Ms Puddin Gets Fucked

Ok I gave the link to this blog out to too many people I know. When I'm going about my day I always get a phone call or someone coming up to me like, "Hay Ms Puddin', I just got finished reading about the time you got freaky with a one-legged midget, some whipped cream and a strobe light."

"Wait. What? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I can explain."

I can't write about anything anymore. There are no more juicy stories about sex or dumpster babies, because I'm afraid somebody might turn me in. It sucks. I mean, I guess I don't mind people coming up to me, but I'd prefer it was to offer me a suggestion on where to find my panties, without judging on how I lost them.

So I am going to tell a sex story right now, but for my reputation's sake, lets pretend it happened a long time ago. In fact, let's just say I am still a virgin. I'm a virgin telling a sex story that happened a long, long,long time ago.

Ok great, glad we got that out the way. Now I can go ahead and say I'm good in bed. Honestly, the one-legged midget didn't have any complaints. So you can understand how surprised I was when I was having sex with an ex (of a long, long, long) time ago, who fell asleep when I was on top!

He did mention before we started getting it on he was drunk, tired and just wanted to go to sleep. But of course I ignored him. I busted out my whips, chains and started going all Kim Kardashian on his ass. He was good for about ten minutes, making some strange gurgling noises. Then all of a sudden he sounded like a fat man enjoying a pretzel. He started snoring! Are you serious!? I must of slapped the sh*t out of him!

"Wake up!" I yelled. His eyes popped open and he looked around, startled. "My bad babe," he said.

Yeah your bad. I had better sex with the one-legged midget and disco bal--I mean strobe light...

Happy Hump Day!!

Photo Album I: Why is Ms Puddin' So Special?

I have a request from Don to post more pictures of myself. I'm not sure why he wants to see more photos of me, but the fact that he wears XL Magnum condoms is a good enough reason.(Don, call me).

Anyway, after I got his request for more photos, I started flipping through my photo albums. I wanted to make sure that if I posted pictures of myself, mainly for people who don't see me everyday, they know I'm a hottie.

Now as I started sifting through the craziness, I noticed I have a dilemma. Most of my pictures make me look special. There is even one where I am wearing a helmet. The pictures get a little better towards the end, but how can I argue I'm not as weird as I look, when I look like this...

or feeling up a sculpture in Vegas

or giving two very enthusiastic thumbs up...

oh and of course here is me in my helmet...

Aha! I found a normal picture! Here I am. Ms Fresh Banana Puddin'...

Tough Break

Ok here's the deal. I don't have the Internet right now. I took my laptop home for the holiday, for my dad to "fix" (he's a computer technician). He got the viruses off, but I can't go online. Plus, I've spent the last five days intoxicated, reading and writing has become very difficult.

Over my holiday weekend I:

-woke up and couldn't find my underwear
-found out there is no Santa ( mom and dad aren't buying us gifts this year. How the hell do we celebrate Xmas and Hanukkah and nobody is getting sh*t! wtf?)
-got several sugar daddy offers
-met the man of my dreams, but didn't give him my number...
-drank enough alcohol to put the corner store out of business and make Amy Winehouse look good. (AA sounds awesome, I could really use some free coffee)
-watched the Raiders win? wait. what? Yes, I watched the Raiders win!
-discovered 2girls 1cup, but I like this version better...(it's PG, I promise)...



I also posted on my other blog. Check it out and let me know what you think!

MsP

Thanks!!

Well folks, this is my first Thanksgiving in the blogging industry. I feel so accomplished. I noticed that a couple other bloggers have posted what they are thankful for. So I thought I would say a few words myself. Plus I’m sure everyone needs a break from my debauchery and open anger towards the word, vagina. So, without further ado, I am thankful for…

the ability to make good decisions…

Tylenol…


good credit…


McDonald’s bacon, egg, N cheese bagel…

Alicia Key’s new album “As I Am”…

Reggie Bush's stomach...

And last but not least, my blog readers and writers. You're f*ckin' awesome!!

Have a happy holiday everyone! I am out of town, yeah boi! So I will catch up on blogs later…peace and hair grease!

