Drake and Pusha T are deep in the beef

If you look at the internet right now, there’s a 1000% chance you come across the Drake vs. Pusha T beef. If you’re like me (white), you’re most likely a bit flustered. No worries, we’re going to figure this one out together. I’ve personally took it upon myself to perform hours of thorough research on the topic (scrolled through Twitter for 15 minutes) and will now take it upon myself to break down the rap beef as much as I can.

And I know the haterz will say I’m not qualified to talk rap beef because I’m white and my parent are married (not that those two things are related at all), but honestly, blogging is very similar to being a rapper. My family understands neither, they’re both pretty stupid, and much like being a rapper, my writing career with most likely end with me getting shot.

But I truly feel like I can relate to this beef. My relationship with the black community can be summed up in the fact that I don’t cross the street when I see a black guy walking towards me at night, but I’m also always way too proud of myself for that decision. Like I’ll stay on the same side of the road, but upon being passed by a black guy completely minding his business of probably living a much better life than me, I’ll instantly think, “I’m one of the good ones”. Then again I haven’t seen Black Panther, but that’s just because I’m not 12 and like superhero movies.

So with all that, here we go. Let’s start with a background of each rapper.

First we have Drake:


Drake is a half black rapper who’s real name is Audrey Graham. He got his start in show business as an actor on the Disney show “Degrassi”, playing a kid in a wheelchair. He’s also Canadian. So yea, it’s fair to say he’s not exactly the early favorite for a rap feud. I’m also pretty sure he hooked up with Kris Jenner once, which isn’t a great look, considering he has the same taste in women as Caitlin. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that).

On the positive side, he’s really famous and is probably the most popular musician in the world right now. Still, he’s Canadian.

Then we have Pusha T:

pusha t

Pusha T is a rapper who is absolutely obsessed with writing music about selling cocaine. I hope my future wife loves me half as much as Pusha T loves drug dealing references. He’s also a 40 year old man with dreads, making him an absolute wild card. The only thing scarier than a grown man with dreads is a grown woman with dreads.

Okay, now let’s get to the actual beef:

Last week, Pusha T released his Kanye West produced album, and apparently he made a reference to Drake having a ghost writer, and compared his rise to fame to that of Donald Trump. Personally, I don’t see the connection between the two, but I love the move of one rapper calling another rapper Donald Trump. It’d be like Beyonce calling Rihanna Tomi Lahren. Then again, Tomi could have used Rihanna’s um-ber-ella-ella-ella when she got water poured on her last week. Thoughts and prayers.

Drake came back with a diss track of his own. Here is called out Pusha T for not being the drug dealer he claimed to be. He said ““Man, you might’ve sold to college kids for Nike and Mercedes / But you act like you sold drugs for Escobar in the ’80s.” I’m not exactly a drug dealing expert, but if you’re selling drugs for Mercedes, I feel like that’s still pretty impressive. Is that really a diss? And selling to college kids? That’s just smart market research. A valuable demographic if you ask me.

Pusha T came back again, this time with a song called “The Story of Adidon”. I’ll be honest, this one was straight up mean.

First, the cover art for the song is this old picture of Drake in blackface:

drake bf

What’s the ruling on a half black person in blackface? No pun intended, but I think it’s a grey area. It’s definitely offensive, but not as much as if a white person did it. I’d put it on the same level as me pulling the side of my eyes back and pretending that I’m Asian.

What’s more offensive to me is the rest of the picture. The face, pose, and outfit make it look like Drake is on a flyer advertising his high school’s production of Suessical.

Then we have the actual lyrics. First, Pusha T reveals a little secret that Drake has been hiding the fact that he had a baby with a porn star. He goes on to call him a deadbeat and what not. Definitely on the meaner side if you ask me. Then again, imagine if that’s how you found out that Drake was your dad? You’re casually listening to that song and all of sudden it clicks. Like “oh that’s why I came out of the womb with a lined up beard and an owl sweatshirt”. ” I thought I was crying because I was a baby, but I guess it’s because I knew jealousy is just love and hate at the same time”. “Don’t pull up at 6am to burp me”.

