Friday Folly: Who Are You Calling A Ni**er b**ch? Bitch!


Rihanna nude pictures, El Destape de Rihanna

Rihanna nude pictures, El Destape de Rihanna (Photo credit: pics)

Rihanna rocks!  Sexy body, so-so voice, lots of money. At least enough to drop $8000 at a strip joint.  She has everything going for her you would agree.


A magazine in Dutchland described Her Royal Highness as a Nigger Bitch and she got royally upset.  She tweeted, “Who u calling Nigger Bitch?Bitch!  U ain’t even know english!  What u wrote is an abasement and insult me and the other little niggers out there! No peace out for you! Wigger ho bitch!  Oh and here are three words for u and your peeps on behalf of the black race you dissed, ‘F**k u!”  Oh Rihanna…


RiRi also said some stuff about evolution, race, future leaders and degrading.  I am not sure why she ended up talking about herself.  Then she later posted a photo of her with a toddler, calling him her ‘Lil’ Nigger’.  When asked how come she could use such derogatory terms but takes offense when someone else does, Rihanna mumbled something about being black, flashed her boobs, kissed her gal pal, slapped Chris Brown, exhaled her marijuana smoke, flashed her crotch and give the reporter the finger.  Such a classy woman!  Anything less would be an abasement to humans.

Oh, she also wanted to let her fans know that she’s not pregnant.  Just a bit bloated, bitch!


Read it for yourself:


Rihanna does not appreciate the N.B comment
Ni**er Bi**h Irks RiRi
Rihanna calls toddler her little nig**r


Related articles

Friday’s Folly: Excuse me, can I rub your pregnant belly?

th (1)Man, times they are a changing.  Do you remember the good old days when it was not only acceptable but recommended for strangers to touch a woman’s belly when she was pregnant?  No? hmm…It never was?  Well anyways, did you know that women aren’t down with that anymore? I didn’t either. I thought it was still acceptable for strangers to get up close and personal with a woman they have never seen before.  Are you sure it never used to be?

I found how the hard way yesterday while waiting at the bus stop.  An obviously pregnant young lady sat beside me on the bench and I, being the nice person I am, decided to show her my feminine side.  I put my ear to her stomach while placing a hand on top of her baby-filled stomach.  No need to ask permission, everyone’s doing it.  “Can’t hear the cute one yet.  How far along are we?”

And that’s when everything exploded in a verbiage of insults.  “What the eff are you doing? You effing creep!  I am not pregnant!  Are you calling me fat?  Why are you touching me?  Your sick mother effer! I should call the cops!” Plus taxes and handling.

I managed to stammer an unaccepted apology and ran away red-faced.  There was no way I was going to sit in the same bus with that irate woman.  Baby or no baby.  Plus, I didn’t relish the idea of being dragged off a bus by the police for sexual harassment.

Ok, I admit, I am a chronic liar and the above story never took place.  So what?  It could very well have happened.  So I hope you learned something from this.  DO NOT ASSUME THAT EVERY WOMAN WITH A GUT IS PREGNANT. (You are welcome, Rihanna).  AND IT IS NEVER POLITE TO RUB THE BELLY OF STRANGERS, PREGNANT OR OTHERWISE.  THEY ARE NOT BUDDHAS.

Some women can be so sensitive when they are pregnant…

Is That A Suspicious Package Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

English: utensils used in Indian kitchen.

English: utensils used in Indian kitchen. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As a kid, I loved playing with my aunt’s pressure cooker.  When she wasn’t looking, I would play with the little knob on top of the lid that allowed the steam to escape.  PSSSST…For some strange reason, I enjoyed that sound.  Sometimes I would get too close and suffered steam burns to my hands or face.  Man those were the good ole days.  When pressure cooker was only used for tenderizing food, not people.  Thank you terrorists!  You cowardly bastards!

