Tuesday, July 27, 2010

I Died

I hate to see Heidi cry, again, but obviously this blog has no more life to it. I've moved on and over to tumblr. I still don't really know how to work the damn thing, but if any of you are interested in some short stories on my life about alcohol and regret, here's the link...

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Would you rather...

...get trapped inside Kat Stacks vagina...

...roll around in fake blood at the crack house with Lindsay Lohan...

...or have a baby with Kelis?

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Tuesday, May 4, 2010

F*ck Me and Tell Your Friends

Guest Writer: Bob and His Penis

It was my senior year in college, and I was living the good life. I’m active in my fraternity, my grades are good, I live comfortably, and the party life yielded its ultimate reward; pussy. I was getting so much ass, never did I have a need to masturbate.

If I wanted head, I called the knob slobber. If I wanted a fat ass, I called thick ems. And if I wanted lovin, I called the pseudo wifey. Or, I could go diving into the pool of groupies, closet freaks, lesbians, and big and tasties (I sorta have a fat fetish. Dunno why, just do)

To continue on, it was around 2 AM a couple days before my 22nd birthday. I was a computer science major, so I was up doing programming homework and playing Call of Duty on my PC. Ring Ring Ring…

Me: “Hey Susan* wassup”

Susan: “My homegirl wants to fuck you and have a threesome. You down?”

Me: “Very funny Susan. Tell Janet* I said hi, and I’m going to finish my work” click

Ring Ring Ring…

Me: “Yessss Susan?” I’m irritated now. Doesn’t she know that this game is important? That my homework is due at 11 the next morning?

Susan: “Why’d you hang up? We’re serious. You want some pussy or not?”

Here we go! I thought. She’s either playing or serious. Either way, I win (I was currently sleeping with Susan on a regular basis. She was the pseudo wifey)

Me: “Sure Susan. Be here in 10 minutes or I’m going to sleep.” -Reality being I would probably stay up for another hour, roam the halls, and look for someone to “chill with” aka bone and grope. Susan and Janet showed up in 6 minutes.

We have some cordial conversation, joke about parties and school, and then go to the bedroom. I take off Susan’s clothes first, trying to gauge Janet’s reactions. She takes my bottle of E&J out the fridge, says “ummmm, can we take some shots horny bastards?” We laugh, take a couple of shots, and everyone gets naked.

I tell Janet that she has to prove she’s not playing by stepping up to the mic (yes it was wack. So shoot me, let’s see how smooth you are with shots of E&J in your system.) Janet starts giving me head. Susan moves Janet to the side, and joins her. For the first time in my life, I am living my imaginary porno; two girls giving me head at once. I feel myself about to nut so move away to compose myself.

I go to my drawer to put on a condom, so my back is turned to the girls. When I turn around, Janet is eating Susan’s pussy on the bed. I start cheesing, creep behind Janet, look Susan in the eye (she smirks) and stick my dick in Janet, who immediately places her hand on my stomach. I start slowly at first, but the liquor and excitement has me on retard mode, so I'm eventually thrusting like a mad man. I’m fucking hard and fast like a man possessed by demons and the finest of the finest crack cocaine. Janet stops slurping, starts moaning, then starts yelling “fuck me nigga! You better not get soft! Fuck me nigga! Get that pussy!”

Now I’ve been with aggressive women. But two aggressive women goes from excitement to well, fear after too much aggression. Throughout the night (it’s a blur after the aforementioned moments) I’m eating two girls out at once, licking toes, getting every fluid possible on either my groin and my face, and eventually picking up Janet, putting her on my shoulders, and slurping like a pothead with cotton mouth. I nutted 3 times and passed out.

I dunno what it’s called when everyone is giving and getting oral, but I do know that it felt good (except for getting sprayed with female ejaculate on my nose. Maybe I should listen when a woman is trying to move away while I’m eating her out. Fuck it, I liked it. Yes, I am a nasty man.)

We all pass out on my bed around 4(it’s a supertwin. Not too much room, thank goodness they weren’t big and tasties. Susan was a thickem though.). The girls leave my dorm room around 5. The next morning, everyone in operations research asked me how my threesome was the night before; Janet spent the entire morning telling everyone that she had a threesome with Bob the Alpha the night before.

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Monday, May 3, 2010

I still exist!

Damn. I've neglected this blog. Like Lindsay's parents did her... *sigh*

Find me here.


Thursday, March 4, 2010

Paula Patton is offended, are you?

In a recent interview with Women’s Health Magazine Paula Patton said, “I find [the term biracial] offensive. It’s a way for people to separate themselves from African-Americans….a way of saying ‘I’m better than that’.

