Friday, August 22, 2008

Whats Mine Is Ours and Whats Yours Is Yours

This may be a little TMI for some of you, but as I was taking a shower today a thought crossed my mind. So I ran to my computer, butt naked, and typed this up so that I wouldn't forget :-)

Please keep in mind that I am only speaking from my own experiences. Do not send in any of those angry black man emails, because we're not for it.

In a booming age of independent women who have their own homes, drive their own cars, two jobs, work hard...you know....bad broads; why are there so many men quick to switch it up when the tables are turned? Some men run into hardships and a lot of good women are there, having their backs no matter what the situation may be. Perhaps you lost your job, lost a leg or just lost your damn mind. Whatever the situation, we're always there. When we're the bread winners, everything accumulated becomes ours...us..we...without a second thought. We open-heartedly support our men without contempt or complaint. Nor do we place claim on everything that our hard-earned money has purchased. However, as soon as you negros get on the come-up, and are finally able to provide for yourself and your family, you want to throw in our face what you've done. So what you bought that peanut butter?!... you didn't have anything to say when I was the #1 bread winner up in this joint. We all know that peanut butter is no good without bread (unless you use crackers, but they're the reason why you can't get anywhere now right?)

Here is a thought for you silly negros. A man and a woman are made to help and support one another. This is not a competition, its a joint venture. If you want your ego fed, take it to Bob's Big Boy because I'm not the one. If you want a wife, who is supportive and understands that a relationship is functional when both parties are growing TOGETHER then you've come to the right place. However, if you want to be NEEDED and depended upon then call up Plies and ask him for the spot to find all the bust-it-babies (not to be confused with busted babies, which will be discussed in a later post). We're tired of your man codes, and boy games. So until you grow the hell up, get your crap together and learn how to be a man, don't holla holla holla at myself or any of my friends.


In the previously quoted words of a scholarly man..."if you ain't on sit down"

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