Oh, and click here if you need a refresher on what exactly a Diva Dude is. 

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

The bougie black girl's patron saint

Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock or one of Rick Ross’ breasts for the past month, you’ve undoubtedly seen, read, or heard about “Shit Girls Say” and the dozens of increasingly contrived spin-offs it’s spawned. (Seriously, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if went on YouTube and saw “Shit Gay German-Ethiopian Boys Say To Baltimore Strip-Club Bouncers”)

As a friend and I were discussing these videos earlier in the week, she half-jokingly complained that no one made a video about things her demographic — the biracial woman — says. I corrected her, saying that “Shit Bougie Black Girls Say” would definitely be more appropriate for her “Hampton undergrad, Harvard grad”-ass ass.

Her response was predictable. First, she did what every single black person who’s ever been accused of being bougie by anyone at any time always does first: deny the fact that she’s bougie. Then, she denied the fact that bougie black girls even say or do anything “special enough” to warrant an entire video for them.

As you’ll begin to see in the next paragraph, I disagreed.

“Does he own a passport?”

If you’re ever in doubt as to whether a black girl is truly bougie, ask her if she’d date a guy who didn’t own a passport. If she says something normal like “I guess. I mean, I don’t see why not.” she’s probably not. But, if she recoils in fear, breaks out in hives, and starts running in circles while crying and screaming “NONONONONONONONO!!!!!!” you’ve probably found yourself a bougie black girl.

Bougie black girls reading this, can you explain something to me? What is the big deal with the passport? I mean, I understand loving to travel and wanting your potential beau to be able to travel with you, but what’s preventing you from just asking him to get one. Seriously, the conversation would go exactly like this:

“Hey, I want to go to Spain this summer, and I’d like you to come with me. Do you have a passport?”

“No, nubian princess, God of my Earth, but I’d love to make that trip with you, and I can get one.”

“Cool.” 

(See how easy that was?)

“That’s my favorite Thai restaurant”

For whatever reason, Thai food has catapulted past all other international cuizines as the bougie black girl’s default food of choice, leaving Ethiopian food, Indian food, and p*ssy juice in it’s curry-scented dust.

Perhaps the collective decision to be Thai food philes occurred in one of those mysterious early Saturday morning meetings Delta chapters love to have. If that’s true, it helps to explain why they each have to devote like 30% of their yearly income to Delta dues. They’re not giving back to the main office. They’re putting their money together to fund all these gotdamn Thai restaurants popping up all over the damn place.

Also, note how the bougie black girl says “that’s my favorite” — a linguistic trick letting the listener know that her bougie ass has been to enough Thai restaurants to be able to deem one her favorite.

“I’m not bougie”

I referenced this before — bougie motherf*ckers never seem to want to acknowledge their bougieness — but, the more I think about it, the more I think this denial is inauthentic. I think they enjoy being thought of as bougie because it assigns a certain social status to them. But, since they know it’s not socially acceptable to relish that status, they verbally deny it while doing mental jumping jacks of joy. (“He called me bougie! This means that he thinks I’m worth some effort! Lemme pretend not to be bougie so he doesn’t think I’m too siddity“)

“Where’s brunch?”

Panama’s already touched on this, but bougie black girls love brunch more than fat crackheads love Home Depot.

“I’m so ratchet.”

Sign #318 that you’re definitely, unequivocally, absolutely, unmistakably, positively, and emphatically NOT ratchet: You refer to yourself as ratchet.

“Wait, who’s going to be there?” 

It doesn’t matter if they’re going to a party or just going out to the front lawn to pick up the newspaper, bougie black girls don’t even consider going anywhere unless they know exactly who else is going. Now, finding out that some of the “wrong” people are going doesn’t necessarily stop them from going, but it does influence their attire, mode of transportation, intoxication level, tph (tweets per hour) count, and whether the guy she invites back to her house later “adds to her number.”

“Is he Greek?”

“Greek” can also be replaced with “from here,” done with school,” “driving that,” or “gay”

“Where’d you get that?” “Target, girl.” “OH MY GOD!!!”

You haven’t lived until you listened to two bougie black girls practically orgasm with surprise over a recent purchase one of them made at Target. What makes it even better is the fact that they have the exact same convo with the exact same orgasm of surprise each time at least once a week.

Anyway, people of VSB.com, that’s it for me. Can you think of any more shit that bougie black girls (or guys) say?

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

The NBA: Where putting a million-dollar ring on it to postpone something that's going to happen in seven years anyway, happens.

“30 years ago, everyone at this table would have either been married with kids or thought to be thoroughly f*cked up or gay if they weren’t married with kids yet.”