Renaming Our Lady Lips

* Warning!! This post contains a high volume usage of the word VAGINA reader discretion is advised.

I hate the word vagina. Why does such an amazing piece of anatomy get the name vagina? Life is so unfair. It had to be a man who came up with the idea of naming an important part of the female body, vagina. I mean penis isn’t much better, but vagina makes me want to go out and give blue balls to any guy who disagrees with me. (Is there even such a thing as blue balls?)

Anyway, the two strips of bacon, guarding the cum dumpster is already a scary place to some. Aside from a pimply 13-year-old virgin, boy with braces (who I wouldn’t want near my twat in the first place), there are women out there afraid to look at their own kitty kat. If anyone hasn’t seen the Tyra episode of the 28-year-old woman who is afraid to look at her own cooch, please youtube it. There is also an episode of “Sex and the City” when Charlotte was afraid to look at her poon.

I’m terrified of spiders, but they aren’t a part of my body. How can someone be afraid of the same anatomy they popped out of and use everyday? (I’m talking about going pee people. Get your minds out the gutter!) The v-spot is such a powerful piece of equipment. Learn to love it ladies. Embrace it. Take control of your jerky strips! It took me a long time to realize that pussi has power.

Why are we aren’t we more inclined to get to know the monkey? Get a Brazilian, rub some oil on that puppy, spray some scented lotion and call it a day. Soon I’m talking meal tickets, diamonds, shoes, the ability to spend seven days with your head spinning around in a circle while shooting venom and getting away with it. Guys leave the toilet seat up and barely live to see another day. Woman can bleed for seven days out of their velvet treasures and not die. That’s impressive.

It just sucks that we have PC muscles and babies and all this greatness happens from a something called the vagina? Once we become one with our boxes, we need to come up with a better name than vagina.

Suggestions???

Alcohol + Hot Date = Bad Idea

In case no one went out to celebrate on my behalf yesterday, it’s ok, because I did. Well, actually I was on a date and had one to many glasses of wine. I always drink too much on dates. Then I wake up the next morning curious as to why a tub of Crisco is smeared all over my body and “I’ll take you to the candy shop,” is on repeat in my stereo.

Last night wasn’t any different. And yes for those of you who seem so concerned about my love life, I’m dating again. Between all this bitching and moaning about being single, I love it. Really I do. It’s a blessing. I’m enjoying my freedom. (Cue the violins, because this lonely bitch needs to get laid). But to put a few of my reader’s minds at rest (*hint*, *hint*) I want to say that for the record, I met someone. He’s a cool cat. I appreciate him. He’s on salary and has good credit.

I guess I would call last night a double date. It was my date and I, his boy and his boy’s “friend”. (Whatever that means). We all went to the comedy club because my date said he had got an email Bruce Bruce was performing.

When we got there it was really Bruce something or other from, “Last Comic Standing”. I don’t know, but he was a tall white guy, not a fat, black Bruce Bruce. Apparently, he only performs on Fridays.

The guys wanted to leave, but I talked them into staying. I told them if we got drunk enough it would be a great show! Of course most comedy clubs have a two-drink minimum anyway. I think it's to make the comedians funnier. Whatever, I’ll pass your minimum and raise you drunk. Man I was drunk last night.

After the show, I hugged every single guy that went on stage and told them their act was the best. Then we went to grab a bite to eat and I think I got more food around my mouth than actually in it. I remember my date wiping the sides of my mouth for me. (Thanks man). There was also a local band playing at the food joint. I was, of course, the only one dancing.

It was around this time he took me home. I hope he calls again…

It’s a celebration bitches!

This is my 100th blog post! Yay! (Cue pointless applause and excitement)

I never really told the story of how Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’ became so fresh. So in celebration, I’m going to tell it now…

It was about three years ago, when some friends of mine and I were headed to the club. It just so happened I was chillin’ with the chocolate sistas that night. I stood out like a Mexican chick in the cast of "Flava of Love." I was the only light skinned one in the group that night. I didn’t even make this observation, until we all hopped out of the car and started heading to the club.

