Archive for the Pimpin’ Category

The Infamous Ninjas Cuff Season Survival Guide

Posted in black culture, black people, bustdowns, Cuffing, Dating, Global Ninja, hip hop, Music, Ninja Sports, Pimpin', Relationships, sideline hoes on September 26, 2013 by Dizzer




I was perusing Instagram a couple nights ago, and couldn’t help but notice the influx of Memes flooding the timeline. For those unfamiliar, there are two kinds of Memes; those that make you laugh out loud, and those that give sad people with shit else to do a platform to put their business in the streets, while simultaneously complaining that their business is always in the streets (which also makes people like me laugh out loud).

Long story short, it’s cuffing season pimp! The draft is now in session. My cousin Jas is taking breaks from running lace fronts out of my deceased Big Mama’s house down in Florida to let y’all know her thick ass is single, and ready to get CHOSE! So, gather ‘round friends, negroes and countrymen. Lend me your ears….here’s what I’ve learned from your IG accounts about how to (and not to) get chose this season:

Rule number one…Never be number two. Like Ricky Bobby said, if you’re not first, you’re last! Believe that shit.  Reconcile it in your spirit. Sign up for second string, your ass will end up on the bench for most of winter. There are no injuries in cuffing season.

Turn down for what? Because posting pictures of your legs in a tub of bubbles relaxing or chilling at home making a bomb meal is way sexier than pictures of you indulging in “single bitches” activities. I don’t care what you’re wearing, what club you’re in or what you’re drinking, your #longasmybitchesloveme hash tags don’t hide the truth. NO ONE LOVES YOU. And that is why your ass is single. It’s called skill sets, bitch!

Real Life is cooler than the Internet. One of my girlfriends went out for her birthday three weeks ago. She didn’t snap pictures of jack shit. No selfies. No shoe shots. She took five shots, went on the dance floor, and met her a boo. No distractions, keep your head in the game (see what I just did right there?)

Follow chose bitches. Birds of a feather, right? Most chosen chicks aren’t posting much right now, because its game season, but there are a few flocks (basketball wives, Kevin Hart’s girlfriend, etc.) who will be posting until the season starts in October. Learn what you can now.

PSA: Don’t get caught up in thinking that because you’re just as cute as the chicks you see hooked up on reality television or the interwebs, that your standards of dating are remotely realistic. 6.03% of men in the United States make $100,000 or more. Not black men, all men. 47% of black women in the United States have never been married. There is an even more ridiculous percentage chance that men that fall in this category will run up on your ass in the club and cuff you. Your skill sets should determine your standards, not the other way around.  Have a good season folks!!


~Courtesy of our dedicated contributing Ninjas


If you like this, you’ll LOVE this one The Sideline Heaux Chronicles 



You Are What You Read: Legs Wide Open…Eyes Wide Shut

Posted in black culture, black people, bustdowns, Global Ninja, Pimpin', sideline hoes, Uncategorized on April 12, 2012 by theninjaparade

*clutches chest and gazes to the heavens*

Why OH WHY must ya’ll make me act a fool like this?

I was chillin’….I really was.  Had stepped back from the blog scene for a sec, meditated, sought counsel, the whole nine.  But nooooooo, every time I try to get out, you all do some dumb shyt that keeps bringing me back in.  El Jugo is effectively the Michael Corleone of the ratchet blogosphere.

So here’s my dilemma:

I have a brain trust of feminine commentary that I turn to when utterly perplexed by the shyt women do.  This distinguished sorority of sistas lends me an everyday perspective on things that I, as a man, may be oblivious to.  They keep me from acting entirely on my impulses without first seeking a more enlightened perspective.  So, I’ve been seeing some crazy shyt and I text these chicks today.

Question:  What type of inferences can I draw from a chick reading, IN PUBLIC, one of those urban-erotica Zane-screw me hard on the desk of my supervisor so the security guard who’s been trying to get on can see-type books?

El Jugo’s Impulsive Response:  Oh…this bish is a runner, and wants ME to KNOW.