A friend of mine made this point after observing the demographics — 12 people, all between 27 and 34, all with decent incomes, and none of us had children or had been married — of the get-together we happened to be at. While her assertion may have been a tad off (I’d say those things were true 50 years ago instead of 30), her point — that more and more of us are waiting longer to start families (if deciding to start them at all) — is definitely true. A quick glance at Google, the evening news, or the VSB archives confirms it, as study after study has shown that this phenomenon is actually affecting everyone (yes. even white people) 

But while this trend is generally thought to be a bad thing, I don’t share that sentiment. Sure, perhaps the more successful of us could reproduce a bit more to balance out the collective spawns of Jethro and Hen-Rockeisha stealing Duracells and beef jerky from rest stop gas stations, but there are already 7 billion gotdamn people on the planet. I doubt the world is going to come to an end if one or one thousand master degreed motherf*ckers decide to opt out of having children.

Also — and this is a point we always seem to forget — out of the people you know who are currently engaged/married, how many of those relationships would you actually categorize as “good?” Seriously, I bet if each of us were to think of 10 couples currently in serious relationships (and “serious” is defined as “been together for at least a year”) and were asked to make bets on how long each relationship was going to last, we’d give at least 6 of them “a year, tops“….and we’d be right. That’s not even counting the horrifically mismatched motherf*ckers who’ve stayed a couple because they’re scared to break up with each other.

You can make the argument that we’re reading the stats the wrong way. Too many people are in relationships/married that clearly have no business being together, and more and more of us are starting to realize this to be true. Perhaps we’re actually trending upward.

Anyway, I’m sure you’ve all heard that everyone’s favorite least favorite athlete is breaking up with his wife. Apparently, she just became fed up with the fact that he couldn’t keep in his pants. ***Insert joke about Mexican women, black mambas, and underbites.***

Now, an uber-popular professional athlete repeatedly cheating on his wife is about as dog bites man-ey as a news story gets. But, the part of this situation that seems to have the most people taking is the fact that Kobe did not have a pre-nuptial agreement in place. His wife will receive half of his net worth — which is reported to be roughly 150 million dollars — and may be able to receive spousal support for the next 450 or so years.

Whether the former Mrs. Bryant actually deserves that money has been argued and debated ad nauseum, but the general sentiment about Kobe not asking her to sign a pre-nupt can be summed up in nine words: “He’s a gotdamn f*cking idiot…and an anal rapist” 

I disagree. Not with the anal raping part, of course. (Just to be clear, I do disagree with anal rape in general. Down with anal rape and sh*t.) I don’t think that not signing a pre-nupt makes him an idiot.¹ 

We all have the benefit of hindsight, allowing us to determine today that him not making his (then) 18 year old wife sign a pre-nuptial agreement in 2001 was clearly an idiotic move. At the same time, though, if you love someone enough to legally and spiritually commit the rest of your life to them, doesn’t a pre-nupt cheapen that entire process? Aren’t you basically saying “I love the sh*t out of you, and I want to spend the rest of eternity with you. I’ll carry you to Heaven, and, if need be, I’ll even follow you to Hell. Buuuuut, I’m a need you to sign this paper real quick just in case that whole loving the sh*t out of you thing doesn’t work. Deal?”

I know many of you (and by “you” I mean “the men reading this“) are probably thinking “That’s easy for you to say, Champ. I don’t know what your bank account looks like, but I’m pretty certain you aint worth 150 mil.” Thing is — and Chris Rock already made this point in one of his comedy specials — my relatively minuscule bank account actually makes a pre-nupt more sensible for me. I think Kobe will be ok with his 75 mil. But, if me or any of the rest of the 40 to 100 thousand dollar a year n*ggas reading this were forced to give half away, we’d have good motive to kill someone.

With that being said, I’d still never ask a woman to sign a pre-nupt. While some consider that piece of paper to be protection, I think it just exposes doubt. Perhaps I’m just hopelessly romantic (possible) or just dangerously naive (very possible), but I believe that if there’s any doubt then your ass just don’t need to be together at all.

As I stated before, there are already too many not really ready to be married motherf*ckers walking down the alter and taking up precious Jet magazine space. Why even make that step if you’re not willing to put all of your chips in?

¹Having unprotected anal sex with a woman you just met 20 minutes ago does, though

—The Champ

***If you get a minute, check out “The Conversation: Let’s Talk About Race” — a (duh) on-going conversation about race I’m having at The Good Men Project with author Andrew Cotto.***

Aww, a Black family without guns. We're like the Obamas.

Make sure you check out the second installment of The Don’ts of Dating: How To Lose A Good Thing in 8 Days (Part 2 of 2) by VSB P and Rahiel over at Urban Cusp. It’s as good as Part 1. Shoot them things and holler, ge-ge-get ‘em girl.

Now you may read that title and think that I mean cheap. But the truth is the key to a woman’s heart isn’t in how much you spend; it’s in how much thought you put into it. See, b*tches love the smiley face. But what they love more than the smiley face is effort and thoughtfulness. Yes fellas, if you spend even five minutes thinking about what you’d like to do to show her that you care you are winning.

And for the record: dinner/movie/smang does not take five minutes to conjure.

Why am I writing this? Well for one, I’m motherf*cking benevolent. For b, it’s Christmas and after you blow all of your dough on Christmas presents, you’re going to need all of January through November to recoup. Ladies, take heed…our pockets are going to be short for the rest of the year. The. rest. of. the. year.

