13 September, 2011
The Freshman 15. Bearing a child. The party life. Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. Whatever it is that caused you to fall off, listen broad, you cannot keep that stuck up ass attitude if you want someone who your mother would approve of to appreciate you. No gentleman with a great iTunes library and cologne collection is going to put up with your plus sized nags & bundles of annoy.
This blog is dedicated to the women who conduct themselves as if they were some type of hybrid runway model/diva/prima donna/God’s gift to men/bitch, but have since became rough around the edges and now live a life full of camera angle, ‘headshots only’, profile picture deceit.
This is not purely tubby girl slander. There isn’t anything wrong being whatever shape you wish to be. Consider this a concentrated strike on the newly “large and no longer in charge” bops who haven’t gotten the memo of their demotions yet.
What I’m saying is a bit on the shallow side,
I don’t give a fuck, but is nonetheless absolute, wholesome truth. Women at their physical peak are afforded more leniency than the chick with “more to love”.
Rightfully so? Nah, not at all, but well, we’re guys and we like what we like.
If I can’t tell if your nose is stuck in the air because you’re a wench or because you smell something tasty, you hoes are the hoes I’m waving my digital pistols of slander at right now. Duck down if you feel the need.
I can’t stand you ‘conceited for no reason’ chicks. You know, the ones who hang the flowers from their rear-view mirrors for attention and leave every man who looks with a face of disgust and disappointment.
Face it, not everybody is yearning for that meatloaf struggle box like they used to. No man who flosses his teeth regularly and uses appropriate grammar is checking for that ‘fell off the truck’ box, boo. You shop at Lane Bryant now, hop off the pedestal.
There’s only one place I’m allowing you fresh-out-the-oven, muffin top bitches to speak to me in a disrespectful manner and that is in your resurrected petite dreams. Either alter/develop a personality to fit or shut your rotund ass the entire hell up.
If you chose the former, here are some pointers you can use to help point you back into the ranges of mild success.
– Omit all of these Size 2 stuck up thoughts from memory and learn how to formulate stimulating conversation. T&A isn’t carrying the weight for you anymore, you are, no pun intended.
– Join a book club or something that looks like you care about self-improvement.
– Gym membership. Get one. Use it.
– “Throw the head” more. Shit, what’d you think this was? You need to put in more work than you used to be able to get away with. Nothing’s wrong with a little toppington to go with my orange juice in the morning.
Follow those pointers and you may still be able to salvage a life of happiness and box prosperity, otherwise start stocking up on cat food and TV guide subscriptions because nobody with that attitude and melted hourglass figure is going to win in this life.
I mean, I suppose it’s not an absolute game-over for you fallen off chicks, though. Somewhere right now there’s a man in a dingy white t-shirt who possesses a NASCAR season ticket pass on his DirecTV account that would love to scoop you ‘fresh off your glory days’ women up and show you a good time.
I’m out though. I’m in the bleachers scouting Cuffing Season candidates all week. Shit will get real once they post their 40 yard dash times. If you see me out and about, please don’t get sensitive and in my face about these blogs if they offend you. My views aren’t everybody’s views, just most of the cool kids and anybody swagging out in high quality box this weekend.
Be safe, stay great.
P.S. Side chicks don’t know the difference between Miss, Ms. and Mrs. and that is perfectly okay.
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