[Disclaimer:  before we confirm or deny whether El Jugo’s impulse is correct, let’s take a moment to analyze the Think Tank’s commentary.  Names changed to protect the innocent]

Giselle N.:  “I’m just sayin…she can’t say she’s reading it for the book club.  Chile please, cover up.” El Jugo’s sentiments exactly!  This is the equivalent of literary porn.  Granted, we at The Ninja Parade, encourage all women to thoroughly explore their inner freak, but damn babygril.  What type of attention are you soliciting??  Did you not notice me noticing you as your thighs rub together about some chick getting d!cked down in the shower?  Quit crossing your legs and read some damn Chaucer.

Janet E.: “If I were a guy, I would talk to them simply because they feel free enough to read a sex book in public, what else is she willing to do in public?”  Great. fcuking. questing. Janet.  Although I don’t think anyone deserves to be disrespected, regardless of her choice of reading materials…I do wholeheartedly reserve the right to discreetly think you’re a freak on the prowl.  What one reads is probably more indicative of their interests than what he or she listens to or watches on television.  Anyone can watch some random shyt on tv or get stupid song stuck in their head….but how many people reeeally read very graphic sexual exploits and aren’t at the least mildly interested in acting some of that shyt out? *crickets*

Pristina W.: “I’m all for women being comfortable in their sexuality…perhaps a sista should get a Kindle”  You see, everybody has a lil El Jugo in ’em.  I’m not saying you shouldn’t read erotica and touch yourself, but El Jugo gets offended at the suggestion that men shouldn’t draw conclusions about what’s in plain view.  You have a right to read whatever you want, just like i/we have a right to think whatever we want about it.  And if you can’t put that shyt down and MUST take it everywhere….damn, get a Kindle.  *Hi-five’s Pristina*

Anna N.:  “I mean maybe they just need some excitement in their lives.  In my opinion  women who read those books are not sexually fulfilled.”  Couldn’t agree more.  Not being fulfilled doesn’t entirely mean you’re not getting ANY…it means you’re not getting broke off by the shockingly intelligent dude who fixes your car on a late evening while your lackluster man gives you regular sex…ya know, the type of shyt that happens in the books.  Funny thing is, the guy that fixes your car probably hits on you every time and you don’t give him a blink.  Grow up and act that shyt out then…or at least leave a copy of that freaky shyt on your front seat next time famo changes your oil.

Cynthia B.: “They want to seem sexually empowered but are actually thirsty as hell.”  Damn, exposed.  Intellectualism, even feigned intellectualism cant hide true thirst.  And *leans in and whispers* it be them smarty art heaux that’s the most goin’.  Bish we see you.  And it’s not like this stuff is written in any way to suggest a true challenge of your scope of imagination…it’s designed to make you hot ‘n bothered.  Whereas some guys may see a book (any book) and think “scholar”…El Jugo checks the title and thinks “runner”.

Londa G. “I also think women who read those books don’t practice discretion.”  Wait…so not only are you thirsty, you messy too?? WTF ever happened to reading hair magazines?

See.  I told you.  El Jugo knows when a chick is, as one respondent eloquently stated, putting together a “marketing plan for the box”. But don’t let our commentary discourage you…it fact, let the transparency be what motivates you.

Go from me and thirst no more.

El Jugo

If you like this blog, you’ll love this one:  The Moscato-ization of Black America

Lovers & Friends: The Scandalous Abuse of Boyfriend Privedges

Posted in bustdowns, hip hop, niggas, ninjas, Pimpin', sideline hoes on January 20, 2012 by theninjaparade


So I read arguably the most raw, true, and pointed relationship blog posting the other day from the real-talk blogger extraordinaires at  The Fooler Initiative, entitled “the unfunny post to women. and i’ll talk and you won’t listen. but for what it’s worth: keep your heart, 3 stacks.“.

Shyt was real.

So real, that I combed it four times because a character-type jumped out at me.  In a quoted description of their exchange, I was floored.

“He’d made it very clear from the beginning that he didn’t want a girlfriend.