Well here’s a caveat for you fellas. Many of us are afraid of simping out for some woman that we may not even like. Except, you are already interested because you are taking her out. Give it up. Turn it loose. Take off your cool and realize that giving a sh*t about a woman is how we got here. Sure they drive us crazy, but evolution and your namesake can’t show up unless you put in some work.

With that being said, here’s a list of cost-efficient but thoughtful dates that women wouldn’t be mad at.

1. Let’s take, a long walk.

In the middle of the day. On her lunch break. Yep. Show up at her job, call her and tell her to meet you outside because you wanted to take a walk with her. Do you know why you stay winning here? The element of surprise. Women love surprises that show you’re thinking about them. And whats more intimate than taking a walk with somebody? You’re stuck for that however long time you’re traversing those sidewalks in the concrete jungle. Plus women looooooooooooove them some good company. Keep her laughing and smiling and a little innocent random shoulder brushes and she’ll f*ck around and fall in love before you hit 0.2 miles.

2. Picnics

And the crowd said, “duh”. Look, picnics are the great leverage equalizer. Sure you’re trying to get some stank out of her. But you ended up actually liking her. And do you know how I know you ended up liking her? Ain’t no ninja about to expend the energy it takes to put together a picnic on a woman he ain’t feeling. Word.Life. A picnic is not an easy thing to pull off. You have to make everything. Find a locale. Buy a checkered blanket (it ain’t a wifebeater unless its white and it ain’t a picnic unless the blanket is checkered), and you need a basket. You’re going to have to take your happy arse to a Michael’s or something to get a basket. Not a container ninja. Oh, and the point about trying to get you some stank? Well, after you do a picnic (which can be cheap though it takes effort), she’ll be trying to figure out when to give it to you. All you do is win, win, win no matter what.

Oh, and if you combo number 1 and number 2, SHE might propose to you. That’s thoughtful.

3. Go watch the sunset…befo.

There are very few things more romantic than just sitting out and staring at stars or a sunset together. It’s like looking at motherf*cking ducklings, pimpin. You ever take a chick to look at ducklings and not fall in love? You have to be a cold duck (no pun intended) to look at a duckling and not fall in love. Sunset? Ducks? Same sh*t.

4. Museum

I live in DC so this might be cheating but all of our good museums are free. Same with our zoo. Going to the museum intimates culture. And chicks like culture. Even hood rats think going to a museum means something. You get kudos for going to one of the off kilter ones too. Don’t just hit up American History. Hit up Natural History and check out the dinosaur bones. And fossils. Or go to an aquarium. Aquariums rock. Word to Pookie. Our Aquarium in DC is like 8 bucks. And it is an 8 dollar ass aquarium. But it’s underground and its a cool excursion. Because who thinks to go to the Aquarium. That sounds like you thought about it. Thinking? That’s effort, ninja. Or a botanical garden. Go learn something motherf*cker.

5. Things we think white people do

Like ice skating. You saw The Program. Word up.

6. Most importantly, things you heard her say she likes

This one is hard because it requires listening. I know, listening is for suckas. But the truth is, if you listen to a woman talk long enough she’ll give you all kinds of interests of hers and you can take one word like “travel” or “food” and find some cool travel exhibit. For free my ninja! Or take her on a “cook your own ethnic food” date. Actually, that last one might run you. Don’t do it. Buy her an ethnic cookbook and say, let’s cook together. Cooking together? Quality time. And women love quality time. Do you know why? It means you’re thinking about her. Which makes it thoughtful.

Score.

Those are a few ideas. My people, what else do you have? Ladies, help us out. Let us know your most thoughtful date or what would constitute a perfect date to you? And fellas, what else you got. Contribute to the database!!!!

Out.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka TRENDSETTER P aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL YOU A 3

If you do this, you are wrong. Stop it. And get some color.

Here’s a simple question for the single masses: if you happened to get into a committed relationship tomorrow, exactly how many people would you have to stop talking to outright because your relationships could be deemed inappropriate?

Take your time. Think on it.

*humming Curtis Mayfield’s “The Makings Of You”*

If I did an actual honest assessment of most of my opposite sex relationships, then there’s a good chance I’d need to drop kick a solid 98 percent of my female friends to the curb. Ya know, should I get into a relationship.

Here’s an even more interesting piece: I don’t even know how half of those relationships got to the inappropriate phase. Or if they’re even really inappropriate. Most of them would probably just bother anybody that I’d be dating. It’s no like all of my friendships are filled with sexting and slumber parties that involve naked twister. In fact, most of them are chock full of conversations that are relevant to life and dating. It’s just that every so often, they can veer into questionable and head right down into “make the preacher blush” territory.

And I think that 99 percent of functioning, datable men have this same problem. Hell, I’ll bet that even men in relationships have this conundrum. Because from what I’ve learned, most women aren’t really that concerned with making an off the cuff remark on occasion. And there aren’t many dudes who are going to check that kind of behavior because…well…why? It doesn’t happen frequently and he doesn’t plan on digging deeper into its origins or meanings so…live and let live.