Then Pusha T brings up Drake’s producer, making fun of him for having MS, and talks about how he’s going to die soon. We in the industry call that “Too far”. I used to say “Don’t go there”, but that’s just lame. (Free T-shirt if you get that reference).

Pusha T making fun of Drake’s best friend for having a terrible disease is the rap equivalent of when you and your friends are giving each other shit, then someone is like “well your mom’s dead”.

I think Drake’s only real option at this point is to shoot Pusha T, right? In my mind that’s the only next logical step. I think that needs to be kept in mind while we try to fix our gun control policies. There should be a rap beef clause where you get immunity and can buy any gun you want immediately if you’re in the middle of a hip hop feud. I’ll be honest, Drake might have to pull up driving a tank. Like if Drake doesn’t show up flexing in a 1944 German Panzer I think he loses this one. Talk about a retro whip. Put some 24’s on U-boat or something.

Overall, I’m taking Pusha T in six games.


Did The Rock just give birth?

So the Rock had his second kid today (congrats on having sex twice), and I’m pretty sure he was the one who gave birth? I mean look at the picture.

He’s laying in the delivery bed like he just pushed the thing out. What a wild move. Where is his wife? Did he make her get the parking validated and bringing the car around front? I hope he insisted on getting wheel chaired out the front door after this.

I honestly have not ruled out the possibility that the Rock gave birth to his son. When you work out that heavily, and put that much strain on your body, eventually something is going to get pushed out, and sometime’s that’s a kid. I bet the Rock’s placenta is 90% pre-workout. He probably went live on Instagram when he started to crown. Also check out the pregnancy nips. That baby is eating good tonight.

But the reality is his wife most likely gave birth to his son, which actually makes this picture 10 times more weird. First off, why is he not wearing a shirt? Did he take his shirt off for the picture, or was he shirtless for the entirety of his wife being in labor. I feel like that’s something the only the Rock can get away with. Like if I’m in the delivery room with my future wife (who will eventually leave me for her old high school QB1 boyfriend) and I decide to take my shirt off while she’s giving birth, I think I’d be removed from the hospital entirely.

He definitely made his wife take the picture too. Tossed her right out of the bed and put her to work. And how about that baby having a goddamn mop on his head right out of the womb? That’s not normal, right?

Also, we as a human race do not give the Rock enough shit for that shitty tribal tattoo. He’s gotten off criminally when it comes to that mess on his shoulder. It’s to the point where I think he just has to tribal tat his entire body. Head to toe tribal tattoos. Make it happen. Do it for the Instagram likes.

Kanye and I use Twitter quite differently

Yeezy has resurfaced on Twitter, and my goodness that man is back on his bullshit. Behind DT45, Kanye tweets are probably the most volatile in the world, and by volatile, I mean they’re absolute gibberish. Granted, Ye’s tweets don’t put a country on the edge of a nuclear war, but don’t tell him that because he’ll strongly disagree.

Twitter has a variety of uses, and I’d say me and Mr. West are on completely different ends of the spectrum (not that spectrum, but maybe). For two people who publish stuff on the same app, it comes off as very different content. Example:


Clearly Yeezus and I have vastly different thoughts we find worthy of posting on the internet. But that doesn’t mean I can’t relate to him. We’re both artists. We both wild out. He exposed George Bush for not caring about black people on camera, I revealed that Weymouth John was a gay prostitute. We both got in a little bit of trouble. The only difference is, unlike The King of the South Shore, G-Dubs doesn’t have his mom to protect him anymore.

So I decided to take a look at some of Kanye’s recent tweets, and tried to relate to them the best I could:

If I’m not mistaken, pain and happiness are two dimensions. Actually they’re definitely not dimensions at all. Also that’s definitely not how you spell “dimensional”. And “taste, touch, and sound”? That’s not a love story that’s porn.

“This life. This is the greatest movie we will ever see.” Apparently Kanye has never seen Annie Hall. I don’t know about you, Yeezy, but if my life was a movie script, I don’t see any major studios optioning it anytime soon. That’s not making past the mail room at Warner Brothers. My life is at best a CW Sunday double feature. (I’m 10 years too young for that reference). Maybe a Lifetime movie, but that’s being generous.

By the looks of the grammar, I’m gonna go against you on this one, and say that it might not be a bad idea to invest in a publisher. Maybe let someone else write the book entirely.

