Archive for the sideline hoes 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

cuffs

 

 

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 

 

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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

Ok.

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.

Buuuuuuuuuuuut.

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

Mean In These Streets: A Single Woman’s Take on These Clowns That Approach Her

Posted in black people, bustdowns, hip hop, ninjas, nupes, sideline hoes, Uncategorized with tags , , , on July 12, 2011 by theninjaparade

 

[Editor’s Note:  It was never my intention for The Ninja Parade to be a “Dating/Relationship” Blog.  However, in the interest of being complete with our fuckery we do deem it necessary that we delve into affairs of the heart.  That said, please enjoy Serenity. ***Sidenote: note really sure why I picked an image of Ralph for the blog, but that nigga seem like he could fit into any one of these categories]

When I liberated myself from a lackluster marriage a few years ago, I was admittedly a bit naïve.  I had married my high school sweetheart who was also my only lover and had dating experience and expectations that were outdated and completely unrealistic.

What I’ve found in my last few years back on the market has left me shocked, awestruck, and slightly confused. Who knew the pickings were so slim in the dating pool? Let’s examine some of the specimen I’ve run across, shall we?

1.  The Emo

Now, the first time a man broke down in front of me on a date, I didn’t know what the hell was going on.  I’ve seen a man cry, of course, at funerals, weddings, the birth of their children–but never because they were simply overcome by the moment.  We were sitting on the couch watching a movie I can’t remember the title of and a scene came on depicting a woman cheating on her husband.  Pretty standard right?  My date broke down in tears leaving me confused and with a strong urge to slip quietly out the back door, or pass this nigga a tampon.  I wanted to be anywhere but there watching this GROWN ASS MAN boo hoo over another woman.  I mean, what does one really do in that situation?  Honestly I thought it was a fluke, but it happened again with a different man several months later when his ex wife slapped him with more child support.  Maybe men feel like they can cry in front of me, maybe it’s the result of being exposed to too much estrogen in the womb–I have no idea.  Whatever it is, it’s not a good look.

2.  The Leech

I’m an intelligent woman, therefore this one is hard to admit too.  I fell for a leech. *Hangs head in shame* All the signs were there, but I was rendered stupid by good dick and a pair a light eyes.   For those of you who don’t know, a leech is a man who appears to have his shit together, but in actuality is out to bleed you dry until you wake up one morning and realize you’re out several hundred, if not thousand, bucks (which your ass is NOT getting back) and even though the sex is freaking fantastic, you don’t really like dude enough to be seen with him.  In my case, the leech was an educated executive who got fired from his good job and suddenly needed a little help until payday to get the alternator on his car fixed.  And get a new Armani suit.  And the new 2K11 game coming out Friday.  The list goes on and on.  I got hip to the game once three Fridays rolled around with promises of “Baby, I got you!” followed by some pretty great head as a diversionary tactic.  Ladies, beware of the broke ass ninjas packing serious weight below the belt, but next to none in there wallets or bank accounts.

3.  The Commitment Phobe

This guy is probably the most frustrating of all the specimen. This is the guy that you fall most of the way in love with only to realize his ass is damaged goods.  And of course he doesn’t tell you he’s damaged goods until AFTER he’s enjoyed seven months of your goodies and undivided attention.  There always comes a point in a situation where it has to become a relationship or the shit just has to end.  For me it generally comes at the six month mark.  By that point you’ve established a rapport emotionally and physically and you know if this is something you want to progress.  With my phobe, I gave him the benefit of an extra month because he had a lot going on (grad school, and young daughter, a move), but at seven months, I asked the dreaded question: “Where are we going with this?”  I was then treated to a LONG dissertation on the horrors of past relationships and the stupidity of his daughter’s mother.  One  changed the title of his truck into her name when he sent her to renew his registration and drove off into the sunset.  One cheated on him with her babies’ daddy and is now producing porn for said babies’ daddy somewhere in suburban Texas.  His daughter’s mother is quite simply an imbecile.  NOW, NONE OF THIS SHIT HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME (except that it made me question his taste in woman) and I said as much.  I was then treated to the “I have trust issues” speech…needless to say I was pissed (and still am a little) that he’d wasted my damn time knowing full well he wasn’t trying to commit.  Or maybe I just wasn’t The One.  Either damn way, he should’ve spoken up in January rather than in July.  And yes–I’m a little bitter. **shrug**