Here’s another thing to wonder about: I’m almost sure that women would be on a seek and destroy mission when it came to those relationships they didn’t feel were appropriate now that their man has a woman. But I can’t honestly ever remember caring really that my girls had single male friends. Maybe its the assumption that all men are dogs and need to have the temptation removed for them. Kind of like the idea that women don’t trust other women when its the man’s actions that would be the problem. Twiddle dee dum.

And maybe its the idea that men are so self-centered that we’d never really suspect our women of stepping out on us anyway, so it doesn’t matter. I’m not much of a jealous guy anyway so maybe I’m projecting here. Cinema.

I’ve lost my point.

So if men have these inappropriate relationships with beaucoup women, do these same women deem their own relationships inappropriate or do they feel that because they can manage them it doesn’t matter. Can they really manage them? Or does it not matter because women get tunnel vision once they’re in relationships and through attrition get rid of all of their friends anyway leaving only their man to be their homey/lover/friend because R. Kelly created the term on a lonely night when all the kids were at Christmas pageants?

Hell, what do women deem inappropriate within the confines of a “friendship” anyway? I know what constitutes inappropriate but I don’t mind it at all. And if a tree falls in the forest and a badly written essay about what a white man would do if he were a Black child is the only thing around to hear it, does the essay even matter? Lauryn teaches me that nothing even matters, at all.

I asked a lot of questions. Mostly because I’m curious after looking at my own life and having a conversation or two with male and female friends of mine. And it hurt a little that I’d have to get kicked to the curb. But it makes sense. You make one too many “what you can do with that boob” jokes and next thing you know the new beau ain’t really feeling you dun son.

So I ask you, VSBers, how many relationships do you have that would have to end if you got into a relationship? And if you are in a relationship, do you have any that could be deemed questionable if your boo thang found out? If so, why maintain them?

Holler at me.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka TANGLE JIG P aka YUNG P DA FLY THIEF aka GIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

For the DC massive: If you’re looking for a good deed to do this Christmas season, consider heading out to support Karaoke for a Cause on Thursday, 12/15 from 6-10pm at Liv Nightclub (11th and U, NW). You can bring a toy or a $20 donation for Southeast White House as one of VSB’s own commenters, Crystal Marie of awordorthree.com is helping put on the event. This is not a VSB event, but it is something that all VSB/VSS can get behind because its intended to help the less fortunate out. And if you can’t make it but would like to donate, click here.

Some of y'all are writing this note RIGHT NOW.

When Plato said that “necessity is the mother of invention” he inadvertently had three major groups in mind: Black people, hoodrats, and women. While it is possible for one person to be a part of each of those groups simultaneously, I’d like to specifically speak to the last group, thee of the boob.

Hate it or love it, women are the most interesting creatures on the planet. A woman’s ability to run both hot and cold at the exact same time is truly a thing upon which to marvel. Only a woman can do something completely insane and somehow manage to make it another person’s fault for her being in that predicament. So what she murdered that stripper; YOU shouldn’t have been sleeping with her. To woman, the crime is merely a role player in the drama that is her rationality. What she needs from you is understanding. It’s as simple as 1,2,3. Understanding is what she needs.

And that’s not just understanding from men, by the way. That’s from everybody.

Please direct all hate mail to deeznuts@saultnuts.com

All jokes aside, in my travels throughout Womania, I’ve noticed that there are certain inventions that either had to be created by women or concepts that are solely woman-centric. More than likely because men just wouldn’t ever think of them. Woman. Brilliance. Same sh*t.

Here are a few examples of inventions or innovations that are 100 percent woman-centric:

1. Ex-bestfriends

Women actually have these. Men, we have dudes we ain’t as cool with as we used to be. Or dudes we just don’t f*ck with at all. But there’s no title. No declaration. Women on the other hand? EVERY WOMAN HAS AN EX-BEST FRIEND. In fact, I’m fairly certain in Woman School, there’s an entire class dedicated to that day that every woman becomes full bird and has to kick a friend to the curb and denote her as an actual ex-bestfriend. And that’s her actual title in conversations. “My ex-bestfriend, Quilta, and I used make beef patties with processed crab meats. Bawse.” In fact, I’d bet good money that when you meet a woman if you want to know what kind of person she is, all you have to do is say, “so tell me about your ex-bestfriend, I know you have one.” After she gets pissy at you for making assumptions, she’ll likely talk to you for a solid 20 minutes about this friend that is no longer. Because at the end of the day…that “b*tch” was trippin.

2. The Mute function on Twitter

Passive aggression, thy name is women. I remember the first time I saw the mute button on Twitter. I had no idea what it mean or what it was for until I asked a homegirl of mine who explained it to me. So wait, you don’t want to hear about your homegirls good times or she’s trippin so f*ck her, but you also don’t want to unfollow her because then she’ll know if she ever brings up your profile, so you just mute her timeline until you’re ready to actively be apart of her life again? Unfollow is bad luck. Smart folks mute back. Must have been a woman that started all that.