“No titles,” he’d said. And I’d agreed.

And we hung out, messed around, went out on dates, exchanged gifts, he met my parents. But he’d been clear. No titles.”

This mystery man, whom the author chooses to leave anonymous (but is no doubt KNOWN within her circle) is the quintessential non-committed man.  She dealt with him.  It didn’t work out.  A valuable life lesson (“how’s” and “why’s” included) was learned, sooner rather than later.


For the men, across the blogosphere who were forwarded this blog we collectively gave each other “the look”.

You know, the look niggas give one another as the WHOLE barbershop falls deathly silent when lil TeQuan’s mama (with the slim waist and phat ass) walks in.  The look that unquestionably screams, “yo famo…you see this shit?”

Curiously, the look is not directed towards the author, nor the author’s former self whom she eloquently depicts, but towards the un-named tall Friend (+Benefits) quoted above.

Here at The Ninja Parade, we’re all about people learning valuable life lessons and receiving stress-free box.  And I get the feeling that the author turned out alright after all, but to the antagonist of that blog, we say this…

No offense bruh, but you jagged off some perfectly good and completely free college box […and lowkey probably messed it up for the next cat.]

Here’s 2 Good Reasons why:

1. You Didn’t “Out” The Other Heaux:  see, ninjas mess stuff up because for one reason or another, they refuse to let women know that there are other women.  Ol El Jugo learned a long looooooong time ago a very simple truth:  that when a woman has made up her mind that she wants a man (as the author instantly did upon SEEING this nigga) she will often turn a blind eye to the presence of other women.  I mean, it’s cool and all that you let lil mama know you didn’t want a relationship or titles, but the very next breath should suggest that other heaux are in the background/sideline.  This, of course, has to be done with great care.  Because a woman will tolerate it as long as a) you directly or indirectly make the extra heaux known, b) you do not in any way embarrass ANY of them, c) you are out here blowing their WHOLE COLLECTIVE BACKS (plural, as in all of them) OUT.  You’d be surprised what a woman will “know” but “not know” if you can make them moan.

2. Boyfriend “Privileges”:  *sigh* this is THE #1 Cause that perfectly good and free college, grad school, law school, medical school, office, gym membership, and any other random free box is messed up.  Niggas…do…too…much.  Men need to understand something, not every woman is interested in being your wife, your soulmate, your babymama, or lowkey even your friend…sometimes she’ll be cool with a couple drinks, a few laughs and a few more pelvic thrusts.  Granted, you have to let a woman be a woman, some stuff, you judiciously have to let her nurture for you.  However, other than the occasional meal or sleepover, shiiiiiiiiiiiid my dude, she’s probably laying there afterwards wondering if she DVR’d  Love & Hip Hop, and if not, can she make it home in time to catch a re-run. She ain’t in love witcho black ass and she’s perfectly okay with it.   But NOOOOOOOOO.  You lay there with her, all night,  nose all buried in your chest having all manner of intimate conversation, exchanging gifts, meeting parents n’shyt.  You mistook your role as Primary Penis Provider (PPP or P3) for a boyfriend.  Dumbass. Boyfriend Privileges are like cologne…the more of it you put on, the more you make women nauseous when they truly get close to you.

Go from me and be blessed.

The Infamous El Jugo

If you like this Blog, you’ll LOVE This one <~~~~ click

Little Girl Lost: Confessions of A Sista, That’s Been There…Done That

Posted in black culture, black people, bustdowns, Global Ninja, Music, niggas, ninjas, Pimpin', sideline hoes with tags , , , on June 15, 2011 by theninjaparade

“LOVE?  You know, what do you know about love? What do you possibly think you know about love? You know LOVE should have brought your ass home last night!”

[Editor’s Forward:  As stated in other blogs, we at the Ninja Parade are taking great strides to diversify our content.  Our ignorance can no longer be confined to the sheer mockery of society and putting a muthafuka on blast for kicks and giggles…but we desire also, to show our softer, more compassionate, ignant side.  Enjoy, ~The Infamous El Jugo]

Little girl lost

I’m a virgin to the ninja parade [Editor’s Note: …and to the Ninja Parade only] but I’m going to rock this shyt like I’m Tyler Perry at a Women in White “Usher Board” Baptist Church convention.  