4.  The Commodity

This is the good guy.  The educated, financially sound, emotionally stable, FINE man who embodies everything your mama wants for you.  He’s as close to perfect as you’re gonna get.  So…what’s wrong with the commodity?  Absolutely nothing–until he realizes he’s a damn commodity.  Suddenly, the “good guy” morphs into a semi player.  He’s not out and out heauxing around because he doesn’t want to ruin his choir boy image, but you can tell he’s enjoying the benefits of being a big, attractive fish in a small, quickly dwindling pond.  He doesn’t call or text as frequently.  He’s careful to meet you at events rather than driving there with you.  You see him check in at various places or events on Facebook or Foursquare that you had no idea he was going to…shit like that.  He never makes any type of firm commitment or solid plans for the future because honestly he’s enjoying the notoriety.  He’ll keep you on the line with a well-timed phone call or invite and a sweet “ good morning beautiful” text message that he’s sent en masse to you and 14 other girls.  Unlike a player, however, this specimen eventually tires of the fun and games and comes looking for you.  By then, you’ve hopefully gotten bored with the run around or have sadly settled for one of the other types of candidates.  He’s missed out on a woman who might’ve been goof to him and probably would’ve been good for him.  But hey, he’s got options.

5.  The Married Man

This one is last and certainly least for a reason.  I have yet to fully understand the allure of a married man.  Sure he’s a nester and open to commitment, but he’s  ALREADY FUCKING COMMITED TO SOMEONE ELSE!!!!  For men, it’s much simpler: They want the excitement of a second relationship without relinquishing the comforts of the first ( i.e.  a second income and condom-free sex).  I dated a married man, but it was the result of sheer naiveté.  I was freshly released from my marriage (the ink on my divorce decree wasn‘t even dry), and although I was happy to be free of my ex, I wasn’t feeling the long nights with an empty bed and a vagina collecting cobwebs.  I was emotionally fragile and undersexed–basically I had EASY TARGET stamped on my damn forehead.  I believed the claims of an impending divorce and a psycho wife.  When she threw his shit out on the lawn, I accepted him packed bag and all into my home.  But when she showed up a two a.m. on my doorstep, eight months pregnant and threatening to slice up the soft top of my Mercedes, the rose colored glasses finally slipped off.  There are some things I’m not willing to do for a man and risking my Benz and a high ass insurance claim is one of them.  I still got ten payments left.

[Author’s Disclaimer: I’d like to say that I’m not a cynic.  I have every confidence that there are good men out there.  As a matter of fact I know plenty.  I’ve just yet to meet one that’s right for me.  I hold no (well not much) ill will against  the men I’ve dated, loved, lost, or kicked to the curb–it’s all a part of the experience of being on the market. And it makes for pretty interesting reading, lol.  Until next time…]

****If you liked this blog, you’ll LOVE:  Why Educated Black Men Don’t Settle Down

The Everyday Black Woman & Beer: A Love Story

Posted in black culture, black people, Global Ninja, hip hop, Ninja Sports, ninjas, sideline hoes, Uncategorized with tags , , , , on June 23, 2011 by theninjaparade

The blogosphere, especially, is saturated with images and ideas of common sistas being inept, overly domineering, inconsiderate, and basically a bunch of onry bishes when it comes to relationships.  Bullshit.

“Not so!” , we say, here at The Ninja Parade.  All these females can’t be clueless and only #winning if they’re ridiculously gorgeous, with nice firm asses and breasts like casaba melons (or, more popularly…white).

Some of these chicks have to be doing well.  Real well.  We know the statistics, 50% of marriages end in divorce…that means 50% of them shyts last F-O-R-E-V-E-R.  And ya know what?  That’s alright with us, because the aforementioned “forever” is predicated on two looming premises that we like to conveniently ignore: 1- ninjas need love too…and it’s not just women wanting to be in long-term joints. 2- the women who want it…get it, sans the ridiculously fat asses and casaba melon-esque breasts.

Today, we’ll address the latter premise, and answer the burning question:

How do average, everyday, sistas attract, secure, and maintain healthy relationships with capable upstanding black guys??