Apparently whoever was responsible for the bombings in Boston used pressure cookers as their IEDs.  Now thanks to them, pressure cookers will be under the microscope.  I won’t be able to travel with my precious cooker.  Hell, I could be in the comfort of my house, waiting for my deer meat to soften and suddenly find myself confronted by the swat team.  “Drop to the ground and back away from that pressure cooker!  What do you have in there, boy?  Ball bearings? Nails?  What?  And what’s that suspicious package you got there?”  “Sorry sir, it’s just my penis.  Wanna see?”  “Don’t be fresh with me boy.  And we will be taking this pressure cooker.  Don’t you know it’s now on the list of banned items? You know what, let’s take a look at that penis…”

Cheaters, Liars and Food Wasters

thYesterday’s blog left a really bad taste in my mouth.  Not literally of course.  I owe it to you to write a make-up blog to erase that memory.  After all I am not a foul-mouthed person as a first time reader might have thought.  I don’t do gross. Right? Right?

Ok, let me tell you about my lunch today.  I paid Burger King a rare visit, it being Whopper Wednesday and all.  It was quite an experience.  The things you see everything in places like that.  I saw a man cheating on his poor wife.  How do I know?  Well he was with this hottie and they were laughing and enjoying each other’s company.  No cell phones were visible and he even pulled out her chair!  The Cheating bastard!  I wish his wife could have seen the silly happy grin on his face…

There was an ad for hand-spun shakes and for a second I was interested but then I noticed that they  were actually getting the shakes from a machine like every other restaurant.  No one was standing there whipping it manually.  Rip off! It’s like saying your restaurant sells homemade fries yet I can see the chef in the back peeling then frying the darn things.  Nice try, liar!

I ordered a whopper avec fromage meal  That’s a whopper with cheese for you non-french. I substituted my fries for onion rings because…I can.  After I was done eating the rings, I opened up the burger only to find that it was sans fromage!  That’s ‘without cheese’ for you non-french-speaking readers.  I was aghast! “My cheese! Where’s my cheese!”  I screamed to no one in particular.  “I want it my way!” Just kidding, I didn’t say any of that.  I re-wrapped the evidence and presented it as exhibit ‘A’ to the BK person to rectify.  I also watched in dismay as he threw it in the garbage!  “And you couldn’t ask me if I wanted it?”  I thought to myself.  No kidding this time, I did think that.  All I wanted was cheese added to the burger.  He didn’t have to toss it out.  I wouldn’t have complained if he had opened it up and slap a piece of reluctant cheese in the thing.  Cuz I’m cool like that.  But no, he dumped it out without offering it to me first.  To make matters worse, I was still a bit hungry after eating the replacement whopper. Not happy.  Is that what the king would have done? Do he know that there are starving bloggers out there?  Starving blog readers even?

Quite an eventful lunch break you’ll agree.  Again, I apologize for yesterday’s post.  lol.  I won’t even link to it here.

Scent Of A Woman

Fasten your seatbelts folks, this ain’t no movie review.  To some, it might get downright disgusting.  So stop now if you are easily disgusted, especially by smelly parts.  Today, we are going to talk a bit about women and their smell.  Well to be more accurate, the smell of their womanhood.  Or ladyhood. Whatever.

I am not taking sole responsibility for waking up this topic.  No ma’am.  It wasn’t me.  I was minding my own business reading about the Boston bombing on the puter when I absent-mindedly clicked on a link that took me to a topic that read. ‘The answer to every woman’s question:  What is it supposed to smell like down there.’

Now before you ask, “Why were you reading it, you are not a woman.”  I know I am not a woman and don’t have a ‘down there’ but as I ‘eat’ down there, I figured that I should at least be interested in what and where I eat. (Sorry about the ‘eat’ thing.  I assumed we are all adults here).  So I basically wanted to find out what exactly my food should smell like so I dove right in.  No use beating around the bush.  (Again, I am sorry if I come off crude).

What did I learn?  I learned that Vaginas are not supposed to smell like roses.  But also not supposed to smell like rotten fish either.  Somewhere in between is where is should be.  So a rose with a faint fish smell should be ok. Or even a fish with a rosie smell is fine too.

Interestingly, there was a paragraph on how a woman can tell if she has an odor.  I was expecting it to be, ‘If your man refuses to put his lips close to your rose petals, even though you have a mistletoe hanging in front of it, you might have an odor problem’.  Or even, “If your man puts on a gas mask before he ventures down under, do a smell test.”

Women, did you know that you could and should measure your vagina’s ph level?  I didn’t either.  I wonder what color it turns the ph paper? Some overly eager guys have used their penis as a ph paper and test many a foul-smelling vagina and from what I have heard, it turns them red.  Don’t hate.  I said ‘so I heard.’