3. The inconvenience phone call

People say that  you should beware of a scorned woman. Poppycock. You know that some bad sh*t is going down if you scorn a woman. You can’t beware something that you can’t stop in the first place. You can only hope she has something to lose so she stops short of a felony. However, let your woman RANDOMLY feel inconvenienced by ANYTHING and dude, you’re getting a phone call. She feels inconvenienced so she has to inconvenience somebody else. Or LET him know how much she’s being inconvenienced by either his lack of presence or lack of compassion to know she’s being inconvenienced and not call and console and apologize for something that isn’t his fault. Basically, women are the worst sports on the planet. I remember one day I was listening to Hot 99.5′s Kane Show in the morning. The morning host, Kane’s wife called up the station pissed. She was at home with their two kids who were screaming in the background. So what did she do? Call him to let him know that she was having a bad day because he needed to know. Almost in a sort of, you’re out having fun and here I am doing the hard work. You know how if there’s a way that race can be a reason something happend, its a likely culprit? Well, I think for women, inconvenience is their beef 99 percent of the time. Hmm…which leads to another type of invention…

4. The f*ck-up-your-fun call

Every man is familiar with the rampant “you don’t care about me” phone calls during that one night a month he goes out with his boys. It’s like the second you go do something you had to seek permission for, the texts start. “When are you coming home?” Or the phone calls start. “You didn’t put the dishes up”. Which leads to man’s most important invention of all time…the Loud-Arse-Universal-Hush-and-Fun-Diversion-Tactic-That-Works-25%-Of-The-Time. Or LAUHFDTTW25OTT for short. A man see’s that his girl keeps calling he knows he has to answer so he hushes his boys (and strippers) the f*ck up so it doesn’t sound like’s having fun. Which never actually works because well, women aren’t stupid. And plus, fun or no fun, when she makes that call, its going down. Joc.

Good people of VSB, those are just a couple of women’s inventions. What are other fine innovations and inventions that women have created? Make Plato proud. And to be fair, ladies, what are completely male-centric inventions and innovations?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. MAKE IT RAIN aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Check out Panama’s recap of Braxton Family Values episode 3 and latest blog post about women’s obsession with engagement rings and trapping men over on Guyspeak. Peep game shawty.

For the DC VSBers: Come out to the latest edition of REMINISCE (Facebook event link), the 90s party,  brought to you by Very Smart Brothas x Shine On Me x Just Cause Productions. This month’s party will feature a special tribute to Heavy D and a focus on Uptown Records (Waterbed Heav’s recording home). That means Mary and Guy and Father MC, etc. That means a good time. Get yo’ azz on out to Liv Nightclub on Saturday, 12/3. Free before 11, free drank before 11, and no dress code. And Champ will be in the building too. Sadatay. And invite all of your friends. Let’s make it a night to remember.

When he shows up...I'm out.

Earlier today, Lil Boosie (nee Torrance Hatch) plead guilty to transporting drugs into two federal prison facilities. I think its safe to say that he’s about to get buried under the jail. Now, the relevance there lies only in the fact that Lil Boosie looks like the kind of dude I’d avoid in general. And at all costs. You know the look. And do you know why you know the look? It’s because you profile. So do I. Which is how we got here in the first place.

By the way, Kimberly Elise specializes in looking a hot damn mess. Period.

Moving on. I remember a long time ago I was at this spot in Atlanta and a group of dudes who all looked like Lil Boosie walked into the spot. It was at that point that my spidey sense went off and I immediately closed the piano and walked the f*ck out of the spot. Some situations just look like violence or wrong is about to happen. And I for one prefer not to be in that vicinity. Well this random thought occurred to me today about other signs that it just might indeed be time to get the f*ck out of dodge.

Curious? I thought you might be. Here’s a list. Well, below is a list. Underground.

1. My phone battery gets down to 15 percent

I don’t care if I’m at church. If my battery gets down that low, it’s time to roll the f*ck out. There’s something about being lost in the world without a working cell phone. I know that emergencies don’t happen that often and all but what if the ONE time my phone is about to shut off a band of muscular midgets rolls up on me, robs me and I can’t call the police because my phone is dead…because I’m in Zaire. I’d be #madahellshawty. It’s like my own personal checks and balance. My phone battery being low lets me know that I need to rethink my life and be in a safe place. Panic room.

2. Somebody takes off his shirt/wifebeater

I go to clubs where tshirts tend to be frowned upon. But if I see out of the corner of my eye that some dude is coming out of his shirt, I assume that some violence is about to go down. Or in the illustrious words of (the ladies screaming go…) Andre 3000, “two ni**as done started bustin, one ni**a done took his shirt off talkin’ ’bout, ‘now who else wanna f*ck with Hollywood Court’” I know a crime in progress when I see one.

