Jump Off (Something)

We interrupt your day to bring you the following emergency service announcement….

I get it.

I really do.

I mean, I don’t get it like you do, which probably requires a trip or two to the friendly neighborhood free clinic, but in theory, I understand.

It’s easier to be a hoe than a woman.

I totally get it.

People are, by nature, drawn to the path of least resistance. Sure you don’t mind being the jump off. Because that means, you know, you don’t have to invest in someone, give your time to getting to know them, allow them to get to know you, stand for any kinda standards, or hold to any kinda personal constitution.

Why do that shit when you can bust it open and bring it back for your favorite STD’s favorite rapper/actor/politician/athlete?

I so get it.

But listen here hoes…

I’m tired of trying to read the news and being assaulted with day glow counters of how many of you dusty broads are crawling outta the woodwork to admit sleeping with some dude two bitch fits away from 1st place at a J-Setting competition (I see you, Shad). I am even MORE through with these bitches KNOWINGLY fucking married men off some get rich quick shit. Because we all know that the best way to keep (a hand in) a man (‘s pockets) is to get knocked up with his kid. Big ups to Rielle Hunter.

Your choices are yours. If you choose to use your pussy like an unlimited MTA pass, do you (or them and their crew. Whatever’s clever). I won’t judge that. Do you know why?

Because I have a job.

But here’s what you WON’T do.

You won’t sell your story to the highest bidder. You won’t parade your sexts and emails and tawdry pictures all over the internet. You won’t hire some man so seduced by the money hoe exploits bring in that he will exploit your ignorance for an addition to his 2nd home. You will not recruit others into your lifestyle of smashing the homies and walking around smelling like condoms and cologne. You will NOT garner book and movie deals to spread your tales of hoe shit.

Goddammit, you WILL NOT go on Oprah.

Because when I am trying to read the Times in bed on a Sunday morning, I don’t wanna hear how you gave it up for a married man upon 1st meeting and spread it open next to his keyboard and rolodex. I simply cannot bear to be assaulted with another show about how you gave some famous someone the Grand Slam in back of the phantom, when all I wanna do is see Nate Berkus give somebody a motherfucking makeover.

I get it. Hoe shit is easier. But you are making it hard for women out here who have standards, who DON’T wanna play the sideline hoe, who like to actually go on a date every once in awhile and, you know…

…have actual jobs and shit.

Don’t tell me you buy into the hype of there being no available men so you have to be willing to share someone else’s. Call a spade a hoe; you like fucking dudes that are powerful and rich and desired and you’re more than likely attaching your self-worth to how much you can swallow without getting semen poisoning and how “famous” you can become for sucking and fucking your way to the bottom of the video hoe, groupie, my girl got a girlfriend hoe shit hall of fame.

I SO get it.

But it is absolutely IMPERATIVE you take this hoe shit back to the gutter from whence it came. I’m tired of reading about your exploits in getting your PhD in “It Ain’t no Fun if the Homies Can’t get None”.

Hoe, have a seat.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming.

As you were.