I will leave you girls to go read it yourself.  You might learn something.  Me, I am going to eat.  Food silly!

And hey, if you have a strong odor, don’t be too worried. Just leave it.  It makes it easier for the dogs to find you if you ever get lost in the woods.  See?  It’s not all doom and gloom.

Friday Folly: Don’t Let My Pastor Know

Today’s edition of Friday Folly is a deviation from me having fun at the expense of those with reduced brain cells.  Today, it’s all about me.  I need to make a confession of sort.

The thing is, as a God-fearing Christian, I am worried that one day my pastor would accidentally find my blog (the way he accidentally found that gay porn site) and read it, thus finding out that I am not who I said I am but more than what I said I am.  I don’t want that! Heaven’s no!  He mustn’t know that as he preaches in church, I stare at him while I distractedly wonder what I should blog about in my next post.  Sorry Pastor.

Could you imagine him reading my blog about my boner on the massage table?  My love for yoga pants? Or even my confessions about banging my friends?  There are more, lots more. He just cannot read them!

I really hope that the God I serve has a sense of humor about all this.  God you know that I’m happily married and won’t tap an ass unless I put a ring on it.  I think I am a good guy.  Today, I even held the door open for a lady who was walking behind me.  Her being a hot blonde had nothing to do with it.  Checking out her ass as she walked ahead of me was pure accidental and instinctive. It meant squat.  No no, I don’t mean she got her hot ass from doing squats, I meant me checking out her bum meant nothing.  So you see, I am a nice guy.

Some of you follow my blog and like what I write about. If you want to see this continue, then please don’t let my pastor know!

Related articles

You. Want Me. To Kill You? Wtf!

th (2)I was reading a blog about Assisted Suicide a couple of days ago and was thinking a bit about it lately.  I really don’t understand the concept behind it.  So help me here.  Someone wants to end their miserable and hopeless life but doesn’t want to look like the bad guy so they get some poor ‘killer’ to help them?  Is that what it’s about?  You hire a killer to off you because you are too much of a wimp to do it yourself?  Hmmm…I see.

Well for those who are thinking of ‘going out’ in this way, please don’t do like this lady in the blog, here and travel overseas just to get some guy to pass you a glass of the eternal sleep mix. You can get this shit taken care of right outside your door.  Go walking late at night in a rough neighborhood.  Get your wheelchair stuck on a train track.  Go to your local hospital. There is stuff right in your house just waiting to be utilized.

Remember, it’s not ‘assisted’ if you are not as assisting.  You can’t lie there and let someone do all the work and still call it assisted suicide.  That’s murder!  He just murdered your ass!  Plain and simple.  How did you assist him in murdering you? By saying, “Hey, pass me a drink of your most potent stuff.  Yes! You idiot! Of course I’m talking about poison!  Can’t you see I’m trying to die here?’ Is that your input in the Assisted Suicide process?

th (3)





For those of you hopeless souls who think euthanasia is great and the best way to die with dignity, think again.  I prefer to call it weak.  A slap in the face of those living with disabilities. Those who haven’t given up hope.  Those who came back from the brink of death to see their doctor’s hand reaching for the cord.

Maybe you should reconsider this assisted suicide thing.

Pregnant and Fat Kim Mad At Katie!

Don't be bloggin shit bout me!

Don’t be bloggin shit bout me!

Well my blogging pal Katie, from, done went and done it!  Yes I know, I said ‘done went and done it’.  She did.  Katydid!  What she did? She went and upset poor Kim Kardashian!  Serves you right, Katie!  That’s what you get for blogging that everyone should leave Kim alone! Here.  Kim got wind of it and she’s pissed!  Excuse me, that’s ‘pissed’ with a capital ‘P’.  She put the pee in pissed and we all know that girl is full of pee.  Or is that something else? I dunno.  Didn’t watch her entire amateur video.