So, my so called adult life started out like a story straight out of black college life weekly.  Girl goes to black college, pledges sorority, meets boy, falls in love, dates all through college, gets married, and *wait for it*… Divorces boy.

Then I spend the next two years grieving over a failed marriage. <<cues up Mary J. Bilges’ “I’m Not Going To Cry“, blazes blunt of that Afghan, sips Pinot>> to say the least, I was a fcking wreck <<insert picture of fcuking wreck>>  

I am ashamed to admit it, but I even thought of several ways in which to ruin my ex husbands career. *yeah, I was on some bitter sour apple b*tch shyt*

I even went through his emails and forwarded out all his philandering emails with other women [See Also: The Sideline Heaux Chronicles, vol 1] to his new main chick.  I must say, that was some of my best work.  I had to show the New b*tch, I mean new chick, nah…I mean bitch:  he cheating on you and you just a couple months in, heaux [See Also: The Sideline Heaux Chronicles, vol 2].  You not special…bwhahaha…But I digress.

As more time passed, I discovered that I was in fact a little girl lost.  I didn’t know what I wanted out of life anymore.  I didn’t know what true love meant anymore.  I questioned everything that I once knew to be fact.  All I knew was that, things changed and they were not for the better.

I spent day in and day out working, hanging out occasionally, and just surviving.  It’s like my life was on auto pilot and Phyllis Hyman was singing the soundtrack to my new life. *and we know how that story ended*  <<cues Phyllis Hyman “Living All Alone”, takes extra long hit of that Afghan, sits down glass of Pinot…picks up bottle>>

And while the days have gotten better, it’s still an uphill battle to find myself again and I’ve currently drawn the following conclusions…

  1. I Don’t Know Shyt About Men…I Admit it…You F*ckas Confuse the Shyt Out of Me.  Some of you ninjas want a quiet submissive woman, some want you to be they momma, and others want you to be a fucking mind reader…I give up…you win…Ill just love on B.O.B till I figure out an alternative…<<insert images of Bullet named Leroy>>
  1. I’m a Strong Punk…What I mean by this is…I cry about everything, yet I manage to pick myself up and get right back on the horse.  At first I thought this showed my weakness, but I have learned it shows my never give up nature. <<cues “We Fall Down” by Donnie McClurkin with strange vibrating sound in back>>
  1. The biggest thing I hate to admit it  *drumroll* As Much as I Want to Say I Don’t Need or Want a Man, I Know That is The Farthest Thing From MY Truth.  I need and want the right man for me. But I have to learn to stop fucking up with the good ones, and allowing the bad ones to stay passed their expiration date. <<insert picture of jobless ex-boo, in dingy, loose-fitting wifebeater, rolling blunt on formica end table>>

I’ve always been told the first step to healing or solving a problem is to admit it.  So here it is.  I am a lost little girl who is trying to find her way in life and love with a broken compass.  I think its time to ditch the compass and actually learn from my mistakes, listen to sound advice from creditable individuals, and trust that tiny voice inside that I have ignored in the past.

~ Aye Red The Ninja

**if you liked this blog, you’ll love: The Basic B!tch Home Testing Kit

The 3 Things We Always Talk About…That Are Generally Imaginary

Posted in black culture, black people, Global Ninja, niggas, Pimpin', sideline hoes, Uncategorized on May 25, 2011 by theninjaparade

Ok, so again, I must collectively pull the card of my real friends, and social media friends by exposing the impending delusion of the outlandish shyt ya’ll say.  As we all struggle for relevance in a cluttered world, let us please do so with a touch of class, a shred of integrity, and most of all…a healthy dose of truth.