On our way we experienced a number of guys jockin’ the goodies. Yelling all kinds of things out at us, trying to get our attention. Then there was this one guy, (there’s always that one) who shouted, “You! Hey you!”

"I think he’s talking to you,” my girl said. She turned and looked at me.

He got closer to us, walked right up to me and said, “Damn baby, lookin’ so good, like fresh banana puddin’, makin’ me hungry.”

We all started cracking up. Seriously?

And there you have it, short and sweet. Since this is my 100th post, I give anyone who reads this the ok on going out and celebrating on my behalf. Even though it's Monday…

An open letter to my cell phone…

Dear Razr,

We have been through so much. Ever since I got drunk last spring and left my ex razr in the bathroom of some bar, we’ve been inseparable.

When we first met I used to love your shiny coat and flashy buttons. Now you’re kind of rusty and the “off” button doesn’t work. Sometimes I wonder if I had gotten a different color, if things would have been different? Of all the buttons not to work, why did you have to stop that one? It’s the most important button. It's how I hang up and turn my phone on and off. But I guess all the buttons are equally important. I mean, where would I be without the number seven?

Anyway, I’m getting off topic.

I know I am becoming really good at dropping you at least once a day, but its not my fault you are so slippery. It’s just so frustrating, because when I do try and put you away in a safe place, like my purse, you always manage to go straight to the bottom. Where I can't find you. Which is really irritating when my phone rings.

And sometimes when I am talking through you, you just shut off. No warning, no explanation, just off. I think it’s time we call this relationship quits, because this makes it hard for me to talk to other people. I don’t know if there is some sort of jealousy you have towards me, but you need to get over it. It’s rare a hot guy calls me and when one does I don’t want to end up a victim of a “dropped call” commercial.

Consider this letter a warning. Any more problems and I’m calling my insurance company.

Sincerely,

Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’

Attacked again...

...this time by a Meme, from the lovely, bella...

Four things I like to cook
1. I
2. don't
3. cook
4. but turkey tacos are my specialty

Four qualities I love in people
1. a sense of humor
2. the ability to keep it real
3. passionate about something
4. people who have a good sense of who they are and where they come from

Four places I have been
1. NYC
2. Hawaii
3. Las Vegas
4. Houston

Four things in my bedroom
1. stereo
2. pictures
3. clothes
4. a mess

Four dirty words I like
1. wouldn’’t
2. you
3. like
4. to know

Four people I’m taggin', prune juice, miss kitty, miss pocachontaz and steph…

PS- CHECK ME OUT! (Don this is for you)...

The ABCs of Watching Porn

Creepy older guy is at it again. No not you, that other guy…

Apparently one of the most recent problems in public libraries is “second-hand porn.” It’s not like second-hand smoke, because it can’t kill you, but “oh my eyes! my eyes!”

The concern is that since the library is a public place that serves the community, anyone can come in and use the facilities. That means any guy (girl?) off the street can come use the computer to download porn and whack off. There have been a few instances where officials have actually caught a man strokin’ his shaboinka in a public library.

Another concern of “second-hand porn” is from parents who want to filter the computers so that their kids don’t come across any unexpected pop ups. But if we start filtering the computers the next victim could be their child. Hey I’m just saying. Don’t shoot the messenger. And little Johnny and Betty Sue are going to learn someday. Might as well make it educational. I used to learn from pop up books. There can’t be that much of a difference.

Well, in the meantime, I’ve come up with a solution I think would solve this problem. The library should have a Champagne room. Why not? If we can give people off the streets a place to come in and get a load off, it might reduce some of the crime rate. Of course there is “no sex in the Champagne room,” only self-gratification.

And while we’re at it, why not go ahead and put a bar or lounge in the library too. Libraries are too quiet. Oh and a stripper pole. If there is a stripper pole right in the children’s room, it might scare the children out of the library altogether and we won’t have anything to worry about.

See how good I am at problem solving?

second-hand porn

Bitter Much?

“Hi my name is Ms. Fresh Banana Puddin’ and I am a blogaholic.”

“Hi Ms Fresh Banana Puddin.”

“Hi.”