Yeezus, I’m not here to call you a hypocrite, but for someone who doesn’t believe in the concept of enemies, you’ve used the term “hater” excessively in your music. Also “moving in love” sounds like a euphemism for masturbating.

Fuck that. If you don’t wake up and immediately scroll through every social media app while contemplating whether it’s worth it to even go outside today, I don’t want to associate with you.

Tell that to the bartender the next time my card gets declined.

Ye also ran by a couple product ideas:


Kanye, do you work at REI?

He also has some tattoo ideas:


Did Michael J Fox draw that by hand?


I’m 90% sure Kanye West is designing his tattoos on Microsoft WordArt. It looks like he just played Russian Roulette with the font scroll bar on Word.

So I guess me and Yeezus are sort of different.


  1. Graduation
  2. The College Dropout
  3. Late Registration
  4. MBDTF
  5. Life of Pablo
  6. Yeezus
  7. 808’s

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was just as riveting as the first

My breakdown of the first Harry Potter movie got a shit ton of page views, so I guess I’m stuck now, and have to write one for every single HP movie. That’s fine, it’s not like each movie is three hours long or anything. Whatever, here’s the breakdown the Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets:

So the movie starts, and Harry is right back where he started at his aunt and uncle’s house. What’s up with that? He went through hell and back in the first film, saved his entire school from being wiped off the map, and Dumbledore isn’t even going to toss him some free summer housing? He couldn’t make a couple calls and hook Harry up with a summer internship or something? Maybe a counselor job a magic camp? I feel like more could have been done.

And the thing is, Harry is right back to being a huge pussy around his family. He’s back to his bitch-ass ways, getting pushed around by that fat shit Dudley. If I came home for the summer and had the school year that Harry did, you think my parents would have any control over me? “Hey Tim clean your room.” “Fuck off mom I know magic now.” It’s like when you came home from your first semester away from college, and all of the old rules and curfews from high school just got thrown out the window, except instead of drinking it’s putting spells on people.

Anyway, Harry’s uncle is hosting some type of dinner/Tupperware party, so Harry gets sent to his room for the night, and isn’t allowed to come out for the duration of the party. He seems pretty bummed out about it, but that sounds like a dream scenario for any kid when their parents have company over. Nothing worse than having to talk to adults who won’t stop losing their shit about how many inches I grew since they last saw me. Keep it in your pants.

Then Harry heads to his room, a larger one than the original room under the stairs (which I was actually quite fond of). He opens the door, and boom, there’s some type of ghoul/goblin/hobbit lounging on his bed. It ends up being that sneaky bastard Doby, who is I guess is actually an elf. A “house elf” to be exact, which seems like a bit of a racist metaphor, alluding to a house ni…, uh, individual. Just google Bill Maher.

Doby turns out to be an absolute wild card, and also definitely a slave. He only talks in the third person, which is annoying as heck, because I feel like it would be an easy fix. Harry finds out Doby has been hoarding all mail from Hogwarts all summer like he’s Newman from Seinfeld, in an attempt to get him not to go to back to school. Doby ruins the party and gets the blame put on Harry, so Harry’s uncle once again modifies the house to be wizard proof. Even though he’s a dick, at this point you have to admit he’s quite the handyman.

The next night (of course they had to wait for the sun to go down) Ron Weasley and the rest of the ginger crew comes by in a flying car to pick up Harry and bring him back to Hogwarts. Harry and his pet owl dip, and they head back to Ron’s house. They eat breakfast, then they hit Diagon alley for some back to school shopping, this time through a fire place.

Harry runs into Draco Malfoy for the first time of the semester, and he’s still a doucher. We also meet his dad, who I’m pretty sure is also the bad guy from Mel Gibson’s The Patriot. One of those actors who just thrives as the villain I guess. He also has ridiculous hair in both movies, and you start to think he only goes after roles where he can wear some type of wig. He then starts chipping the shit out of all the kids, and makes fun of Ron for having red hair. Bullying little kids for being gingers is definitely a bold move, but also still pretty funny.