It’s really quite simple…beer.

You see, Ol El Jugo was educated at one of the finest Universities around and the majority of our student population was comprised of African American women.  It was there that I noticed something peculiar about a certain group of women that ignited an informal case study that I’ve been conducting ever since with a working hypothesis that: sistas who could enjoy themselves in the presence of beer seemed to be cut from a different cloth then those who didn’t.

They just are.

Blame it on the fact that they probably had a father, or father figure, who drank beer and loved they mama…blame it on the “Homegirl Syndrome” that connects beer with sports (which is most men’s first love)…hell, blame it on the rain, but a sista and a nice frosty mug, into perpetuity, are as sexy (if not more so) as stelletos/boy-shorts/wifebeater combination that we’ve grown to love.

Soooooo…

Instead of clowning heaux, which we have become quite infamous for, today we shall uplift, rejoice over, and dare I say…champion the marginally attractive-to-fine black woman with beer.  Today we’ll get our Special Agent Dr. George Huang from Law & Order: SVU on…and create a profile of these beautiful beer-clad nubian princesses.

Scenario One: She’s Married, buying Beer at the Grocery Store.  This bish IS. IN. LUH. Not just in luh, but a champion. No seriously.  She’s the epitome of winning.  Not simply because she’s married, but because she sees the value of beer’s synergistic magic in the peace and sactity of her household.  She gives good (not great) dome, washes clothes in Gain, and makes a mean ass homemade taco.  Not only that, she gives her husband the obligatory 45 minutes of complete silence that he needs upon entry of the home. She secretly runs the show, while making him feel like a Kang. *salutes* [Editor’s Note: the beer doesn’t actually have to be for him, if lil mama needs to throw back a cold one to shut the fcuk up...May God & Klkeninja keep her.]

Scenario Two: She’s Married, buying Beer at the Liquor Store.  Location, location, location.  Ok, she’s got the right idea…just hasn’t been married as long and jawn in Scenario One, but was surely mentored by her.  She get’s the big picture, however, the fact that she’s at the liquor store…when she was undoubtedly at the grocery store, or at least rode past it, earlier suggests her priorities are a bit out of whack.  It’s all good boo…we see you though.  Maybe daddy wasn’t there growing up, but your dedication to the cause of not coming home without a cold and refreshing Heineken, suggests she makes the best grape Kool-Aid in the contiguous United States AND definitely has hood tendencies and is probably a hood chick. (not to be confused with a Hood Rat. See also: Hood Chicks vs. Hood Rats) She keeps dish soap in the bathroom (why? we have NO CLUE, maybe it loosens the glue in her tracks better, or her nigga is just as hood and likes his boo to smell like Lemon Joy fresh out the tub…who knows?), but she’s winning.  Times get tough, but she knows where to go for comfort. *kee-chee* <—that’s the sound of a cold one being cracked open, and of winning.

Scenario Three: She’s Single, buying Beer at the Grocery Store.  Legendary football coach Vince Lombardi is quoted as saying…”success comes from knowing that you did your best to become the best that you are capable of being”. The single woman in the grocery store choosing between Yuengling Amber Bock and Newcastle Brown Ale is a champion in the making.  When you see her grab that 12-pack, take note of that moment in history.  It is a young Michael Jordan raising up over two Georgetown Hoyas defenders in ’82.  It’s magical.  And any woman who has ever bought beer in a grocery store and been approached by SEVERAL men can attest to the starry gaze they/we have in their/our eyes.  She may not cook or clean that well, but you’ll never hear her complaining about *Allen Iverson voice* practice?  Why? Because that’s where champions are made and she knows it.  And if you think niggas aren’t slick judging you when you host cookouts, Super Bowl parties, baby showers where men are invited, and any other shyt that would allow any man to glance into your fridge and see a beer that *looks* like its been there for a while…you crazy as hell.  We see that shyt and we’re either gonna shoot our shot right then, or toss an assist to one of our single homeboys and let him know just how special you are.  Real talk.