I wrote a bunch of posts over the weekend and decided not to post them. I think I lost my blogging mojo. I can’t think of sh*t to write about. So instead I just highlighted my weekend, which was actually kind of depressing…

-First of all I need to borrow someone’s football team. I didn’t get to watch the Raiders v. Bears game yesterday, but my cousin called me with an update. He said both teams suck, because watching the game was like “watching two turtles fight until almost the end.” Getting your ass kicked is one thing, but getting it kicked in slow motion is another. Come on guys get it together. Bears 17. Raiders 6. Puddin’ 0.

-It rained on Saturday. I hate the rain. The rain is never like in the movies. When my hair and face get wet, it’s not sexy. It’s really scary actually. Liza Minnelli scary. It doesn’t make me want to dance and sing. It makes me want to strangle my neighbors or get drunk. Kind of like how the holidays make people suicidal, the rain makes me have conversations with myself. And I have nothing nice to say…

-I had to go to one of my best girlfriend’s baby shower this weekend. Don’t get me wrong. If she’s happy, I’m happy. But everyone oooed and awwwed over diapers, for an hour. Please. Kill. Me. Now. Remind me if I ever have children that the theme is going to be black. I don’t care if it’s a girl. I want black blankets, black balloons and Bloody Marys. I think I’m just bitter, because this is just the beginning. I have the feeling the next five years are going to be full of baby showers and weddings.

-I requested this weekend off a month ago, so I could go to the baby shower and whatnot. My job called me, not once, but twice to see if I could come in.

-I did finally get to see American Gangster. I liked it. Maybe I liked it because I heard it was awful and the people who didn’t like it had it on a pedestal before they saw it. Anyway, it’s another Denzel movie to add to the list…

E = mc Such N Such

I used to be really bad at math.The last math class I took was remedial. Seriously, that’s what the class was called, “remedial math.” And I still struggled. Back in high school I took algebra twice and geometry three times, before I was able to pass. So it’s a good thing I can right.

Well anyway, I came across a new blogger named Thembi, who lead me to this site and I think I totally understand math now…

Puddin' Post

Please don't stop the funny...

So I’m sure everyone has heard by now about the Writers Guild’s strike. Unless of course you are a reality TV kind of person, this probably has affected you. Or is going to affect you. I know I can’t go without my Grey’s Anatomy or Desperate Housewives fix. And some of my favorite female characters have been brought to life by writers…

Karen Walker: Will and Grace

“Martini, honey, and don’t waste any space with those olives!”

I love this bitch. She’s always dressed for the occasion wearing her expensive black designer clothing and hairpiece. She never fails to entertain us by washing her prescription meds down with a martini before 11 a.m. and talking sh*t about all the "little people".

Samantha Jones: Sex and the City

“The country runs better with a good looking man in the White House. Look what happened with Nixon…no one wanted to fuck him, so he fucked everyone else.”

Doesn’t everyone wish they could be a little bit more like Samantha? She’s a bold career woman who has a tendency to get what she wants. She’s promiscuous and classy. Go figure?

Christina Yang: Grey’s Anatomy

“You are eight feet tall. Your boobs are perfect. Your hair is down to there. If I was you I would just walk around naked all the time. I wouldn't have a job, I wouldn't have any skills, I wouldn't even know how to read. I would just be... naked.”

Christina is dry, bitter and has SARCASM stamped on her forehead. And thanks to WGA, her wit comes naturally, almost like performing open-heart surgery.

Gabrielle Solis: Desperate Housewives

“The only person more self-centered than me is Carlos, he's so self-centered he doesn't even know how self-centered I am."

There are two things Gabby does best, cheating on her husband and talking about herself. Sounds exhausting, when does she find the time to be desperate?

Signature Face

Those who read my blog might already know that I have a signature move. I did some more observational research on my camera whoring and discovered I also have a signature face. It might also explain why I am single…

Yes people like to grab my boobs, don't be jealous...

Funky Town in My Face

I’m starting to get the feeling people are giving up. They wake up in the morning and just say, “f*ck it.”

I’m not talking about someone doing a nosedive off a seven-foot building, after chasing their last prescription of Paxil with a bottle of vodka. I’m talking about hygiene people. People be FUN-KY! Not James Brown funky, Pepe LePew funky.