Harry and Ron miss the train to Hogwarts, so they decide to take Ron’s flying car. No GPS, no Waze, nothing, but they still somehow find they’re way to Hogwarts. They arrive at school only to get bitched out by professor Snape, but obviously Dumbledore comes out of no where and bails out Harry and Ron. They get a slap on the wrist and get detention. Detention for two twelve year old’s stealing a fucking car and parking it on the front lawn of the school. At this point it feels like Harry can get away with anything in this school.

Classes resume for the fall, and once again I have absolute zero understanding of the curriculum at this school. One second they’re taking a class in plants, and the next second they’re studying dark arts, which I think is just a politically incorrect name for African American studies. You really have to start questioning the legitimacy of the registrar’s office at this point. I feel like this school is made up of strictly open electives. I have yet to see someone take one math or English class. I guess there’s not a huge emphasis on STEM programs in this school. Which is too bad, because I feel like wizardry isn’t a skill that translate well into the working world. I don’t think Raytheon has a goblin department.

Anyway, it’s time for Quiditch practice, and shit is already getting intense. Malfoy made the Slytherin team this year, and his dad bought the whole team Nimbus 2001 brooms, which I guess are like the Jordans of Quiditch. Malfoy makes fun of Ron for being poor (classic), and gives Hermione shit for having non magic parents. Hagrid defuses the situation, and says how the Malfoys think that they’re better than everyone because they’re “pure bloods”, which I’m 100% sure is JK Rowling’s way of confirming that they’re definitely Nazis. We’re also an hour into this movie, and there has still yet to be a reference to a chamber of secrets. There are like eight different plot lines going in ten different directions, and I don’t know how any of them are going to be resolved within the next two hours of this movie.

Harry serves detention with Gilderoy Lockhart, his semi-famous, charming, dark arts teacher, who is definitely going to end up being the villain later. That’s such an easy prediction I’m not even proud of it. He leaves detention and starts hearing voices, and decides to follow them, which I feel like is never a good idea. Historically, no one with voices in their head ever makes a good decision. You never have voices in your head telling you to do charity work. I never have voices tell me to just call it a night, close my tab, and call an uber.

The voices lead him to a hallway, where he finds “The Chamber of Secrets have been opened, Harry you’re a little bitch” (or something like that), written on the wall with the blood of a dead cat. At that point I’d be on the first train home, but not Harry. I have a rule where the minute animal blood gets involved, I’m out.

Now it’s time for the Quiditch game, which is easily the most dangerous sport I’ve ever seen. There are absolutely zero rules, and anyone who plays it is just asking for CTE. Naturally, Harry wins the game, but he breaks his arm in the process. He goes to a witch doctor to get it fixed, and now I see where Tom Brady got that idea from.

Professor Lockhart starts a dueling club, something I’ve been trying to start for years. Malfoy and Harry are the first one’s to duel, and boy am I fired up. They starting going at it, going spell for spell, until Mafloy throws a snake at Harry. Harry flips the game on it’s head and starts talking to the snake in tongues. Shit just got real.

At this point everyone thinks Harry is a creep, but he’s obviously being framed. Him, Hermione, and Ron make some type of potion/jungle juice, which lets them turn into other people. Once again, this movie never fucking ends, and there’s still an hour left, so I’m going to fast forward through some stuff.

Eventually the blame for everything gets put on Dumbledore and Hagrid and get they put on leave or something. Now it’s up to Harry and Ron to save the school. Hermione is also randomly frozen. The film climaxes just like the last one, and obviously Harry is the hero, he breaks a bunch of shit in the process, but once again Dumbledore is chill with it. How did Harry do in his classes? No clue. He doesn’t take any finals, no group projects, nothing. Sort of crazy that with all Potter has accomplished with wizard stuff, he has still yet to learn multiplication tables.

The movie ends with Harry freeing Doby from his master, Malfoy Sr, which I feel should have been done like 200 years ago. Pretty wild that before this, everyone was completely fine with the Malfoys owning a person.

Overall, pretty good movie except for the fact that I was convinced at one point that it would never end. Hopefully no one reads this so I don’t have to write another one, because that was 4 hours of my life I’ll never get back.