Here are three things that people [READ: black folks] commonly pontificate about:

1) HATERS.  *long drawn out sigh*  Let’s put this thing to rest, for once and for all.  Haters are real, but unless you are in the upper-tier leadership of some religious, professional, academic, social, philanthropic, or cultural movement AND/OR have a net worth (after taxes, in cold hard cash) of 6-figures or more…AIN’T NOBODY THINKIN ABOUT YO BLACK ASS.  That’s not to say people don’t hate you, because they probably do.  But hating you, and hating “on” you, are two different things.  They can’t hate on you, because despite how cold you think your knock-off purse collection is, how hard you stunt in fake Polo shirts with cloudy diamond chains…you really ain’t shyt, for real. And if you’ve tweeted, facebooked, skyped, or texted someone more than once in the last 30 days about “haters”…you still ain’t shyt.  People don’t like you because you’re self-absorbed and delusional…not because they want to be you, be like you, or anything else.  [NOTE: offering a critical opinion of you does not in anyway constitute “hating”, and having a “I don’t care what other people say” mentality is a sure way to end up less effective in your endeavors and ultimately alone…you’re welcome.]

2a) CORPORATE THUGS.  This is even more ridiculous.  Look, you’re either corporate, or you’re thuggin…that’s it.  Even if you’re corporate and you’re engaged in felonious activity, I doubt it’s huggin the block and plotting moves on rivals…get the FCUK out of her and go try and figure a way to defraud the government on tax money ninja.  And if you’re thuggin, having working internet and two button-up shirts doesn’t make you any more corporate than standing in a garage makes you a damn car.  Owning a “promotion company”, or record label with less than 50,000 units, or mobile auto detail doesn’t count either.  I don’t know what’s more ridiculous, the fact  Jay-Z (et. al) have collectively sold you a dream of some suited intelligent business man who runs into a phone booth (ala Clark Kent) and hops out a dope slangin’ hood superhero…OR that stupid ninjas actually try to make this dream a reality.  Dudes who talk about how they can switch it up and go from hood to professional don’t know what either of the two are.

2b) CHICKS WHO SAY THEY WANT A CORPORATE THUG. These heauxs are just as stupid as the ninjas who perpetrate the act.  I can’t tell you how many times, in conversation, I’ve heard a woman say she wanted a man who was educated and well-groomed with stable secure benefits and values…but also Bunz from Belly at the core.  Bish please!  And where, pre tell, do you expect to meet this knight in shining armor, ma’am?  “Giving back” at a work-release sponsored community fundraising All White Party?  Or maybe mentoring young thugs on how to dopeman their way through grad school and still write an effective thesis? *smh* Go to hell.

3) ELITE AND ESTABLISHED SISTAS THAT ONLY DATE THUGS. *even longer and more drawn out sigh than before*  Let’s start with the basics…most women only stunt and front to be more secure/established than they really are.  That said, for those that aren’t fronting and really do have their ducks in a row…the odds of her dating ManMan from the block are so astronomically slim it’s not even funny.  TV, and black romance novels, have really got ninjas fooled out here.  If you’re working with an 11th grade education and 2 felonies, ain’t no way in the East or West side of Hell you get a shot at some BAD chick graduating from Med/Law/Professional school.  Even if she slick dumb as hell on relationship end and says she wants a guy with an “edge”…she really means she’ll let ANY doctor/resident/dentist smash and as long as he listens to a little rap music and is cool with her uncles smoking joints at the family picnic…not YOU doeboy.  Unlike the previous points, I’ll concede that these women may actually exist, “I” just don’t know any of them.  And even if some random hood nigga does wind up with a degree’d up star…he’s known her FOR-EVER, like forever-ever, back when she was rockin’ the pony tail on the side of her head and wasn’t shyt and managed to stay in the running long enough.  Otherwise, you have no chance.  The man shortage ain’t that bad pimp, and elite women have more options then they’ll admit, before they make it that far down the list to let you roll blunts on her Formica countertops.

Welcome back to reality.

