Hello, World. I’ve been gone but I’m back. I have something that is weighing heavy on my chest so I’m going to set it free. Pay close attention. Take notes if need be.
In a previous lesson, I explained the rules of being a side piece. Now, I want to talk about the rules to keeping the side piece safe from your partner while maintaining your primary relationship. In actuality, you are saving your partner from pain and yourself from a potential life crisis as well. I’m not condoning being unfaithful, but let’s be real. Not everyone is faithful. Period. We can pray to the heavens until our knees bleed that we have a partner committed to you and only you but that isn’t going to stop your partner from fucking around. Anyway, the game is not to be told but I’m tired of you sloppy ass cheaters. I might catch some heat behind this post, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
Cheating is a very dangerous game especially when feelings and/or marriage licenses are involved. When I say dangerous, I’m not referring to your relationship ending. No. I’m referring to your life possibly ending. What you have to understand is some people don’t know how to properly manage their feelings of anger, hurt, frustration, etc. Imagine having a beautiful family with the person you are in love with and you come across naked pussy pictures in their text inbox. Imagine seeing text messages where your loved one is begging to fuck another person while they haven’t even attempted to sex you down in months. You would be ready to burn the entire city down and I don’t blame you. But let’s think about the third party in the equation. Not calling them innocent or whatever because they might’ve known the situation and played their position. Nevertheless, ya’ll selfish muthafuckas need to care about their welfare.
Your side piece is eating her frosted mini-wheats , sipping her orange juice, minding her damn business when a blocked number starts calling her repeatedly. She’s getting harassed via Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram all because your dumb ass forgot to lock your phone or delete your texts. Yeah, I hear you hoes sucking your teeth saying that’s what she deserves. Whatever. If you were taking care of business in the first fucking place your man wouldn’t need her wet ass. Anywho, that’s small shit. Let’s say you’re fucking with a sick bitch. She’s liable to find out where the side piece lives and Google maps her crib. Now, your wife is sitting outside of the side piece’s crib with your body in the trunk.
Ya’ll think it’s a game. Watch the fucking news. It’s 2013. Niggas ain’t getting divorces. They’re getting life insurance policies and taking you the fuck out. As a former side piece, I urge you sloppy ass men and women to delete all correspondence. That’s what the police call a paper trail. Even if it’s electronic. Stop asking for pictures and shit. What you need that for? You were just fucking two days ago. You know what their body parts look like. Use condoms. Even if you stop caring about your primary relationship keep the side piece’s information safe. If you’re not built for it, don’t cheat. It’s really that simple.
For those questioning me, I’ve been on both sides of the fence. Judge me if you want. I’m here to save lives, not gain your approval.
Dope, A Former Sidepiece
Something crossed my mind the other day and I figured I would share it with you. Men are always quick to tell their main chick to get on birth control so they can slide up in the drawers without a condom. According to the movie Ted, niggas aren’t getting married because the economy is fucked up. So my guess is they’re also trying to cut down on costs by not purchasing condoms. All that is fine and dandy. Just make sure you both are getting tested. But my issue isn’t having unprotected sex with someone you are dealing with exclusively. Raw-dogging kind of comes with the territory in a lot of serious relationships. My question is: when is it okay to have a conversation about getting off of the birth control?
Do you bring it up over dinner? Before sex? Right after sex? Should it be sent via text or in person? Should you subliminally tweet it and see if he catches it? Whichever you choose make sure there is a conversation before you decide you are going to stop. Don’t just pretend you “forgot” to take your pill for three weeks straight. That’s that shit I don’t like. One guy even said that being straight forward is key.
Would her reasons for stopping even be relevant? Some say if it’s due to health issues then it’s acceptable. But what if she feels like her biological clock is ticking and she wants a baby? Are you going to flip a table and force feed her birth control pills? Or would you actually listen to her reasoning and have an adult conversation? Truth of the matter is the majority of men are not going to listen to anything after the words “stop taking birth control” and “baby”. Anything in between or after will sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher speaking.
My only advice is to listen to his reasoning if he declines the offer and respect it. If the reasoning is pure bullshit, then you need to reconsider who you want to have a baby by. Every situation is different. Some people come into relationships with kids and don’t want anymore. Some just don’t want children. And then there are those that want to knock you up but their financial situation isn’t where they would like it to be (because of the economy, remember). Honestly, a conversation about reproducing should come up when you decide to have unprotected sex. I’m here to tell you the withdrawal method does not work.
I read somewhere that niggas don’t read, so I won’t make this long. There is no perfect way to tell a man you want to go half on a baby. Just make sure you have the conversation prior to stopping. To my men, don’t go checking her birth control pill pack behind her back like the dude on Lakeview Terrace. If you don’t trust her, stop fucking her. And ladies, if you pull a stunt like the wife in the movie, expect to get body slammed. Hopefully, after the baby is born.