TFATB Boston Bar Reviews: Fenway

Originally this article was going to be a breakdown of all the bars I’ve been to in Boston, then I realized that might be too much when I was 500 words into this, and was still writing about the Baseball Tavern. So I decided I’m breaking this topic into a series of blogs. Today we’ll be breaking down each of the Fenway Bars and all of their glory. And by breakdown, I mean judging bars on nothing but anecdotal evidence and rambling about random topics that come to my head while talking about them. Also fair warning I’m in a bad mood today, so things got mean. Few people have the skill to work in a school shooting joke into a bar review, but I did just that in the writing below.

Once again this is completely anecdotal, so for example, If you want insight on the mixed drinks, I’m not the right person to ask. If you ever see me carrying around a mixed drink at bar that serves cheap bear, know that I’m beyond the point of tasting liquids. Honestly, if you’re a bartender reading this, the next time I order a rum and coke, please just leave out the rum. It’s better for both of us in the long run. I’m not going to notice, I’ll still pay for the drink (because debit card money isn’t real), and I won’t puke into my hand, which is a win for everyone involved.

But regardless, the Fenway area is one of my favorite places to go out. There’s a large number of bars packed in a close proximity of each other, plenty of street food to destroy my body with, and a plethora of homeless men to befriend while walking down Lansdowne street, looking for my friends who probably left three hours ago.

The Baseball Tavern

Easily the best bar in the Fenway area. Solid location, I haven’t been kicked out (yet), and there are $3 Budweisers which is big for me, because everyone knows I’m #TeamEmptyCarbs. If you still drink Bud Light then you’re just not enjoying life to the fullest. I’m here for a good time not a long time.

The food here is decent, but there’s a Domino’s, a gas station convenience store, and Tasty Burger right outside, or what I call “The Triangle of Death”. So that’s where I usually do most of my dining. There’s also always a lot of BC kids here, so make sure to bring your Klan outfit if you want to fit into that crowd.

There’s three floors and a rooftop, each with personalities big enough for their own review, so that’s what we’re gonna do:

The Basement

The basement is where the bathrooms are located, so naturally me and my petite bladder spend a solid amount of time down there. The basement of BBT is a peculiar place. It doesn’t draw the same amount of sweaty creepy guys as other bar basements, but it still holds that scent that comes along with that crowd. Sort of the best of both worlds I guess. It’s sometimes rented out by a private party, and those are always fun to infiltrate and ruin. There’s also a punching bag game down there if you want to give your girlfriend the night off.

The Main Floor

The ground floor is honestly pretty average, and that’s why I love it. The bartenders are usually guys, which is nice because I don’t get nervous when I order drinks. The floors are just the right amount of sticky where you can keep your traction and center of gravity in tact. Lastly, it’s just crowded enough that I’m forced to interact with people, but also not to the point where I’m getting grinded on by other guys. I’ll do that on my own time.

The Third Floor

Similar to the main floor, but with less tables. Take that information as you will. Sure there’s more room to mingle, but I also can’t stand for more than 20 minutes straight without developing some type of cramp. Next thing I know I’m rubbing my leg out with a foam roller while eating a banana.

The Roof

Best roof in Boston, if you disagree you’re wrong. The roof is usually only open when it’s nice out, but if I had it my way I’d be out there in February. Honestly global warming is the best thing to ever happen to rooftop bars. If me drinking on a roof overlooking Fenway means a couple polar bears have to sweat to death, so be it. Let mother nature run it’s course. Drill, baby, drill.


A great bar for live music, and by live music I mean a band that plays those same three songs with sound turned up way too loud which is always fun. Everyone knows bloody ears are always a sign of a good night. Oh look they’re playing Mr. Brightside for the third time tonight. Though admittedly I lose my shit every time it comes on. There’s also always a long line, so the veteran move is to see if the door that connects with Bill’s bar is open, and if so, go in that way.


Basically Lansdowne’s autistic brother bar with a shorter line. Bill’s is a hit or miss. It’s either filled with people like me who hate lines, or there’s like one Asian kid in the whole place dancing by himself (it doesn’t matter that he’s Asian, but it definitely does).