I shouldn’t have to hold my breath when trying to have a conversation with someone. And when I take a step back, this maneuver does not invite their funky ass to take a step closer. Back up!

In addition, on my way home from work yesterday, I saw a man pull his pants down around his ankles and take a whiz. It was in broad daylight out on the corner of the street! The weird part is I can only be grateful it was number one instead of number two.

I’m still a little traumatized. And so I thought I would go over the basics of cleanliness for folks. Please pay close attention to the photos below...

Item A: Soap.

A very simple mechanism used to clean the body. Works best with water. Most people use it in the shower. For best results, it is recommended to shower daily.

Item B: A toothbrush and toothpaste. (Can’t have one without the other)!

These tools are used to clean teeth. If they fail to work, other alternative solutions are, mouthwash, gum, or perhaps a mint.

Item C: Deodorant.

This product works best after showering. Apply to the underarm area. I’m not sure, just a thought here. But if one were to continuously cake this stuff on, without showering, it might not have the same effect.

These are just some basic steps. When people get more advanced I can go into detail about perfume, body sprays, lotions, etc. Right now lets stick to the basics and try to stay oh so fresh and so clean…

Is it too late to join the NRA?

I’m in a bad mood. People suck. No really, they really do suck. Except for the people who read this blog. And the people at McDonalds, who make that bacon, egg and cheese bagel. Everyone else, just sucks...

I had to work the Colts v. Patriots game today. Three hours of drunk guys yelling obscenities and trying to look up my skirt. Not that I’m complaining. It’s probably the most play I had all week, but a girl can only handle so much testosterone before she has to go somewhere and bitch about it.

The reason I’m pissed off is because I had my first walk out ever when serving drinks. I mean, I don’t get it, if you don’t have money, then don’t run up a tab of over $100 in liquor. Yes this jerktard had a $100 tab of Kettle One and tonics. I should have splashed the last one in his face to remind him that he was a broke ass drunk BLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP…

I even handed him the bill. He looked at it and walked right the f*ck out. His boy was like oh no he’ll be right back. He just went to have a smoke. Um twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t come back. What was he smoking? 100s? A blunt? Crack? I didn’t think so. I knew he wasn't coming back.

I got lucky (and I have a boobs and a vagina) because the other guys he was sitting with ended up paying for the bill and they still tipped me. (Plus I told them I would kick all of their asses if they didn’t). However, I think they left my job with plans of giving a real good ass whoopin’.

I know I would have. I wish I would go out with my friends and they would run up a tab and walk out. Better stay your broke ass home!

Unbeweavable!

I got my hair done! 18 inches baby! I look like a video h---ok enough of that…but my new hair is bangin' and attracting attention. No not THAT kind of attention, THIS kind of attention…

As I was leaving the hair salon, three older ladies who were on their way to purchase some hair bombarded me. They stopped me on my way to my car to hold a press conference about my hair.

“Where did you get it from?” “Who did it?” How long did it take?”

“Ladies, ladies, ladies, please I will have time for questions later,” I said, as I flung my hair over my shoulder like I was in a Pantene Pro-v commercial.

I led them into the hair shop, next door to the salon, to point out the kind of hair I was sporting. One of the ladies began gushing again, “Honey your hair is so beautiful, now you got to go and get yourself a boyfriend.”

Excuse me? I was not wearing my, “I don’t have a boyfriend T-shirt?” How did she know I was single?

“That is if you are single,” she added.

Before I could respond, one of the other ladies chimed in, “oh no, forget a boyfriend just get married. You don’t need a boyfriend, she said shaking her head, you need a marriage.”

Ok I did not get my hair did with aspirations of getting married and having babies. And in order to get married don’t you have to get a boyfriend first? I thought the days of arranged marriages were over? Actually at this rate I would take that arranged marriage, but I’d have to be getting something out of the deal besides babies.

Back in the hair shop, twenty minutes later, after explaining the process of how-to-have-Puddin’-hair to the trio, I finally escaped to my car.

From now on I’m sticking to bars. Sports bars. And wherever else hair talk doesn’t turn into marriage…