OK. cool.

Twitter Chicks

Twitter Chicks

Ok. This is probably going to start out quite savagely, but stick with me. It's going somewhere.  

I am not entirely sure what happened. I’m not sure how I started down this road. But, seemingly overnight, my Twitter timeline has been taken over by out of shape, sassy, fucking half-clothed, white women with slutty tendencies, and massive chips on their shoulders.

I probably followed one of these cretins, quite by accident, after one of them happened to say something legitimately funny. Hey, take enough shots you’ll eventually score...

But, KAfuckingBOOM, instantly inundated with idiotic quips from mindless fucking wastrel housewives in Jersey. Fat, disgusting, couch potato bodies smashed into the unluckiest corset ever stitched together. Bitching about how they cannot get laid, but demanding respect from their followers, all while flopping their deflated pancake tits out for their wide-angle camera.

Fucking Cheetos crumbs in their cleavage and stretch marks on their thighs. Nasty fucking worn out tattoos on body parts that should not be publicly seen.

But there they are. 24 hours a day and 7 days a week. Laying on their backs like sweaty manatees and snapping photo after photo for their Twitter followers.  

So, here is my thing. If your husband won’t fuck you, rather than going to Twitter and seeking out validation, take a step back and look at yourself. Are you presenting a fuckable package? Do your thighs have calluses from rubbing together all day? Do you do anything at all that says “remember when you used to like to fuck me?”

But appearance is only half of the equation. While standing in front of the mirror and assessing how the years have handled you, ask yourself “Is my personality fuckable?” Am I the soft, sweet blushing bride I was years ago? Or am I embittered along with being engorged?

To be honest ladies, from what I saw today on Twitter I would have to answer no to both questions. You’re not presenting a fuckable package. And you do not have a fuckable personality. Further honesty, your personalities make you absolutely repellent. I wouldn’t fuck any of you with stolen dicks and with Charlie Sheen doing the pushing while screaming that he’s a fucking Warlock.

But admittedly, my opinion is in the minority. These chicks have thousands of followers. Men throwing themselves at these greasy messes all day, every day. Some of these awful whales have 20,000 followers. 19,950 of them are sweaty dudes who are just hoping to see a nipple someday. The other 50 are other Twitter hags who do the same shit. Talking about how good their pussies are and pinning their chins back for the camera.

These ladies. The cadre of like-minded behemoths in brassieres, have been all over my fucking timeline today. They are slovenly, rude without purpose, ridiculing, and petty. While it is true that I usually applaud this sort of behavior, I do not agree with the targets of their vitriol.

This loosely affiliated group of women baits their followers, through carefully crafted sexual innuendo or through use of the ever-poetic prose “choke me harder and fuck me you bastard”, into stumbling over themselves to gain their favor. It is a virtual race to see who can come up with the best reply to a quip. A contest everyday to see who can make the most appealing comment about their 2 mile long cleavage.

And when one of these misguided men happens to send a picture of their cocks to one of these women, they pounce.

-How dare you send me a picture of that shriveled thing.

-Who told you it was time to get out of the pool.

-Throw it back until its grown up.


-Don’t send me dick pictures you fucking pervert.




That is the national pastime of women on Twitter by the way. Complaining loudly that the dicks in their DM’s are disgusting.

And they’re right. Dicks are not attractive. Random dicks are especially unattractive. Hell, I don’t even look at my own!!

But shit! What do you suppose will happen ladies? You roll around naked in cocoa pebbles for the camera, post that shit for the world to see with a caption like “eat me for breakfast”, and then get legitimately offended when some dip shit sends you a picture of his John Thomas?

Get fucking real! You cannot demand to be treated like a lady with Twizzlers in your pussy.

But here’s the reality. The feigned outrage at the dick pictures are part of the game. Smiling at the gesture, yet displeased at the presumption. So a modicum of outrage is expected.

I am not fooled. And I am not impressed. I know what lashing out looks like. I know desperation. I see these chicks for what they are. Women who are hurt. They’ve been hurt by the man who promised before God and all of the people they know, that they will love, provide for, and lust after them for the rest of their lives. And for one reason or another, shit has not worked out the way Disney said it would.

I want to just grab them by their arms and say “Lady! Twitter is not the place to go for validation.”

I said that I know desperation and I know what lashing out is, because I have been there. I’ve felt the pain of giving and receiving nothing in return. And I have felt the need for validation. I’ve been lost and sad and confused. I’ve been lied to and shit on by the one person in the entire world I was supposed to be able to rely upon.

And it sucks.

And it stings.

And it doesn’t get better with time.

But, don’t go to Twitter for validation. It’s not there for you. You’re only as good as your last cleavage pic.

Grow some balls and have a torrid, fulfilling, thunderous affair. Seriously, go outside the marriage and get what you’re supposed to be getting at home. Have hard, wonderful, deeply satisfying sex with a man who wants you.

Or leave his ass. No, really. Drop him on his ass and go be happy somewhere else. Life is too short to spend it with someone who either doesn’t want you or doesn’t get you.

There is a man out there right now who would love to love you. You just have to find him.

I found my woman. Or, I should say, she found me. She showed me that I was good enough. I received my validation from someone who understood how I give is something to be treasured, not exploited. And all of these years later I am still being shown everyday that the things I do are wanted and appreciated.

***digressing***back on track***

Time for perspective. 20 years ago, what would you have said if I told you one day you’d be cock-teasing thousands of men on this thing in the future called your 40’s? You would most likely have laughed in my face, or told me you’re not about that sort of thing.

But again, here we are.

And there you are...wearing a cut up trash bag and too much lipstick.

Look, I prefer to think that my theory is correct. You are sad, and lonely, and dealing with some shit. You are looking to be validated by as many people as possible. You need the adoration of one person, but to fill the void you’ll settle for the infatuation of a few thousand. I really want to believe that it’s a coping mechanism.

For those of you who fall into that category, I’m sorry. I have treated you rather harshly. But, the idea was to point out the ridiculousness of it all. And to maybe get you to take a step back and think. Is this how you want to be seeking out the attention you need? Showing off on Twitter and being shitty to your people?

So stop. Its time.

And get the fuck off of my timeline. I am going to figure out the origin of this nonsense and make it go away.

As for the women who do not fall into the “hurt” category...they blow my mind. These are the ones with their Amazon wish lists posted. They put their wish lists up so their admirers can buy them shit. I actually laughed. But, believe it or not, its a real thing. And I can’t talk too much shit. If I could get TV’s by showing my balls, I totally would.

Ok. That’s it. Next week I am going to tackle shaming...and how everyone is a pussy. Thx for reading.


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