3. Girls get into an argument with a dude

This one is a bit of a catch-22. See, nothing good comes of a man arguing with a woman. But women also know this and don’t expect men to act like men because breasts are present. So the chick will loudcap, push the forehead, mush a ninja, and generally just get brolic on a dude. Thing is, these situations NEVER end well. NEVER. These situations end up on World Star Hip Hop with some chick getting bodied by a dude who will inevitably go to prison at some point in his life. But I can’t just run out the club since I know that the girl will need help. Basically, I stay out of clubs…

4. …where guys show up in the Grown & Sexxy special

You know, striped button ups, really cheap expensive jeans and some ALDO shoes. And fake Gucci sunglasses. At night. When a band of these merry men show up in the club…its time to go. Even if nothing does go down, they increase the potential for f*cksh*t by 1000 percent. That sh*t was written like a Drake freestyle.

Those are some signs that its time to get the f*ck out of dodge. What are some other signs that its time to roll? Share so we all may know.

I’m gully.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. ITS MURDAAAAAAAAAA aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

He got it at Jared

I was in NYC last week to participate in a dating and relationship roundtable discussion with several other writers and bloggers. While hanging out during the accompanying photoshoot, we — the three male writers in attendance — were involved in a kind of heated and completely hilarious conversation with a few of the stylists on set. Apparently, the emailboxes of each of these women were full of random wangs — short, tall, long, wrong, etc — and the only thing each of these pics had in common was the fact that none of them were requested.

One woman even told us about a time a year or so ago when she was in the cab back home from a decent first date with a guy. She felt her cell phone buzzing, saw the guy’s number, assumed he was texting to make sure she got home okay, opened the message prepared to see “Hey, just wanted to make sure you made it home ok” or “Had a great time tonight,” but was greeted with a glistening wang with the words “Sneak Preview” attached to it. One’s left to wonder if he carried a bottle of Vaseline in his pocket to always be prepared to send a shiny d*ck pic or if he just had the pic stored on his phone for special occasions.

Although none of us had actually done the unprompted d*ck pic thing ourselves, three possible reasons for this act were brought up.

A) It’s a simple bait for easy chicks. Let’s say you send a d*ck pic to 15 different women. Although most will be disgusted/indifferent (or will at least feign disgust/indifference), there might be a couple who are amused/intrigued/aroused by it, and now you have three new chicks who want to f*ck and all you had to do to cultivate interest was stick an iPhone in your boxers.

B) We occasionally assume that most women are turned on by our bodies in the same way that we’re turned on by theirs. As my homie J-Russ has joked, it doesn’t even take boobs or booty to get us. Sometimes a chick’s shoulder blade or bare ankle is enough to make us all verklempt, and we sometimes forget that women’s arousal can be a bit more, um, complicated than that.

C) Remember lunchtime recess in 3rd grade, when some boys used to flash girls at the swings and then run away laughing when she screamed or blushed? (and by “some” I mean “all”) Well, let’s just say that certain parts of some of us never grow up, and many of us will never not enjoy showing our d*cks to random women.

Anyway, the unprompted d*ck pic is just one of the many things many of us continue to do even though — if the women I’ve met are any indication — very, very, very few women actually seem to enjoy it.

Here’s four more.

2. The too soon “I miss you” text/phone call/email message

You know what’s funny? The men who do this are usually completely disingenuous. I mean f*ck, the date just ended 13 minutes ago. There’s no way in hell you miss her Aspergers having ass already. But, many of us send that message just to get some extra points, oblivious to the fact that there’s a 97.9% chance that she’ll think you’re a corny f*cking lame after receiving it.

3. The foreplay ear-tongue play

Guys, raise your hand if you’ve ever stuck your tongue in a woman’s ear while making out. Ladies, raise your hand if you’ve ever had that happen to you. Now, keep those hands up if you’ve ever actually enjoyed that.

Exactly.

4. Asking “how many” 

Although “how many” does actually matter (that’s another topic for another day), asking the question is an exercise in futility. Why? Well, she’ll either get pissed at you for asking, lie about the number, or tell the truth and make you want to hide under the table. And yes, if you’re the type of guy who’d ask, you’re probably also the type whose feelings would get hurt if her number is higher than D.Wade’s jersey.

5. The plan-less date

I know, I know, I know. We think we’re doing the right thing. We just want to make her happy, we want her to enjoy her time, and, ever since that time two years ago when we accidentally watched a couple scenes from Erin Brockovich, we’re aware of women’s rights and shit.

But, while many of us think that “It’s whatever. I don’t have any preference. Whatever you want to do.” is the optimum way to approach dating in these increasingly androgynous times, there are few things that dry panties quicker than a date without a plan.

Seriously, it doesn’t even have to be a good plan. It could be a bad plan. An awful plan. An egregiously shitty plan on par with “Let’s let the guy who was caught raping a kid in the showers unrestricted access to our locker room.” Shit, you can even change plans. Just make sure to have something, anything in place to let her know you put more than five seconds worth of thought into your evening. Plus, if you allow her to make her own plans you make her accountable for her own happiness, and we all know they don’t want that to happen either. (another topic for another day)

Anyway, people of VSB: Do you agree with my list?

Also, can you think of any thing else that we (men) continue to do even though we know that most women kind of hate it? 