Scenario Four: She’s Single, buying Beer at the Liquor Store.  This bish just like drinking beer…and I ain’t even mad at her.  There’s a certain sexiness to women who independently purchase and consume beer.   I’ll bet two paychecks that ol girl has a great sense of humor and nice rack, and even if she’s not into sports (which she probably is)…she’s smart enough to enjoy a good game and *wait on it* …shut the fcuk up from tip-off and last shot.  Unlike the other three scenarios, where the purchaser could easily be buying for another person (presumably male), nah…jawn likes beer and drinks beer.  She’s the independent woman that pop culture song writers write about without all the pomp and circumstance.  She is in complete ownership of her social life, whether romance works out for her or not she can rest on her blessed assurance that when that nigga don’t call back she can paint her toenails, throw back a cold one, and bump that new Jill Scott until she goes to sleep and tomorrow will be a new day. God is able…ahhhhhshaddabowshay!

“I don’t always drink beer, but when I do…” – The Most Interesting Man In The World.

~ El Jugo

****if you liked this Blog, you’ll love: The Sideline Heaux Chronicles

I Got The Victory: These Heaux Is WINNING

Posted in black culture, black people, bustdowns, Global Ninja, hip hop, Music, sideline hoes, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on June 16, 2011 by theninjaparade

Spoiler alert bish!

It’s the second quarter of 2011, and if you haven’t noticed, MVP Kim Kardashian is wearing a Sierra-Leonian knee cap on her left ring finger. Leading the league in assists is Evelyn Lozada. [Formerly noted for running behind cars in heels, Lozada,  has moved on from the Rookie of The Year victories of head for handbags to the All Star team of wifey/ aspiring baby mama]

And, please… Spare me the cries of hate that “That ish won’t last” and “she’s not happy” commentaries because their sponsors are black and their lambos are blue ninja! The heauxs are winning, plain and simple. Here’s why:

Heaux Skills Are Transferrable: Gone are the days when a heaux was just a heaux. Neo-heauxs are bringing back the Margie Hendricks brand of heauxing. The self-professed Mrs. Ray Charles Robinson on the road was his wife away from home, not just nookie. She was ride or die, contributed to his financial gain and, most importantly, she shut the fukc up! {see klkeninja’s “ Put a ring on It “ post.}.  Heauxs are making dollars and sense as the low-key, high-return alternative to wifing loud ass, broke ass chicks who can’t cook and hate their jobs.

Keeping His Name Hot in These Streets:  That’s right, while you were at the bar screaming “ninjas ain’t sh!t”, heauxs were having the BEST YEAR EVER. Heauxs are becoming better at talking to the right people. Talking to your girlfriends about him gets him nowhere… talking to the press keeps him relevant. Heauxs are the best PR for ninjas in NFL-lockouts, bad seasons, jail stints and whatever fukcup your man has gotten himself into. Ladies, trust me and Beyonce, be the light that keeps the streets on and upgrade his reputation whenever you get the chance. If you don’t, the heauxs will (and heauxs  will light it up on twitter, faceook, vimeo, foursquare and via press release while yo’ ass sits up somewhere hating)

Heauxs Have Money:  Get your weight up BISH!! Heauxs are bringing their own money to the table. Regardless of who they threw a drink on to get it, neo-heauxs have dough. So, why are they chasing money, you may ask? This isn’t about getting money for them…it’s about doubling money and stackin that shyt.. Longevity. Stability. Twenty-Four hour champagne diets! Selling Body Magic is not an entrepreneurial plan, honey! And for this reason, girls, your man is on to the next one…

Heauxs are Heauxs: I know what you’re thinking:  “This chick is a heaux.” Not exactly. I just know what I want out of life (name that tune). I’m a believer in fundamental truths begetting other truths. The Secret, or positive visualization, works because it stands on the fundamentals of faith. Heaux visionaries understand that keeping him focused in the bedroom lessens idle time in the streets. I employ said fundamental tendency in my marriage. Yes, homie, marriage. Get you one!

[Disclaimer: The mayhem and foolishness spewed in the above article is indeed the shared viewpoint of a population of happily married women who ain’t mad at heauxs for being heauxs. All subsequent emails (which can be forwarded to yomommawasaheaux@yodaddyiswinning.com) will receive automated messages of the “Put a Ring on It” post strictly re-inforcing your need to STFU and listen.

~The Fundraiser

****if you liked this blog, you’ll love: The $15 Million Dollar Question

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