I’m black because that’s the way the world sees me. People aren’t calling Barack Obama biracial. Most people think there’s a black president.”

Source: Necole Bitchie.com: Is The Term “Biracial” Offensive?

As a biracial individual I get what Patton is saying as far as how we are perceived. My mom, who is white, said that she sees Obama as biracial. However, I told her although she might see things that way, to the majority Obama is just another black guy.

In fact, coming from my personal experiences, most people when they first meet me assume that I am just a light skinned black person. I know this because people tell me this. They also say that after I open my mouth I sound more like surfer Barbie vs Boquweesha which verifies my “other” qualities. This might be because I’m educated, but another reason might also be because OMG, my mom is like totally a white lady.

I don’t find the term biracial offensive. I’d find words like mutt, half-breed, cross-breed, nigger, etc. offensive before biracial. Why? Because I am more than one race and we live in a society where we have to label everything. So if I had to choose, biracial seems the most endearing.

I can’t help who I am. This is how I came out. When I first meet someone the first words out of my mouth are never, “Hi, I’m Ms Puddin, I’m biracial and I must tell you this because I think that if you’re not mixed you are not as good as me.” I think that Patton has a mixed complex that she needs to work out. I have nothing to hide. My multicultural race is something to embrace…

Wait a minute, timeout. Is it that deep? Is this even worth a discussion? There might be more people out there who would agree with Patton and or are indeed offended. Therefore, I’m wondering maybe the term biracial is equivalent now to when black people used to be called colored or negroes? Or is this going to be something blown way out of proportion?

Also find this article here.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Beige people still causing havoc in 2010

I was in San Francisco a couple weeks ago and I met this guy, (we’ll call him Luke), who was from Philadelphia. In the midst of our conversation I made a joke about somebody once telling me I resembled Prince. Luke then claimed that he had never heard of Prince prior to watching select episodes of the Dave Chappelle Show.

He also didn’t get my joke :(

I was stunned and refused to believe this nonsense. Who are you and what planet do you live on where short mystical beige people with musical talent elude your existence? How shameful.

However, not too soon after my shock wore off, he rebutted me with, “We’ll have you ever heard of Jim Morrison?” The name sounded familiar, but I’m not going to lie, I had to Google before I was like, “Oh yeah, THAT white guy.”

And of course, this launched a debate.

For a brief moment it was very important for the both of us to justify why the other person’s idol was so elusive. Yes, Luke is white and I’m half black. And although it shouldn’t matter it still remains relevant.

I wondered could the only common ground among the races as far as entertainment be Michael Jackson and the rap genre. Are Idols among races only relevant when they are doing something ignorant? Or is race not important and I’m making a similar Kanye West-like bold statement, about how black people don’t know white music and white people just don’t care?

[Insert Kanye shrug here]

Anyway, the state of music over the last decade, as in it suffers to deliver quality and inspire, is one thing people of all races could potentially agree on. Therefore, I think that it is important everyone knows who the artists were before all this musical coonery. In honor of Black History Month I am going to dedicate the rest of this post to a short tutorial of who Prince is...

Meet Prince aka The artist formerly known as Prince: Singer, song singer, songwriter, musician, and actor.

Favorite color: Purple

Controversial: Yes

Famous for: Purple Rain, ruffles, deep intriguing voice, playa status and permy goodness.

Awards: 7 Grammys, A Golden Globe and an Academy Award.

Songs you may know: “When Doves Cry,” “Kiss” or go figure, “Purple Rain.”

For other random facts on in regards to Black History Month go here:


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Thursday, January 21, 2010

If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It

In a recent interview Heidi Montag told Extra that she wanted to make her boobs a size ‘H’ for Heidi. This was surprising to me, only because I wasn’t aware Heidi was up to the letter ‘H’ in the alphabet.

Heidi, who is only 23, is already a triple D after her second breast augmentation. And I’m guessing those breasts don’t feel nothing like sand. Nor do they feel like juicy clumps of fat as God intended.

By now I’m sure the news of Heidi’s interview with People Magazine on her 10 hour plastic surgery procedure has been well spread. If not, recent photos of Heidi should suffice. She looks like a young Donatella Versace blow up doll. Don’t stand too close folks she might be exuding her toxins.

Yikes is right.

Bitch if you need 10 hours of cosmetic surgery to fix things just give up. Find something more satiable in your life besides your looks. Even her douche of a husband Spencer Pratt tried to talk her out of it beforehand. He suggested she might need therapy and thought she was losing her mind to go through with it.