Have you ever slept with a man thinking of his best friend? Well if you have, this is for you. I want you hoes to live better and be greater. There is no reason why you are smashing an entire squad/record label/gang to get next to a specific man. First of all, we need to determine whether the man you want is the ringleader. If he’s the Wrigley Bros. aka HNIC, you may have to go through a few crew members to get to him. But if you play your cards right, you won’t have to give up the goods to acquire your goal.
Keep in mind once you’ve smashed the first two homies or more, your pussy starts depreciating. So if you are looking to get at the ringleader, you want to make sure you are smashing the key players. You don’t want to have sex with the bouncer or the one that goes to get his cheesecake. You want to do his best friend’s best friend. Now, if your game is topnotch like my own you won’t have to even give up the goods to get to your desired location.
That being said, I want every crew loving hoe to look in the mirror and embrace yourself. Understand and respect that you fucked a couple of your man’s close friends to get where you are. Your head game could be the best in the land and your sex could be divine, but you have to accept yourself for what you are: a hand-me-down hoe. Or hand-me-up. Whichever helps you sleep at night. I say that because loving the entire crew is nothing to be proud of. Yes, it’s cool to be happy that you bamboozled the chief, but how you got there is sad.
Since when was it okay to be a hoe? The generation that I was raised in surely didn’t applaud it. Respect it? Yes. I can do nothing but respect a person that follows their dreams by any means necessary, even if it does involve you swallowing a hundred men’s semen. I salute Amber Rose. She’s one bad ass woman. And that hoe is winning on so many levels. I saw the ring. Congratulations, Wiz! You are a sucker. Amber won.
Look. I’m not condoning or judging anyone that lives that life. All I want is for you not to take such pride in being EVERYONE on tour bus’ hoe. That’s all. Enjoy your time you get to spend with the HNIC. Eventually, it will end and you’ll get half.
I am so tired of being sick and tired of listening to men complain about their crazy girlfriend, stalker, babymama, etc. My homeboys are always whining about some psycho pussy they fell up in. At some point before you slid up in the pussy, there was a sign or clue that the girl you were dealing with has the potential to be psychotic. All of her hamsters are mysteriously dying every week. Dead, small animals in her garbage can are definitely a hint. I’m starting to believe men are attracted to the craziness. “All the insane bitches so passionate” (Passive Agres-Her, Eleven One Eleven). That mess is far from cute, especially when you are trying to date someone else. Now, not only do I have to manage our relationship, I have to deal with the sick chick stalking your Facebook page and my Twitter timeline. Yes, I admit some men can cause women to act a plum dumb fool, but some of these women were psycho before you even exchanged numbers. All I desire is for my young men to be a little more selective of who they’re raw-dogging. You could be the perfect man but a grown woman is not going to deal with unnecessary drama with your past psychotic lover(s). I know for a fact I’m not.
Now, that I think about it. None of my past lovers have ever stepped to someone I was dealing with simply because they know better. A person will only do what you allow them to do. If every time your ex slashes your tires and puts a potato in your tailpipe you give her the best makeup sex of her life, she will continue to do sick shit. At first, you think it’s cute. But messing with women like that is nothing but bad news. I know my Richmond, Va family are familiar with the case where the chick stabbed, shot, and burned down a pregnant chick in her home over a man. I met this chick in real life in jail. I cannot stress how pertinent it is for the men of today to leave these sick hoes alone, especially if you are not trying to put a ring on it. Keep messing with those types of females and end up in the James river face down. And I can’t swim. I’m only looking out for everyone’s best interest. Think with the right head is the best advice I can give these niggas.
All these damned songs about calling your significant other at four and five am baffles me. My man better be in the bed snoring or beating this pussy at that time of the morning. Seriously, who is staying up that late waiting on their supposed love to return home from the club? Shit. Even if he is a rapper, he better be dropping a mixtape or single soon after. If he’s working a nine to five there is no excuse. You need your rest to get this money for rent. If you’re in these streets selling illegal drugs, a real nigga is gonna pause long enough to lay down a little loving. Or at least check in. That’s if he really cares. Melanie Fiona fine ass running a bubble bath with rose petals after letting her significant other head out to the club with his boys. T-Pain and Wiz are walking up in the crib at five in the morning expecting some willing ass. I don’t know what kind of life you’re living. But I’m not about that life. I’m not staying up calling no man that late at night. No sir. Not me. I’ll be sleep and I don’t give a damn how good the alibi is. I will be like Halle Berry in Boomerang. Love should’ve brought your ass home last night. Not this damn morning. I understand people go out and party from time to time, and life is unexpected. But it’s not that difficult to send a courtesy text or voicemail letting someone know your ass is alive and well. Even if you are about to lie up in some other pussy, at least have the decency to call/text and say “Baby, I ain’t gonna make it home tonight”. If you’re constantly waking up at four or five in the morning because your significant other is just crawling they’re stanking asses in the bed, you might want to re-evaluate just how important you are in their life. I understand every now and again. But not more than two times in a week. I still adore Melanie Fiona’s 4am. Shouts out to Rico Love.