***Coming tomorrow: “55 Things Women Need To Stop Forever“***

—The Champ

If they were Black, I'd say they don't know their daddies.

While I know why I do certain things, I can’t really explain why I do certain things.

Feel me? Probably not. Let me try this another way.

A long time ago, I washed a pen in some jeans. Genius move I know. So I pull the pen out of the now so fresh and so clean jeans andI get to pondering. I say to myself, “Self, I wonder if I open this pen cap, will ink spill all over the place?”

Hmm.

Now, this is a dumb question. Everybody knows that if you wash a pen, it generally breaks and goes squidward on your 501s. Most people are just happy to find out that their jeans are unblemished. Panama on the other hand? Nope. I shun common sense in the face of adversity. I scoff at normalcy and unproven factual theories. Sure there MIGHT be ink, but if I don’t pull the pen cap off, can I really say with complete certainty that my pen DID break and I’d get ink everywhere? Philosophy, thou art my maiden.

So yeah, I pulled open that pen cap and got ink on my hands (took forever to clean off) and all over my cheap beige-Halle Berry colored rug. Pure genius move. Plus, everybody knows I’m a motherf*cking monster.

Now the point of this story is that I pretty much knew what was going to happen but I still eschewed conventional wisdom and pulled the cap, caught the fade, and cleaned the carpet. Quadruple C’s.

So what’s the second point of this story? Well, two things. 1) scared money don’t make money, and b) relationships would probably be so much smoother if more of us acknowledged that we just damn know better most of the time…and f*cking leaned on that principle. I can’t tell you how many situations I’ve been in where I KNEW what the right answer was, or what the right way to handle a situation would be, should be, or how it all could be, and because of my own pride, I let the sh*t ride. Front back, and side to side.

That rhymed.

It’s interesting too because nobody is immune to it though it seems like a solid 99 percent of men’s problems in relationship comes down to knowing better and doing otherwise anyway. In fact, that’s probably the reason women stay pissed and peeved (not angry) with us so often, we do little stupid sh*t that we know better than to do. Our biggest liability in most situations is that we aren’t dumb.

Like, I know that if we get into an argument you just want me to listen to you and acknowledge what you have to say. But we’re beefing, f*ck that. I’d rather create the second argument that has nothing to do with the first one just so that you don’t get the satisfaction. Seriously, how f*cking retarded is that?

I know when you ask me how you look that you don’t want to hear “fat” or “not bad”. But do I just say “good” or “lovely”? Nope. I say “not bad” or “you don’t look bad at all.” Semantics is a motherf*cker and I know that. Yet, for whatever reason, my ability to take the shortest distance between my mouth and your nudity never seems to occur. Which is even worse for somebody who writes a relationship blog (unless its a sh*tty one…they really might not know better). I can’t get out of any argument because it’s OBVIOUS that I just damn know better.

I know what to say. I know what to do. I just chose not to do or say the right things because…well, I don’t wanna. Pride is a helluva drug. Which again…stupid logic. I’ve got hometraining and effectively, my entire upbringing was dedicated to making sure that I knew better than to make a bad decision whenever one presented itself.

It’s like getting a liberal arts degree. I keed. I keed. #occupywallstreet

*ducks tomatoes*

I know better than to stick my wang in what looks like a wang shredder. I know not to poke the bear. And I know to just letting sleeping dogs lie. Because I know better.

I know to just tell you whats on my mind. I know to let you know if I’m going to need to change plans. I know that I shouldn’t grind up on that chick in front of you or anybody that knows you. I know I shouldn’t make certain comments to an ex or hug that voluptuous chick with the dong too long. I know that I shouldn’t find myself in a compromising situation even if its not totally my fault…and if I do, I know that I should get myself out of it as quickly as possible. ASAP. And I know that if I get caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing, either big or small, I shouldn’t lie. When I was 6 lying made it worse and when I’m 60, lying will make it worse.

I just damn know. And yet I don’t do it anyway. Or do do it anyway. Or do that thing that I wasn’t supposed to have did done. The things you do, make me come running to you…to stab you. Or at least that’s what she said.

With great power comes great responsibility and with growth comes bigger drawz. But sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me as I quest to get better about doing some things. Or why I’ve been that way anyway. Like, I KNOW what I should do or say most of the time and I still struggle. If I was a Carebear, I’d be Struggle Bear. Actually, that doesn’t even fit.

But if I know better, I should just f*cking do better, right? Like Donuts track #2, I’m workinonit.

Sadatay.

What about you? Are you part of the #struggleteam? If so, why? Why don’t we (men and women – women f*ck up too) just damn do better? How much time do you spend mad at your boo because they do some f*cksh*t despite the fact that they know better? Why are there so many questions? Do I know? Do I know? Why’d I just ask the same question twice? Who ya wit?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. FEELYOGUHL aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Perhaps I should get back on my horse. It's much safer up there

I came across an episode of the latest season of “The Real World” last week. Although I’m no longer a regular viewer, I watched 10 minutes of it to find the answers to the same six questions that pretty much every black male casual viewer has when learning there’s a new cast

1. Are there any black people?

(If that answer is “Yes” and there’s at least one black female)

2. Are they good-looking?

3. Do they date brothas? (I know you shouldn’t be able to watch a black person on screen for 10 minutes and immediately be able to tell their racial dating preference, but I can and I’m pretty sure that most of you reading this can as well. Also, how much you care about the answer to this question usually directly correlates to how good looking they might be. Basically, we only care whether she dates brothas or not if she’s attractive.)