I always joke around about getting my boobs blown up, but I think if it came down to it and I had the opportunity I’d pass it up. Although if they can find a way to make my big toe smaller so the nail lady doesn’t gawk at it when I get a pedicure, that would be nice…

If you could get work done, would you? Or have you and for what reason?

Friday, December 18, 2009

All the things that Tiger did wrong: A guide to pimping hoes and being a billionaire without getting caught up...

...And not ending up killed by a crazy bitch you gave the A++ Dick game too. Which is a no no. Why you giving A++ Dick away all willy nilly? That shit is reserved for Christmas, Anniversary, and Festivus boo boo.

We all know everyone has a freaky side. Of course it's usually the ones we least expect it from who have a whole closet full of freak ass freak in them. Although it’s still hard to imagine Tiger Woods (of all people) saying, "I want to f*ck the shyt out of you, you dirty whore nigga lovin bitch. You want this Tiger dack down your throat? A healthy dosage of Tiger uppercut?", he sort of did. Kinky.

All professional athletes have hoes. Even Kobe has bitches. He just has smarter ones (with ID) under contract to shut them the f*ck up. Marrying a million dollar man, extra pussy is definitely and more than likely included. Does Kool-Aid need sugar? Thought so.

A bitch on the side will get everything her heart desires. She just has to work on two things: A quick kneel and silence. It's all about balancing and stabilizing the pussy on the side so there isn't any confusion or swinging gold clubs.

First of all, call your hoes through a burner (temporary, pre-paid cell phone for the urban illiterate) and never leave voicemails. The whole voicemail situation is baffling anyway. Where in the game do you wait for your hoes to call back? Exactly.

Messing with white crazy women will always get you in trouble. Invariably use black or minoritybroke or bougie women and keep them on payroll in order to keep the peace. Don't forget to change your number every couple months and have a rotation of five hoes every two months, only keeping one as your bottom bitch. Never, ever say, "I love you." Bottom line, don't get attached or catch feelings playa.

Throw lavish parties and invite your hoes. This ensures they sleep with other men you know and takes the heat off of you. Know when to cut contact for a few months ignoring hoes and keep the wife satisfied. One major thing Tiger made the mistake of was lying. You can't lie to women. If Elin is that naive of a woman he should have told her from the jump.

And last but not least do not get killed by your side piece or main lady!!!! NO! DO NOT DO IT! IT MAKES NO SENSE FOR THESE WOMEN TO LEAVE YOU SLUMPED AND LUMPED IN A CORNER!!!

Chris Henry


“Fell” from the back of a pickup truck, killed by fiancĂ©. Why did you jump in the Truck Chris? We know you got ups, but you argued with the WRONG one. Let her drive off, she’ll come back…you got money.

Steve McNair


Shot in the face by side piece. Why did you have a piece around your side piece Steve? Always strapped is a song, not a real lifestyle Steve. Plaxico went to jail. You got shot in the face. They getting rid of you nigras one by one in the NFL.

Arturo “Thunder” Gatti


“Hung himself” after an “altercation” with his wife. Police let her go. Why? Cause she was smarter than you Thunder. Shoulda used that thunder down under to subdue a bitch but noooooooooooooooooooo you snapped your own damn neck...

Playas, please have an entourage. I know pro ballers are dumb, but where are the nigra posses? Where is that illicit friend known for getting hoes in and out? See above all the advice given, get you some hanger-on’s that know how and when to do the things you should but can’t do because of endorsements and your squeaky clean image. Every good girl has a whore friend. Every nerd has a bad ass gangstalicious cousin. What happened to Tiger’s? Kobe’s? Shaq’s?

This is in no way advocating that people cheat or have extramarital affairs. Nope, not going down that road. You signed that dotted line, gave away your right to fuck random broads (except for Will and Jada. Weirdos, but smart.), tough it out anti-playa. But please be smart Mr. or Ms. pro athlete/rapper/local celebrity/lime-light. Because we will laugh at you. We’ll mourn you, but we’ll laugh. Trust.

In conclusion, there isn’t any true way to handle side pieces/jump offs/hoes/bitches/i.e. f*ck buddy. You can have an extra bff, string along Stedman, and let everyone believe that you’re bi. Or maybe, just maybe, be faithful to your wife/husband. Cuz Lord knows we need more of Ozzie Davis and Ruby Dee and less of Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee.

This post was written by MsPuddin, inspired by the thoughts of Rob Holliday (B.K.A rmhoffa, but uses his legal name since he’s on a radio show and HAD to put his freakin link right here.) You can also find it here, along with some more ignant shyt.