Women
I love women. You can’t live without them. You can’t kill them.
Women are different from dudes. I don’t need dudes. A friend of mine asked recently why I don’t call him that much. He was bitching that he always does the calling. And I never call. I told him I just don’t have the time. The truth is I just don’t give a damn. I really don’t need to reach out and touch his ass. I can live without hearing his voice on a regular basis. I can live without seeing him ever again. He ain’t my woman. Fuck’em.
Dudes like getting together in their special clubs and talking shit. About What? Fuckin bitches. That’s right. We talk about bullshit sports. And power tools. And cool cars. And video games. And big fuckin electronics shit we can’t afford. And we love talkin’ about hot chicks. I can live without talking about all that shit. Except dem ladies. In fact, fuck talkin about the women. It ain’t about talkin’. It’s about action.
The only problem is that it’s hard being with women. It’s not just the feelings thing. In fact, I don’t know too many women that like talking about their emotions. Or my emotions. Or anything Oprah like. Most of the women I know talk shit. And drink beers. Love the Canadian Club. And don’t mind talking about the boys they’ve fucked silly.
In fact, I remember recently being in a room full of women. Me the only guy. And them talkin about penises and vaginas and shit like that. It sort of freaked me the fuck out because some of these chicks were almost the age of my mother. And they were the ones talking the dirtiest. I don’t wanna hear fifty year old chicks talking about grindin’ it right with their young’uns.
At my job these old average looking chicks hit on the young boys. And the young boys hit back. And everybody has a good laugh. Except me. That shit freaks me out. I don’t want a fifty year old chick who looks fifty talkin sweet about my ass. My ass is off limits to chicks who even resemble my mother. Or my aunts. Or any of their friends. If you’re over forty, your ass better look like, and shake like, Demi Moore’s. Otherwise, I ain’t havin’ it. I already got enough issues to work through already.
My woman doesn’t like talking about jack. She hates talking. In the beginning, that shit was cool. A woman who didn’t want to talk. A fuckin’ miracle. But now that shit’s annoying. I’ll say something to her and she’ll act like she ain’t heard shit. So, I’ll ask that shit again. And she still won’t say shit. Then I’ll ask that shit again. And she’ll finally answer me like I went and asked her Einstein ass the dumbest piece of shit ever asked in the universe. Then, of course, that shit’ll piss me the fuck off and I’ll end up rippin’ on her ass. And she’ll hit back. And then after a few minutes of yelling, we’ll both get quiet. And I won’t say shit to her for another hour of so being that my feelings’ve been hurt. Then that shit’ll start all over again.
But I can’t be without her. Even though some times I can be without her. Sometimes it feels so good that I haven’t seen or heard from her ass in days. Then, I’ll wanna call and talk to her and be with her. Until she pisses me the fuck off again.
Sometimes, I don’t wanna be around women at all. Sometimes it’s hate. I won’t lie. I hate women more than I hate men. Men hit harder, physically. But women can beat the shit out of you emotionally. Men make me feel like a pussy when they throw, or hit, or talk harder at me than I do at them. You gotta hit harder to be a man. You gotta spit back. But woman. You can’t hit harder. That makes a real man feel like shit. A woman can break you down and there ain’t shit you can do but walk away. Fake ass squash that beef shit. You make a woman cry. You make a woman hurt. You create pain. And you’re the pussy.
I always feel like shit after fighting with my woman. I always wanna say I’m sorry. But saying you’re sorry when you know you ain’t done shit makes you a pussy. You can’t back down. But you can’t hit back. Several years back I was in a fight, me and this other dude. Three dudes lookin’ to kick our asses. Everybody drunk as fuck, except me. It ain’t pretty beatin’ the shit out of a whino. But I remember I had this drunk fuck on the ground, beatin’ his fuckin face in with my fist. And I couldn’t stop my ass. I hadn’t snapped or nothing. I clearly knew I was fuckin him up. But I was gettin’ out 400 years of oppression on his fuckin’ face. And it felt good. At least until it was over. Then I felt like shit. Cause I knew I should have pulled back. Because I knew I had inflicted damage on another human being. It was the only time I can remember feeling bad about hurting another man.
But I feel that shit about every week when it comes to women. My girlfriend. My mother. My sister. My grandmother. They all make me feel like shit. Women love putting boulders on a brother’s shoulders. They love breaking a man down by his kneecaps. They love it when they fuck a man up to make a man cry. They ain’t done shit until they made you shed a tear. A woman will break your fuckin’ heart every fuckin’ day of your life. And help put that shit back together nice and good so they can break it again another day. That’s why when you’re laying on that couch, they ask about your mother first. Cause a woman’s the start of the heartache. Your mother’s the beginning of the pain.
And your wife’s the end of that shit.
And the weird shit is you’ll have it no other way.
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