A country themed bar, which I’ll be honest, really doesn’t make any sense. Besides our casual racism, there’s really nothing country about the Fenway area. Except of course when Jason Aldean comes in once a year off his private jet and sings about driving an old pick up truck, to the tune of 19 year old girls losing their shit to his southern accent he’s perfected in voice classes in Southern California. And if he ever loses the crowd, all he has to do is say “Tom Brady”, and that pandering hack is right back on top. But I digress. I don’t think I’ve actually ever been inside this place. I’m just a dick today.

Cask n Flagon

Got my ID taken away here when I was 19 and haven’t been back since. Looking back, I probably should have known that a laminated piece of paper I got from China saying I was 22 from Maryland wouldn’t get me in, but I was young and naive. I’d say I hope it burns to the ground, but with my luck it actually will and I’ll have Boston PD at my door tomorrow morning. “Officer you have to admit it was an impressive prediction.”

Yard House

You can drink beer out of yard glasses, which is cool but also a little gay. Sort of like skinny jeans. They have like 1,000 beers on tap, none of which I can comment on, mostly due to the fact that I only ever order PBR when I’m there. Blog money doesn’t exactly translate to IPA money.


Overpriced burger place run by that midget who’s in every Boston movie’s less successful brother (That’s a Wahlberg reference, I don’t want anyone to miss out). It’s honestly not even a bar, I just wanted to make fun of Mark Wahlberg. But he’ll never read this anyway, too busy cashing in on the Marathon bombing victims and talking about how he would have single handedly stopped 9/11.

Boston Beerworks

I’ve never been in here, but someone shot a bullet through the front window a couple a years ago, which I never really understood because it looks nothing like a school.

That’s a good place to end it on. Faneuil hall bars are next on the list. I’m coming for Ned Devine’s neck.



I’ve never related to an article so well

So New York Magazine published an article today about a woman talking about how rough she had it growing up beautiful. The piece is getting a fair amount of criticism and backlash on the internet, and I’m really not sure why. Personally, I’ve never related to something so well. As a beautiful person myself, I know what’s it’s like to go about my day to day life, carrying the burden of being really, really, (like really) hot. It’s a thiccc cross to carry. So I’ve decided to stand in solitude with my fellow gorgeous comrades, and break down the article paragraph by paragraph:

Around eighth grade people started to tell me I was pretty. I was tall and willowy. I had a great figure and I never weighed more than 120 pounds throughout my 20s. I started modeling in high school and had waist length dark brown hair and brown eyes. When I do the whole makeup, eyelashes, high heels, gown look I am very intimidating.

Preach, sister. Us tall and willowy bitches need to stick together. And you’re not alone in that makeup situation. Whenever I wear eyelashes and high heels, I’m also very intimating. People do not hesitate to call the police.

I never interviewed for a job I didn’t get. I had a good degree from a good college, sure, but I think all things being equal I’d get the job above other candidates because of the way I look.

I’ve also never interviewed for a job I didn’t get. And I also never knew New York Magazine published articles with double negative sentences. Journalism is thriving. But I digress. I’ve also probably never interviewed for a job I didn’t get, mostly because I don’t get that many interviews. Fuck it. Still counts.

One of the worst things about being beautiful is that other women absolutely despise you. Women have made me cry my whole life. When I try to make friends with a woman, I feel like I’m a guy trying to woo her. Women don’t trust me. They don’t want me around their husbands. I’m often excluded from parties, with no explanation.

I felt this one. I’ve always wonder why girls consistently make me cry, and I guess it’s just because I’m too sexy. When I try to make friends with woman, I also feel like a guy trying to woo her, and I agree, it’s get old. Like every time I text a girl at 2am saying “U up?”, they always assume it’s for wooing purposes. Maybe I just want to talk. Maybe I just want someone to share this 7/11 buffalo chicken taquito with. Stop seeing the worst in me just because I’m so delusional that I think I’m better than all of you.

Excluded from parties with no explanation? High school makes a lot more sense now. It’s crazy to look back knowing no one invited me anywhere because I was just that hot. Now I know why my family didn’t invite me to Easter dinner this year. They knew I would bring the heat. They knew I’d be clapping cheeks at the dinner table. Grandma knows I’m a baddie.

