but go out of their way to tell me their life is absolutely FANTASTIC! Please. I don't need explanations on what makes your pussy tingle. Why? Because I don't care.


There's no secret that some people either love or hate my blog. The funny truth is, the haters, keep on reading. It's like a bad car accident that you want to turn away from but can't. Why? Because you want to see what I'm going to say next. And if you're all wondering if Snuffaluffagus is reading this column, of course she is. Only because she wants to know if I'm still talking shit. <here's me waving at you talking shit and grabbing my balls hater>...I write because people actually have a good sense of humor and enjoy laughing. But in Super Haters case, a sense of humor and backbone are non-fucking-existent. Calling me hateful is like saying my dick is 8 inches long. Completely untrue.


Haters are going to hate and I'm gonna keep writing. Whatever the fuck I want. Whenever the fuck I want. No one said you have to read my shit, but you choose to. I win, you lose. 


To my blog faithful...I appreciate the love and support. Keep spreading my shit like herpes. I'm out.