If there are 6 million ways to die, there are probably just as many reasons that you can’t get a man. I’d like to note that I’m making a distinction between not having a man and just simply not being able to get or retain one. Contrary to what all the women in your family tell you, there’s nothing wrong with not having a man, especially since the reason you don’t have one is because you’re not looking right now, you’re probably focused on your career, or you live in DC or Atlanta and all the good men are taken or f*ckin’ your friend. Hey, it happens. But there are those women out there that are looking for a man with a greater sense of urgency than the CIA looking for Osama Bin Laden and having the same amount of success. As is human nature, they usually blame someone else for their failures, and rarely take a look in the mirror. Lucky for them, the Rampin Shop proprietor is here to put them on.
Now from where I sit there are two different types of funky attitudes that stand out:
Ms. Sense of Entitlement
This is usually the chick that walks around like the world revolves them, or that her sh*t don’t stink, or the that the sun rises and sets on her candy ass, and in extreme cases, all of the above. Usually the same chick that’s trying to get her hands in ya pockets (and not the good way, which would be to rub your piece discretely while her hand’s in ya pocket). She just believes that she should be afforded every little whim her heart desires, no matter the inconvenience they cause others. As soon as they don’t get their way, you can expect a Level 5 temper tantrum. Grow up, shorty. Face it, sometimes things don’t go your way. Just because you spent way too much time in the mirror putting on your make up and ran out the house in a rush and forgot your debit card, does not mean that we should drive 45 minutes back to your place in Gotham City traffic to go back and get it. You weren’t going to pay anyway, what’s the big deal? The fate of this woman is that she usually bounces from dude to dude until thinking she’ll find one sucker out there, but usually she’s so sick with it, dudes smell that stank attitude coming from miles away.
The Straight Up B*tch
Since its inception, woman have hated to hear men use the word b*tch. Oddly enough, in the same amount of time, women have not hesitated to call a b*tch a b*tch. So you know if they smell it, we smell it too. I’m not a descendant of Merriam nor Webster, so I’m not here to give a definition of what a straight up b*tch is. No definition necessary. Your spidey sense goes off when you interact with one of these chicks, and you usually walk away from the situation thinking, “Damn, she a straight up B*TCH!” If this chicks has good friends, they usually tell her that she needs to check herself, but she doesn’t listen because she’s used to finding dudes that put up with her crap as long as she’s putting out. But as soon as the kimshee gets too funky, dude is in the wind and shorty is back on the block looking for another sucker.
According to the cliche, you can attract just as many flies with honey as you can with sh*t. Of course, there are some people that figure if sh*t does the job, you might as well use it. But the only problem with this theory is that while you can attract a fly with sh*t, when they fly buzzes off and hangs out with his peers at the Fly Saloon, his boys will say “Damn homie, you smell like SH*T!” And more than likely after enough heckling from the braintrust, your little fly won’t be buzzing be back anytime soon to savor that unpopular flavor. Hopefully at some point these young ladies will realize that despite their ability to bully and manipulate the loved ones you grew up with into seeing things your way, out here in the real world where people don’t give a f*ck about you, that’s going to get old after a while. My name isn’t Dr. J, but I have a quick fix for you, shorty. Every time you feel these symptoms of b*tchiness coming on, take a hot shot of shut-the-f*ck-up-and-think-before-you-speak, wash it down with some warm water and milk, and call me in the morning. And if for some odd reason I don’t answer, don’t leave me a funky voicemail inquiring as to why I didn’t answer the call. Remember, unless your name is Right Coast Lex Steele, the world does not revolve around you.
Hopefully I’ve been able to help some folks out. The road to recovery begins with acceptance. It’s not too late to change your stripes and get on the straight and narrow. I mean, you can keep doing it your way and getting the same results, or you can try it my way. In the meantime, since it’s Friday let’s sound off on these b*tches…I don’t care if it’s your sister, your homegirl, your current girl or the b*tch at the desk next to you.
The Only Funk I Like Is Parliament,
RightCoastLexSteele, In Fighting Trim