~ El Jugo

****If you liked this blog, you’ll love:  The 5 Worst Customer Service Spots In The Hood***

The Ninja Guide To STAYING Married: 6 Things They Didn’t Tell You

Posted in black culture, black people, Global Ninja, Pimpin', Uncategorized on May 23, 2011 by klkenned
This morning I woke up, exchanged a few pleasantries with my husband, and it occurred to me:
I struggle at some point, at least once a day, to not tell my husband to kiss my ass.
This epiphany led me down a train of thought that made me realize that I can’t quite possibly be alone in this thinking. And then it occurred to me that many single women don’t know lies in store when they consider the benefits of marriage. And not only do they not know that every day, without fail, there will be moments where you will want to cuss your husband the fuck out, but what they really don’t know is that you can’t. I repeat, you CANNOT tell your husband, the man you love and have chosen to spend the rest of your life with, to shut the fuck up. That means you can’t tell him to kiss your ass, or go to hell either. You can think it. You can tweet it. You can even text it to your best friend and say it JUST how you want to say it to him. But you can’t say it to him. Why?
Because you want to *stay* married, that’s why.
Whether you like it or not, these little displays of “affection” can undermine teamwork, erode the marriage, and open the door for a response like, “fuck you and yo punk ass daddy,” which, if you recall John Legend’s “Ordinary People” video, is the type of shit that will get you slapped dead in your mouth, in slow motion, with a camera there to capture your stunned reaction.
And you can’t be with an abuser, right? RIGHT?
So, I’m going to help you with that. I’m gonna tell you the truth about what lies on the other side of the broom, and how you might want to deal with that.  It is at this point where I had considered inserting some type of “this isn’t applicable to everyone” or “every relationship is different” disclaimer, but then it occurred to me, if you take this seriously enough to be offended, then not only have I done my job, but the terrorists have won, and there’s some oceanfront property in Arizona I’d like to sell you.
Here goes:
All Sex Everything. A lot of people are under the impression that one of the best thing about marriage is that sex is at your beck and call. #FALSE. Not gonna happen. Make all the demands and delusional claims of daily sex fests you want. It’s simply just not going to happen. While I am quickly approaching the age where sex < sleep,  I haven’t always been this old, and I can say that all sex, all the time, not only makes for sore special places, but doesn’t improve intimacy. Just to be clear – I am not a cuddler. I will not claim that cuddling and affectionate touching can take the place of sex as far as driving intimacy. What I am saying is that intimacy is an emotional construct that can happen without any touching at all. You just have to figure out what that means for your relationship. To the converse, though, I must admit – the sex gets better. Honestly, a few years under your belt should give you enough experience with this person to have them coming in (moan) 8 seconds, so it becomes more about quality versus quantity.  Boredom? I can’t speak on it. It’s not an issue for me as I never find orgasms to be boring. Ever. If you do, maybe you should try bungee jumping instead of marriage.
You will hate your In-Laws. Seriously. Unless you are fortunate enough to have married an only child orphan, who I am sure come with their own set of issues, there is no way you’re going to avoid in-laws, and the subsequent love-hate relationships that will result. “But me and his mama/sister/best-friend-but-like-a-cousin  are cool,” you say. Okay. You cool NOW. All you need is one perceived slight around the holidays involving distant a cousin and  a misplaced stamp,  to bring you to the harsh reality that they just might be crazy…as fuck… you can’t forget the “as fuck.” Just don’t get sucked into their drama. Unless you can have them all dispatched by a ninja assassin squad (contact El Jugo, serious inquiries only) its best to just be okay with them calling you stuck up for not wanting to come around…ole bougie ass…
Money, money, money, mooooney…..mooooney. Talking about money makes me want to choke slam a baby. I want to run bamboo skewers though my eyeballs, and have even faked a seizure to get out of having to talk to my husband about money. This is the conversation where I am MOST CLOSE to telling my husband to kiss my black ass. All my independent woman bullshit boils over, my lips smack, my neck starts to roll, and I start rattling off my stats like he should STILL be impressed 5 years after the fact. Guess what? He’s not. And I am sure you heard all of that “talk about money before you get married,” and I am sure you have or will. But you have to continue talking about money. Even if – hell, ESPECIALLY if – it’s painful. All the time. Like every month. Discussing money with my husband makes me want to throw up in mouth, I hate it SO MUCH. However, if I didn’t, he would probably divorce me because I squandered our savings on moderately priced shoes, failed business ventures, and jordans for my son,  just to prove he can’t tell me what to do with MY money, nigga.  But it’s not MY money – it’s OURS…which brings me to
Separate but Equal.  Checking accounts. Might not have worked for Brown v. Topeka Board of Education, but it works in my house. …I’m just sayin…
Pick Your Battles. This does NOT mean “compromise all your values and morals so that he doesn’t get mad at you.” This simply means…
STFU every now and again. Sound familiar? I bet it does. Direct all your hate mail to  There are times when your significant other may say or do something that causes your eyes to squint, cut to the left, and the next sound you hear is the ominous hum of an unsheathed light saber as your prepare for an epic battle. And every now and again, those battles are necessary. But do you REALLY want to sever his limbs over a toilet seat? Is it really worth it? If every perceived slight equals you feeling like he’s disrespecting you, and now you feel like you need to “check his ass,” then why are you married in the first place? Check yoself before you…I think you know the rest. Being the angry black woman is SO passé.
Everybody plays the fool. I have heard some nonsense about marrying someone who loves you more than you love them. Thing is, at any given point in the relationship, who likes who more is going to change. This means that, one day, you’re going to look up and YOU’RE gonna be the sucka MC. You’re gonna be all Lenny’d out, wailing about watching television until television went off, waiting on your spouse to look up and realize how much you love and do for them, when just 3 weeks ago you were trying to sneak away to get some space from their clingy ass. It happens. And you need to be okay with that.
So, now that you know what’s on the other side of the game, you can make an informed decision. Marriage is a legal union, a business partnership with some sex sprinkled in to make it complicated and interesting. It’s a wonderful opportunity to be the best you can be and an awful social experiment that shows what happens when two strangers pick each other to love and live with, and shit starts getting real.  And I, personally, love it.~klkenned