Turns out that Ms. Kardashian of porn fame, does not want to be left alone.  No sir/madam.  After reading Katie’s blog, Kim responded with,  “Hell no! I don’t want to be left alone!  If I were left alone, do you think I’d be where I am today?  Do I look like celeb material to you?  Am I bursting with talent?  NOO!  Face it people, I got famous for the wrong reasons.  You leave me alone and there goes my career, if you want to call it that.”  At least her words were pregnant with truth.  She further went on to add that Katie should stay out of her business and not try to help her.  She would have said more but Kanye grabbed the microphone and added, “I just want to take the time to send a shout out to my favorite blogger out there.  Eggman!  What’s up bro?  Yore shit’s da bomb man!  You deserve to be Freshly Pressed!”  Word, Kanye.

Sorry Katie, yes, making fun of anyone’s weight is bad news.  Making fun of a pregnant woman’s weight is horrible.  Fake pregnancy or not.  As the saying goes, “Everyone’s pregnant until proven otherwise.”  Or is that something else? Nevermind, who cares?  It’s only Kim.  She has opened up herself to everything.  Not that way! I meant the way she…oh damn you people and your dirty minds...

Personally, I like Kim.  She’s…errr…Who the hell is Kim??



Momma Said Keep Your Legs Closed Except For Maybe A Little Gap…

The much-coveted thigh gap

The much-coveted thigh gap

It is often said some girls are so tight that you have to pry their legs open with a crow bar.  Luckily for those men without crow bars or the strength to open up their women’s legs like oysters, women are simplifying things.  Men, say hello to the Thigh Gap! The latest trend among women and especially teen girls.

Girls whose thighs were once so close that they looked like mermaids, are now showing off thighs that are so far apart, you’d think they had a fight the night before.  You can see daylight through their legs now.  Easier access to the pearl.

On the serious side, our teenage daughters are starving themselves to acquire this ‘hot’ look!  Skinnier thighs equals thigh gaps.  An unhealthy practice to say the least.

I was never a fan of gap-toothed grin but a gap-thighed look? I dunno.  I have always been drawn to peep holes.  A thigh gap might be one of the best thing a wife could do for her husband also.  “Honey, you can stand in front of me if you want. I see the tv through your legs. It’s quite ok.”

So, do you have a thigh gap? Can I see forever through your thighs?  Is it naturally made or self-engineered?

An example where the before beats the after.

An example where the before beats the after.

I am not fat but my thighs sometimes rub together when I run.  This bothers me as it is a wee bit uncomfortable and stings.   Also, my ‘third thigh’ has to compete for space with two bigger and tougher muscle heads.  With a thigh gap, at least the little guy has some room to swing.  Yep, I think I need a thigh gap.

I’ll leave you with a little joke I heard way back.  At a young woman’s funeral, a man was overheard saying, “Finally they are both together.”  The person close to him asked, “Oh, her husband is dead?”  “No”, was the response, “I was talking about her legs.”

Friday Folly: Lost In The Loo

th (1)I wasn’t actually ‘lost’ per se.  I was kinda caught up in what I was doing.  No, not number too, even though that’s what people do when they go to the loo and spend a considerable amount of time in there.  Loo by the way, is an informal term for toilet.

Today, I paid unscheduled visit to the office toilet/bathroom/washroom/loo.  I had lots of work on my desk so I wasn’t intending to get too friendly with it.  Just in and out and back to work.  Well so much for that.  My short visit almost turned into a sleepover.  Someone who apparently had little on their desk, it being Friday and all, had taken the day’s newspaper to the bathroom and left it in there for the next visitor.  How nice! How thoughtful!

The mistake I made was to even spare a glance at the darn thing.  Next thing you know I was face deep in news, arts and sports.  Hockey scores, local crimes, latest fashion, food and entertainment, I took it all in as I sat on my porcelain throne.  My bare and ignored butt unaware of what was happening above deck. Totally clueless.

Oh, I even read the obits too! Yes I did.  As I finished up the last page, I realized that I was in my little private getaway for much too long.  Are they missing me out there?   I tossed the now  useless paper back where I found it, like a cheap and dirty hooker.  (Not that I have experience in that regard) then stumbled out into the light.  I looked back as I exited and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  Was it me or did I grow a beard while in there?  I seemed to have aged a bit also.  Even my co-workers didn’t look the same.  But that could all have been due to my eyes being out of focus.

What important lesson did I learn?  Shit or get off the pot.

I flushed and washed, in case you are wondering.

My Bathroom Getaway

My Bathroom Getaway