22 June, 2011
Before I go any further, I want to make it clear that in NO way, shape or form am I referring to Beyonce’s dance. That was a gift from the heavens. I am making reference solely to the As Seen On TV Women’s-bottom-enhancer.
Let’s begin.
First off, a big middle finger to the inventors of this product. Wherever you may be at this moment, sitting on your bony, concave ass, I hope it’s raining.
Anyway.
The Booty Pop is the Adobe Photoshop of real life male-to-female interaction. As a man who appreciates a woman who does her squats, lunges, step-ups, and any other workouts that keeps that bottom-half looking magnificent, finding out a chick has a Booty Pop on is like when the Charlotte Banshee fans found out Juwanna Mann was really a dude. Deception like that really pains the heart because if a girl has something poking out on the backside, booty enthusiasts like myself can appreciate someone with other lacking attributes. Her face may be a 6, but great GOOGLY MOOGLY that thing is juicy.
It’s like this…
I met a girl while participating in typical nightlife activities. The conversation was going well. After a good five minutes of verbal exchanges, there was a brief break where we gathered our thoughts. So, I look down to see what she’s working with and J-J-J-JACKPOT. Beaucoup booty, you could see it from the front. Sorta. More like the side…but I digress. I thought I must have been REALLY funny on Facebook that week to get this sort of blessing.
Last call comes, we’re still engaged in conversation and decided to meet up after. That happens, one thing led to another, and (here’s the decline in this story) I squeezed her would-be butt and it felt like I was wringing out a sponge. The shit felt like I was squeezing a stress ball. I’m not even sure if it was the “as advertised” Booty Pop because something so vulnerable to a man’s hand should feel a little more realistic than that, I would think. I was trying to feel around to see if my hands could feel an embossed “NERF” logo.
The deception was unreal.
Here I go thinking I can rest my drink on her cheeks in the club, and come to find out that generous ledge of booty meat disappeared into the denim abyss of her pants. There was no need for Genuwine to even ask because there was PLENTY of room left in those jeans.
My preferences are not everyone’s preferences, though. Thank God. Nothing’s wrong with that good ol’ fashioned pancake butt, word to Dave Chappelle. There are plenty of no-booty loving men out there. I just so happen to be programmed to enjoy a little something I can put my hands on or smack and say “good game” for the hell of it.
If this product doesn’t disappear in six months, I’m creating a new line called the “Penis Pop” where it looks like a dude is packing like Fort Knox right until the moment where the sub-average sized condom gets pulled out.
Seriously, death to Booty Pop.
I’m out though. I appreciate the love and support you all have shown. Keep it coming and keep it counter cultivating.
-SG
P.S. The only thing a woman who wears Booty Pop can cook is a big pot of Lie and Deceit Gumbo.
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CULTIVATED INFLUENCE 
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