***If you liked this Blog, you’ll Love –> Put a Ring On It: Why I’m Not Single…and YOU are!

Sideline Breaux Chronicles, Volume 1: You Lookin’ Real Unfamiliar Right Now

Posted in black culture, black people, bustdowns, Global Ninja, niggas, ninjas, Pimpin', sideline hoes on December 16, 2010 by klkenned

There’s been some conversation, “chronicling” if you will, about life on the Sideline. It’s been largely documented as largely male phenomena, but I’d like to clear something up for you all out there. I know I’ve spent some time talking about how to get a man and vice versa, but let me let you in on a little secret:
Not every woman wants a man.
And by “a man” I mean “a boyfriend,” a “husband,” a “relationship” with expectations, boundaries, and obligations and shit. And more specifically, she doesn’t want all that with YOU. Most of you guys seem to be under the erroneous impression that women should be impressed by your good looks, credentials, and “game,” to the point where you seem to think every woman you meet wants to be your wife. They want to lock you down, so you have to lie and manipulate to stroke your ego get what you want. You seem to think you’re so super slick that we can’t see that you ain’t shit. But we can. We know. And half the damn time…We just don’t care!!
People believe that all women are full of emotion and attachment. That she thinks sex is beautiful and to be cherished between 2 people who love each other. You think that she loves every man she dates, that she puts up with your bullshit and your lies because she cares about you.
*Buzzer* WRONG!!!

