Infidelity is like pissing in your bed. It seems right at the time. Maybe because you're asleep. And dreaming about waterfalls.
Eventually, you wake up pissy and pissed, and ask yourself, "How did I let myself do that?"

Infidelity is like pissing in your bed. It seems right at the time. Maybe because you're asleep. And dreaming about waterfalls.
Eventually, you wake up pissy and pissed, and ask yourself, "How did I let myself do that?"

Sexually, socially, morally, and personally multidynamic is the power of fellatio. To the majority of men, "brain" is a no-brainer. The issue is far more advanced when it comes to women, and their all-powerful proclamation of "to suck or not to suck". How can something that is able to make a woman feel sexy, also have the ability to make her feel slutty?

Sometimes, love is nothing but a fat ass scapegoat. The word is overused and abused, pummeled into a meaningless pulp by assholes looking for an excuse for erratic behavior. Beyonce wasn't "Crazy in Love". That bitch was just crazy. Scratch the quotations. Crazy.

Electronically speaking, we have it easier than our parents and theirs. Remember "Do you like me? circle one yes or no"?

About five days a month, for all twelve months, for about forty years, women BLEED. And that's without any substantial injuries. Aunt Flo sure can be a bitch, and she doesn't just come to town for the holidays. The shedding of one's uterine lining as a cause yields a variety of effects - cramps, moodiness, and expressions of disgust from unfamiliarized males, to name a few.

Stupid little crushes come from nowhere, for no reason, possibly to amount to either nothing or, only slightly better, to nothing significant. Where do these stupid little crushes derive - unattainability, flirtation, purely physical attraction?

Sans the money and fame associated with it, a face like Flava Flav’s would never genuinely attract a beautiful, exotic woman like Hoopz, or a curvaceous ass of a woman (yes, she is more ass than woman) like Deelishuz. Approaching the premiere of Flavor of Love 3, it becomes apparent that reality television has become the farthest thing from reality possible.

In high school class president elections, Barack Obama was probably the charming, popular jock who promised to expand school lunch from meat loaf to filet mignon. Therefore, Hillary Clinton must have been the awkward yet confident bookworm who relied more on smarts than snazzy posters or campaign cupcakes.