Okay:
The following is a true story...to the best of my recollection. I was drunk.
Last week I was at happy hour with Gill and Our White Homegirl. This drunk clinical therapist came and sat down at our table. A homely looking white woman with a hook nose and strawberry blond hair.
"You strike me as the insecure type," she blurted after a few minutes of causual conversation. "Always bragging and putting on a show to hide how inadequate you feel."
"Oh really?" I said. "And are you as adept at psychoanalyzing yourself?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact," she said. "Especially after three or four martinis."
"So tell me something about yourself."
"Well, I love black men."
"Is that right?"
"So why do you like black men so much?" I inquired. "Is it the penis thing?"
"Actually, no," she said. "The first black guy I was with had the smallest dick I had ever seen."
"So what is it?"
"They treat me better," she said. "More respectful. Nicer in general."
"Wow," I said. "I know some women who would disagree with you."
"It's not my fault if black men treat me good," she said. "They like my fat ass."
"Is that right?"
"Yep. I got me a fat ole ass, but my stomach ain't all big like most of the black girls."
Our White Homegirl's jaw dropped. Gill looked up from his glass of Patron. "Has anyone slapped you yet?" he asked in earnest.
"Not yet," she said. "But they get downright nasty. Call me all kinds of white bitches and whatnot. That's why my new rule is No Baby Mamma Drama."
At this point, I must admit, I was a bit offended. So, I decided to amuse myself at her expense. And as you know, I have a truly sick sense of humor.
"Well," I said, feeling sadistic, "Gill and I are both black men. Can we get some?"
"No way," she said. "I'm not fucking either one of you."
"I don't see why not," I said. "It's not going to get much better than this for you. We're studs."
"Well, I don't have no garauntee that I'm gonna be satisfied."
"Neither do we," I said. "You may have some mediocre pussy. In fact, you look like you have mediocre pussy."
"Honey, ain't nothing mediocre about my pussy."
"Well, you don't have to do both of us. You could pick one. The other one won't get jealous." Then Gill and I broke into a chorus of "Ain't No Fun (If The Homies Can't Have None)".
That's when she picked up her martini and left the table.
So, sisters. I was able to crush a stereotype, defend your honor and have a good hearty laugh at someone else's expense, all in the same breath. You're welcome.
That could only mean one thing. I should continue drinking and talking to strangers.
Thanks for reading.
GO GIANTS!!
GO OBAMA!!
JOIN THE BLACK BROADWAY ONLINE COMMUNITY
http://www.blackbroadway.ning.com/
Confession: I once made out with my cousin.
The following is a true story...to the best of my recollection. I was drunk.
Last week I was at happy hour with Gill and Our White Homegirl. This drunk clinical therapist came and sat down at our table. A homely looking white woman with a hook nose and strawberry blond hair.
"You strike me as the insecure type," she blurted after a few minutes of causual conversation. "Always bragging and putting on a show to hide how inadequate you feel."
"Oh really?" I said. "And are you as adept at psychoanalyzing yourself?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact," she said. "Especially after three or four martinis."
"So tell me something about yourself."
"Well, I love black men."
"Is that right?"
"So why do you like black men so much?" I inquired. "Is it the penis thing?"
"Actually, no," she said. "The first black guy I was with had the smallest dick I had ever seen."
"So what is it?"
"They treat me better," she said. "More respectful. Nicer in general."
"Wow," I said. "I know some women who would disagree with you."
"It's not my fault if black men treat me good," she said. "They like my fat ass."
"Is that right?"
"Yep. I got me a fat ole ass, but my stomach ain't all big like most of the black girls."
Our White Homegirl's jaw dropped. Gill looked up from his glass of Patron. "Has anyone slapped you yet?" he asked in earnest.
"Not yet," she said. "But they get downright nasty. Call me all kinds of white bitches and whatnot. That's why my new rule is No Baby Mamma Drama."
At this point, I must admit, I was a bit offended. So, I decided to amuse myself at her expense. And as you know, I have a truly sick sense of humor.
"Well," I said, feeling sadistic, "Gill and I are both black men. Can we get some?"
"No way," she said. "I'm not fucking either one of you."
"I don't see why not," I said. "It's not going to get much better than this for you. We're studs."
"Well, I don't have no garauntee that I'm gonna be satisfied."
"Neither do we," I said. "You may have some mediocre pussy. In fact, you look like you have mediocre pussy."
"Honey, ain't nothing mediocre about my pussy."
"Well, you don't have to do both of us. You could pick one. The other one won't get jealous." Then Gill and I broke into a chorus of "Ain't No Fun (If The Homies Can't Have None)".
That's when she picked up her martini and left the table.
So, sisters. I was able to crush a stereotype, defend your honor and have a good hearty laugh at someone else's expense, all in the same breath. You're welcome.
That could only mean one thing. I should continue drinking and talking to strangers.
Thanks for reading.
GO GIANTS!!
GO OBAMA!!
JOIN THE BLACK BROADWAY ONLINE COMMUNITY
http://www.blackbroadway.ning.com/
Confession: I once made out with my cousin.
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