She puts up with it because she has no interest in actually BEING with you. Game recognize game, Granddad. You’re “practice,” and practice makes perfect – perfect for someone who ain’t you. And what she told me she’d like me to tell you is this familiar, yet little used phrase:
You ain’t gotta lie to kick it.
True story:
Since I’m presently married, let’s just say I know a friend who once knew a young man while back in college. He was a nice enough young fellow, kinda pretty, but seemed to think she didn’t notice 2 things:

  1. He was broke as hell.
  2. He was a man whore (no offense to El Jugo).

As a result, she wasn’t interested in spending time with him, and by “time” I mean “any other time in which they would NOT be fucking.” However, failing to see her disinterest in anything not carnal, he continued to lie about the amount of money he earned, and that the man-faced woman she saw him at the mall with was NOT his girlfriend. But my friend didn’t care about those things cause she didn’t care about him. He was just “company,” so you can imagine she was appalled when he had the audacity to ask for the keys to her sweet off-campus apartment because they were “dating.” Ummmm…Did you notice how she didn’t speak to you when she saw you and Man Face at the mall? Or how about the whole “She only calls you after midnight” thing? Missed that part? Cause if anyone’s ever started a sentence with, “I mean, you cool and all, …” then you’re clearly not dating…

So, let me provide 5 little handy hints on how to properly identify your role as the Sideline Breaux (sounds like Heaux, but bro…it’s creole):

  1. You can’t sleep over.No need to make up excuses about where you’re headed because her roommate “doesn’t like overnight guests.” Or she’s got an 8:00am meeting/appointment/class and needs a good night’s rest which doesn’t involve you trying to cuddle with her. . . Cause she only cuddles with people she likes…like her man which she may or may not already have…but is clearly not you.
  2. You’ve never seen her bedroom.  You only play on the couch, or at your house. Why? Cause her man sleeps there and she doesn’t want to disrespect her relationship. POW!
  3. Don’t ask, don’t tell.  She’s spends a lot of time not asking you where you’ve been because a.) She doesn’t care and b.) She doesn’t want you to feel like its okay for you to do the same. Let’s just keep this shit light, okay?
  4. No PDA.  Even women who don’t like PDA will tolerate the shit from her MAN. But YOU? Naaaaw, buddy. *hands in pockets* No unsanctioned touching and no longing glances from across the room. And stop calling to grab lunch. I already have lunch plans with the guy I’m NOT having sex because I’d like to pursue something serious with HIM. Not YOU. I’LL call YOU…
  5. No Favors.  No, you can’t borrow my car because your car is in the shop. No, you can’t hold a little something till pay day. Don’t you understand that we ain’t friends and that I’m NOT your woman?

And these handy dandy tips all boil down to one key point that I’d like you to internalize in your tiny hearts:
Women are better at keeping a dude on the sidelines then men will EVER BE. Your sad and insatiable desire for pussy to have your ego stroked will always lead to you looking like a simp, and eventually, a lonely simp as the woman you love will leave, your sideline will have met another rapper/baller, one will take her to Cancun unlike your broke ass. Professional sideline heaux can build careers off being a sideline heaux (I see you, Basketball Wives!). Sideline breaux are just happy to be here. No one is paying their rent. Where is their reality show? There isn’t one.


Unless you are capable of The Ultimate Fuckmedown. *thunder rolls, lightening flashes, cue “I’m Sprung”*
If you’re going to be a Sideline Breaux that is worthy some rent money, a little something to hold until pay day,  and the jeopardization of whatever relationship she may have with the man she intends to really be with, you have GOT to bring the pain, both literally and figuratively. Backs must be blown out, hair pulled, rug burn on the palms of her hands. So if she doesn’t say to you, “I’ve never done that before!” then you, sir, have failed, and no, you can’t stay the night. My roommate doesn’t like overnight guests.

And for the record, Sideline Heaux aren’t the only ones who catch feelings. You think, she’s cool, she’s got some things going for her,  she likes to have sex, she’s secure and she doesn’t make any demands of you and boom! You just might start to really “like” her…then think you’re even “dating” and even try to ask her who that guy was you saw her with at Starbucks (“A caramel macchiato? Noooooooooo!). It happens. But that doesn’t change who you are, Sideline Breaux. In fact, it just complicates things…But, we don’t like being alone, so until we find someone that’s worth cooking for or talking to, you’ll do.

Your friend,

Stay Tuned for Part II: Plan B…Please send all your hate mail to me on twitter @klkenned…