(If that answer is “Yes, there are black people on the show” and there’s at least one black male)

4. Does he represent? (In this sense “represent” basically just means “Is this a dude I could be cool with in real life?“)

(If there are no black people on the show)

5. Any cute white girls?

(If that answer is “Yes”)

 6. Do they date brothas? (Re-read aside #2)

I didn’t watch long enough to find the answers to my questions. (A bit of Google recon did prove that there actually is a black woman on the show — Alexandra, a Zimbabwean-American with an awesome Wiki page.) But, I did watch long enough to hear one of the cast members — a white dude (Nate) so consciously and stereotypically “white dude” that his white friends probably call him “White Nate” —  offhandedly describe what he’s looking for in a woman.

(Paraphrasing)

“You know, blond, blue eyes, big boobs, straight teeth, the usual”

I don’t recall if Nate said this in a confessional or to another roommate, but I do remember thinking the following thoughts when hearing it.

A) Generally speaking, blondes are at the top of the average American white man’s pyramid of attractiveness.

B) Natural blondes comprise a very small percentage of the population.

C) Nate is not blonde.

D) Nate will probably never be asked to defend, apologize for, or even explain the connection between #A, #B, and #C.

Now, you’re probably thinking that I’m going to examine why Nate’s preference stays a preference while a person of color expressing a similar preference for a rare and highly sought-after look usually becomes a complex. I’ll eventually get there, but what stood out in particular was how Nate’s statement was actually more of a mental muscle memory exercise than a fully thought out sentence.

I’m not saying that he doesn’t like blond, blue eyed, big tittied women, but the way he responded let me know that I’m sure he knows that’s a “safe” answer — the one that a person with his resume is supposed to give — so he repeats it without giving it much thought.

This isn’t uncommon. We generally know who and what we’re supposed to be attracted to, so instead of making waves, many of us (myself included) will just spout what we think people are expecting to hear. It’s really no different than the “How was your day?” dance we all love to do. The person asking usually doesn’t really want the answer, and the person answering usually doesn’t really want to answer.

This dance — where the steps vary depending on who you’re talking to and why you’re talking to them — is the reason why Isaiah Mustafa (better known as the Old Spice guy) is currently on a “Hey, I came out of a black woman’s vagina! I love black women and shit!” apology tour. Background: During an “E! News” interview a couple weeks ago, Mustafa was asked what he was looking for in a woman. His replies seemed innocent enough, until he mentioned that because of his natural naps, a woman he’d procreate with would need to have “good” hair to balance things out.

Predictably, this statement wasn’t received very well in certain segments of the blogosphere.

Now, aside from his Old Spice work and the fact that he might have the single blackest name I’ve ever seen in print, I don’t know anything about Isaiah Mustafa. But, although I’m a bit surprised that he wasn’t savvy enough to realize how charged and pejorative any mention of “good hair” could be, I don’t see anything particularly harmful or egregious with what he said.

Actually, let me rephrase that. His mistake wasn’t that he misspoke. He misstepped. He just made a wrong dance move.

Consider the context.

A) He’s an attractive actor known for his sense of humor and deadpan delivery.

B) He’s doing a very short and very light news spot for a very light network (E!) about a very light show (Charlie’s Angels) he’s currently on.

C) He was interviewed by an intentionally attractive woman (Giuliana Rancic)

With these factors in place, it’s easy to see what happened. He wasn’t trying to diss black women (or any woman who doesn’t have “good hair”). Instead, he was just attempting to play on that “I’m a handsome black guy, but I don’t take myself that seriously” persona he’s cultivated by talking shit about his own looks. Basically, he was flirting, and he made a self-depreciating funny — a funny no different than a short person joking that they need a tall mate to balance out their genes — that went too far

His mistake was failing to realize that a black man making certain jokes about himself can very easily touch on an extremely sensitive nerve — a phenomenon further exacerbated by the fact that when a person in what’s thought to be a somewhat privileged social position even jokingly implies that people at the opposite end of the spectrum aren’t mate worthy, a preference has a funny way of turning into a complex.

Now, Isaiah Mustafa may in fact have a complex and may in fact hate everything about his black skin. I don’t know, and I doubt anyone reading this knows either. But, you just can’t make that determination from his statement. A surprising lack of social savvy? Definitely. But not a damning example of self and sista hate.

Anyway, people of VSB, I’m curious: What are your thoughts about this situation? Do you think he’s guilty of serious self-hate, damned with a dumb dance move, or somewhere inbetween?

Also, so we can finally settle this once and for all, what the hell is the difference between a preference and a complex?

—The Champ