At my first job after college, my female colleagues conspired against me. They planted bottles of half-drunk booze on my desk so that it looked like I was drinking on the job. Two women were obsessed with me

I HATE when this happens. Anytime you see me at OHE or Conor Larkins at 2pm on a Monday, know that it’s the evil doing of an enemy, and that I 100% did not decided to go there through my own pure will. Even if I seems like those are the only two places where I’m genuinely happy, it’s still a mischievous prank pulled by my haters.

That resistance other woman have towards being my friend is definitely one of the pitfalls of being attractive.When I was younger I was so desperate for friends, I’d take anyone.

Couldn’t have said it any better myself. No girls want to be friends with me, and like always, it’s because I’m hotter than all of them. When will the hatred end?

I never had any trouble getting guys, but I got bored easily and moved on. I should have taken the good ones more seriously. I can see now that they would have been good husbands, fathers, and providers but I’d just drift away on to the next and stop returning their calls.

She brings up a good point here, and I might have to take her advice. Gay guys love me. It’s a fact. No joke I get at least 1 DM a week from a gay dude (not that there’s anything wrong with that). Maybe it’s my birthing hips, or my jazz eyes, who knows. Regardless, maybe I should start going the other way.

These days, since I have aged, when I don’t wear makeup and I gain a bit of weight (which happens often) I pass as normal. As far as men, and anyone under 40 is concerned, I am invisible. They do not see me. I could walk across the street naked — it’s that bad.

Tell me about it. I don’t know how many times I’ve walked across the street naked and no one’s noticed.

Here’s the really sad part. It doesn’t matter how beautiful you were in your youth; when you age you become invisible. You could still look fabulous but … who cares? Nobody is looking. Even my young-adult sons ignore me.

Yea probably a good thing your son isn’t sexually attracted to you. That’s not the best way to gauge your value with men. “If my teenage son won’t fuck me then who will?” Let’s forward that paragraph to child services.

But regardless, it’s nice to know that someone else understands the daily struggle I go through, and can also take a step a back, make an honest assessment on yourself, and have the self awareness to blame every single short coming in your life on the fact that people are jealous that you’re really really hot. That’s the mature thing to do.

And look who came out on top:

My husband was the last decent man standing. He had a bit of a drinking issue, which he’s overcome. There was a time when things were bad and I considered leaving him but I had no idea how to even go about finding someone new because I never, ever, had to pursue a man. I knew I couldn’t cope with that kind of rejection.

The haters must be really jealous now, because you’re really peaking with that alcoholic husband that you won’t leave due your low self esteem and fear of failure. Smile and wave at ’em, babe, smile and wave.


If BJ Novak is the father of Mindy Kaling’s daughter, I will hire that baby on the spot

So the Oscars took place last night, and I watched absolutely none of it. I didn’t see a single movie that was nominated, and despite what some Huffington Post writer might try to tell you, me not seeing Get Out does not make me racist. If I wanted to spend an hour watching a black man get terrorized, I would just watch any documentary about American history. I also have no clue what “The Shape of Water” is about, but everyone seems to love it so much, that I now have no choice but to hate it. Thanks, guys.

Anyway, the only important event that came out of last night was that Mindy Kaling and BJ Novak went to an Oscar Party together

bj instagram

mindy instagram

This, of course, brings back up the speculation that Ryan Howard (hottest in the office) is the father of Kelly Kapoor’s daughter. Now I’m not one to care about celebrity gossip, but this directly affects me. See, for me, this would be an absolute nightmare, because that baby will be the funniest creation ever, and I’ll be out of a job.

So with that said, I am officially offering Mindy Kaling’s baby daughter a writing position here at TFATB, pending it can be proven that BJ Novak is the father. Could you imagine the blogs that kid could write? Fuck. I’m sweating just thinking about it. I don’t care that she can’t even read, write, or talk yet. I don’t care. I’m buying low and selling high. She’s raw talent. Novak and Kaling are both cheat code level writers, so it’s impossible for their daughter to not be able to contribute to this sight. Like you can’t have two parents who both wrote on The Office, and not be a prodigy. I haven’t ruled out that the baby just grows up to be Michael Scott.

So congrats to Mindy Kaling’s baby on being the second best thing Mindy and BJ have created. Job offer is still on the table. Let me know what day is a good day to start.

Also BJ I know you got my email. Answer me or I’ll start screaming.