Tag Archives: t.i.

Just How Far Would YOU Go?

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dogsniffingParanoia is a motherf*cker.  It causes you do all kinds of things.  Just ask T.I.  That dude had an arsenal of guns that would make Saddam Hussein jealous because he was paranoid that folks were trying to kill him.

I mean, he had ARMY guns.

Now, a little paranoia can be healthy.  Just like many women can appreciate a man who gets somewhat jealous.  (This has often caused me problems in life because I’m the least jealous dude ever.  I live by the Goldie/The Mack rule, “You know the rules of the game.  Your b*tch chose me.“  My life has always just seemed simpler that way.  Ahem.)  But unchecked paranoia and suspicion can make you do all kinds of things.

Things like what, oh great-italicized P?

Glad you asked.

We all know some chick (or dude for that matter) who’s sat outside somebody’s house trying to see if their boo was going to show up.  Or nowadays, what with advances in technology, know folks checking Google Earth trying to locate their S.O.s juuuust in case they might have forgotten to mention that one pit stop they intended to make.

I’ve always thought it to be slightly insane to remain with somebody if you had to delve into the S.W.A.T. team manual in order to determine whether or not they were cheating on you.  I mean, hell, think about all of the unnecessary energy that you’re expending for what is essentially a fruitless cause.  Either you’re right and mad, or you haven’t found what you’re looking for yet.  Face it, if you think they’re cheating, in your mind, they are and you’re just waiting to catch their ass.  But why stay anway?

Oh what a tangled web we weave.  And horsehair ain’t no joke either.

Paranoia.

Which brings me to my point.  Courtesy of what I think is one of the most complex movies in the history of complexity, Baby Boy (this is all revisionist and based on how much fodder there is for actual relationship discussions of all types, not just romantic, we’re talking familial, romantic, spatial, gangster, thug, unstable creaturism, the list really goes on…) comes one of the oddest means of determining whether your man’s cheating or not.

Take a gander, a goose if you must:

Yvette:  You been f*ckin’ around?

Jody:  Nope.

Yvette:  Let me smell your d*ck.

Jody:  Go on with that bullsh*t.

Yvette:  If you ain’t been whoring around, let me smell your d*ck.

So I have a few questions here.  For one, do non-hood-rat chicks actually do this?  Let’s even say you don’t have the ignorant convo up front but do it on the sly.  Is this ACTUALLY a means that women use?  I know some pretty hood women and have polled women I know and I was amazed by the amount of women who have said they’d be willing to stoop that low.

No pun intended.

Which once again, I have to ask, why?  If you think you man is cheating, so much so that you’re gonna do a sniff test on his ass, you probably would do best to just roll on.  Plus, I’m not mature enough to NOT thump you in the head one good time just for being down there on some negativity.

But perhaps that’s just me, though I suspect I am not a lone like Michael Jackson song accompanied by a video featuring the daughter of Elvis Presley.

(BTW, the Washington Redskins suuuuuuuuuuck.  Thank you.)

With all that said, good people of VSB, to what lengths have you gone to determine if your significant other was cheating on you?  Would you women do a sniff test?  Are you insane?  And who’s getting DJ Hero like I am????

Inquiring minds would like to know.

Just how far would you go to find out if somebody was cheating on you?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka TANGLE JIG P aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL, HE A 3

just don’t do it (three of the most common relationship mistakes women make)

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tip-tiny-sent1

as t.i. and tiny continue to prove, romantic relationships aren’t a continual loop of milkshakes, bliss, burps, and glee. sometimes you’re gonna hafta hide your mans gats in your purse, and sometimes you’re gonna need to remind your girl that its probably not the best idea to tell her stylist, “you know what? i’m going to court today, and i wanna look a damn fool. can you make me look like a damn fool”

with this in mind, arguments will occasionally occur. armed with the knowledge that “he aint gonna hit me“, though, some women occasionally break the implied geneva relationship disagreement concordance, boldly crossing the line and committing war crimes by conveniently forgetting about the “untouchables”.

the 4 f’s of fair relationship fighting, each of these subjects have the power to irrevocably damage an otherwise happy coupling, and each need to be avoided at all costs, like e coli…

unique

…and women who remind you of her.

a) fists (since we’re not allowed to hit, any negative discourse about our fighting prowess should be off the table¹.)

b) family (we already know that one of our aunts looks like rick ross. no need for you to bring it up)

c) f*cking (nnte²)

d) funds (trust me.)

in keeping with vsb’s commitment to combat crime, i’ve decided to name two more damaging relationship mistakes women occasionally make.

being bob costas.

arguably the best play-by-play man in television history, costas combines a panoramic knowledge of sports with a keen eye for detail and extensive vocabulary, qualities ensuring that the viewers know exactly whats going on at all times. he misses nothing. no detail or occurrence is too minute or insignificant to share…a fact also making him the patron saint of annoying girlfriends.

while we understand that women generally need avenues to verbally emote, there’s a fine line between “fishing for innocent feedback” and “scooping the salon with every salacious relationship specific like sandra rose“.

your moms doesn’t need to know about his strange weekend “dusk slobbers” and every minute disagreement you’ve ever had, and, if you actually want to keep your man from eventually f*cking one of your friends, your lonely ass girls don’t need to be briefed with every bottom-line banality of your bi-weekly bedroom back-breakings

you’re in a relationship with one person…not one-third of your blackberry’s address book, and every bit of publicly shared “tmi” slowly tears away from your foundation like club mist and cvs eyeliner

disturbing the peace

we lie.

daily.

hourly even. i will not deny this. sh*t, i’m texting a pseudo-lie to three separate people while i’m writing this sentence³.

despite these admittedly troubling facts, our white lies are our most chivalrous act, our way of protecting you all from windmills, waterfalls, white women, and our burgeoning p*rn addictions, and its a relationship death knell to worry yourself over every minor inconsistency. i mean, think about it: do you really want us to tell you the truth about everything?

everything?

do you really need to know that last weekend’s slightly sprained ankle came from stupidly walking into an in ground waterfall when double taking too long at a zoe saldana doppleganger downtown…and not from winning an impromptu dunk contest on a 8 foot rim at the park? is it really paramount for you to know that the missed call you “accidentally” noticed on his iphone last month is from his crazy-ass ex randomly drunk dialing him at 5pm…not his nephew?

nah. i didnt think so.

i could name a few dozen more, but i’m not contractually obligated to reveal anymore until the geneva relationship disagreement concordance is amended.

until then, any additions?

¹unless your name is “shad moss”
²”no need to expound”
³i’m lying

—the champ