Hey folks! I know you’ve been checking out my blog lately (or maybe not) and have noticed I haven’t put up any new material. Let me explain. While I was typing away merrily on my laptop, the screen goes completely black. By the way, I was working on a new post. Tears welled up in my eyes yo. DPeezy almost cried! My spirit was broken and so is my damn laptop. Soooooo that’s why there isn’t any new shit up. I’m taking my laptop to the computer emergency room or whatever you call it. In the meantime, I will write my reviews via pen and paper and post when I can. I love you all for your support and I have so much more up my sleeve.
If you are searching your house for an empty condom wrapper for reassurance while an eviction notice is taped to your door, this one is for you. You have a man in between your legs and in your crib whenever he pleases, but when you need a little extra money for bills he can’t be found. That ain’t right. Someone once said a wet pussy and a dry purse don’t match. I don’t know who said it but they damn sure were right. Now, this could possibly sound like prostitution, but let’s be real. Dating is subtle prostitution. The real question is: what is the worth of your twat (and mouth if you’re giving that up too)? He’s coming through every other night after eleven with a blunt and a six-pack of natural ice, and you gladly give up the ass. Are you content with saying your vagina is only worth $4.99? You gave it up after sharing a 20pc. Mcnugget combo so that’s basically what you’re saying. We have got to do better. I’m not condoning these bourgeois, materialistic ass hoes. I’m not advising you to depend on any man for anything (male or female). But I damn sure ain’t telling you to give it up for a coke and a smile. Think about it. You spend money on something you value or really want. Men will go broke to buy those new Jordans. So if he isn’t willing to break you off a few bills to keep your power on, your pussy isn’t worth more than a pair of shoes. I know all my I.N.D.E.P.E.N.D.E.N.T. ladies are sucking their teeth, yelling “I don’t need no man to help me pay for anything.” It’s not about that. It’s about whether he would willingly give it up. Don’t be no fool, sweetie. Get Yeezy to reupholster your pussy and take notes. If you’re content with struggling financially while some man eats up the food in your house and leaves his semen in your belly button, then by all means do you. But hopefully, some women will reflect upon this and shed the dead weight in their lives.
I am very excited to present you with my logo! If you thought this was just a hobby, you are mistaken. This shit’s chess not checkers. T-shirts coming soon! Dope Puss is a Problem! Logo courtesy of DJ SpeakEazy.
So, all of you should be aware that I am a writer. Yes. DPeezy writes. My goal is to be a published writer so it only makes sense to research the competition. You know. See what other authors are writing about. See what’s selling in the market today. I proceeded to go to amazon.com. I type “urban fiction 2011 new releases” in the search field. And guess what the hell comes up. Justify My Thug, Heartbreak of a Hustler’s Wife, Real Wifeys: On the Grind, etc. Now, I’m not knocking any of the novels or the authors. To be honest, they may be some incredible stories. BUT my issue is: why does every urban novel have to be about selling drugs and/or sex? Again, I am not talking down on those out there making their living off of books like that. Shit. I love Zane and Nikki Turner. But are we teaching our kids that they can get a book deal by writing about shooting, selling crack, and buying clothes? Even if the child doesn’t want to be a writer, I know someone’s child is reading a book. Now, this is my personal opinion and ya’ll can take it however you want, but I feel as if ya’ll are glorifying the wrong shit. I remember reading a few urban novels back in the day. And I’m not even going to lie, I wanted to find me a drug dealer. According to what I was reading they looked good, sexed good, and had plenty money. So what their little brother got kidnapped by a rival crew? It still sounded like an ideal situation. No! Hell no! Since when is it cool to cook crack in the same kitchen where you make mac & cheese for your kids. I don’t understand! I bet someone’s kid is learning how to cook dope step by step by reading an urban novel but have not nay damn clue what a pension or 401K is. Selling dope doesn’t come with a benefit package. It comes with death with an option of jail time. Is that the definition of urban? One of my favorite authors is Donald Goines. Yes, he talked about drugs and prostitutes. But I bet money after reading Whoreson or Dopefiend, you will never pick up a crack needle or snort a line in your life. Maybe I should have searched under a different keyword. By the way, when I searched under New York Times bestsellers I didn’t see anything talking bout wifeys, hustlers, or whores. All I’m saying is don’t fix your lips to call my novel or any of my work urban if it’s going to show up the same search results list as Thug Lovin’.
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