UGH GOOOOOOOD I HAVE NOTHING GOOD TO WRITE ABOUT!!!!
Untrue. I have lots of things to write about, but they’re my tricks that aren’t for kids. Here’s the thing, in the current U.S. socio-political climate, I don’t even feel comfortable writing an R&B song, because cultural appropriation and all that shit; I don’t even feel comfortable giving advice to my girlfriends about men, because gender roles and all that shit; I don’t even feel comfortable writing about this in my blog, because racism and intolerance and all that shit. It’s impossible to speak without being misunderstood in the 21st Century.
So what’s left to joke about? Sex. Sex is the only politically correct thing anymore. No, I’m not joking. You can’t even talk about sports without someone relating it to a) race, b) the white supremacy, c) any type of inequality. And though a lot of Social Justice Warriors have good intentions, the majority of them just need to get fucked. And here’s where I go back to my original point: the only thing you can talk about without offending anyone is sex. Why? Sex is such a personal thing that nobody can call you sexist for being into BDSM , or call you racist for having a certain sexual preference, etc. Sex is the safest subject to touch upon, not just because no one can get offended by it, but because usually the conversation is so weird for other people that they just let you go on and on. Which is how you win conversations, no? Whoever talks the most wins?
So, I could write about sex. But here’s the problem with writing about sex, a lot of people I know personally read this blog. Actually, correction, only the people I know personally read this blog, and not even all of them, not even half of them. The next thing I know I’m going to have that one cousin, who I’ve only ever talked to once, telling me he enjoyed my piece on the thought process of giving a blow job. That’s just too weird for me. I really don’t want that to happen.
By the way, quick commercial break: I know what girls think when they give BJs, well, because I am a girl, but what do boys think about while they’re giving oral? Men are always saying how simple they are so a part of me is inclined to believe their internal conversation goes, “Vagina, hot, explore, clit? Oh, the clit! That’s the clit! Where are the sounds? Hello? Are you there? Oops, guess that wasn’t it. Maybe next time.”
I kid. I’ve gotten good oral. Don’t worry, Mom.
See! There’s another reason why I can’t write about sex: My parents read this blog. And believe me, I have no issue talking about these things with my parents. They were the ones that showed me what sex was, so sometimes I think they’d like an update: “You did a good job. I know what I’m doing in bed. Congrats.” Clearly, I lack boundaries, however, my parents do not. And after a few requests, from them to clean up my posts, I finally did.
But, guys, I miss being outrageous. Can I be outrageous again? Or I can write about my stupid dog. Her name is Truman. She’s both adorable and a piece of shit. Oh, and did I mention she also likes to eat shit? Yeah, exclusively her own. We’re working on it.
And that’s it. That’s all I have to say about my dog. She’s a dog. She’s not that interesting. She barks, she shits, she eats, she licks. It’s nothing new. So, what in Dumbledore’s name am I going to keep on writing about if I have to be both politically correct and rated PG? Name one good comedy writer, fuck it, name one extraordinary writer who’s both politically correct and appropriate.
Next time, I’m writing about sex.