Boobs, Rap Music, Personal Hygiene, Gingers and Weddings


After struggling on what my next post should be about, I turned to my social circle on Facebook. These are the same people I know little about, but trust with my address when I Foursquare that I am all alone and vulnerable at my house (address and when I’ll be asleep included). Immediately I was receiving responses, which made me feel super popular and crotch punchy at the same time, which is usually how my mind works. Finally, after multiple comments regarding how much I suck as a person and a Facebooker,  I was tasked with the challenge of writing a Palegurl post connecting boobs, rap music, personal hygiene, Gingers and weddings.

So…want to know how boobs, rap music, personal hygiene, Gingers  and weddings are connected?

I know what you’re thinking, “Duh! Who doesn’t.”

Well for starters rap music isn’t really into boobies, it’s more booties. It’s not boobies, boobies, boobies, boobies rockin’ everywhere now is it? It’s all about Ms.  New Booty.  BUT the bigger the boobies, the more likely you are to get married and then divorced (I think I saw that statistic in my mind somewhere). Now  if you don’t institute some personal hygiene and clean those boobies, Gingers will not go to Heaven. They will not pass go and they will definitely not collect $200, which is chump change in today’s economy.

Now if a ginger touches your boobies while you are showering at the  wedding of a girl named Desiree, you will start rapping. Most likely about how many freckles are falling from his palms and onto your chest and about when this whole ordeal will end so that you can go pray about your indecency.

Boobies are to rap music what gingers are to weddings, not welcome. And personal hygiene is not a choice cuz baby we were born this way.

We’re pretty on the inside.

Our moms think we’re hot.

One day we’ll touch real live boobies.

I have freckles inside my freckles.

At least we will only get wrinkles on our balls.

He married me for my class and brains.

I just don’t understand why his mom doesn’t like me.

Nip slips are a fashion statement. They say: “I am into stuff. Stuff that most girls think is gross. Stuff that like, includes animals and butts.”

Jumping and rolling around in mud means we’re independent thinkers who are into cool music that each of us claim to have been the first to discover. You wouldn’t understand because you’re clean and you didn’t pay $300 to camp at this music festival and do it with your friends to the music of some “indie” band who will sell-out at any second  for a chance to be the next Fall Out Boy.

I haven’t washed my hair since the last time I washed my genitals. So it’s been awhile.

Our white people dreadlocks make a statement. A statement that we’ll never be contributing members to society. That we are sick of the oppression that our suburban parents have placed upon us. Free college, cell phone paid for, car on my 16th birthday  and unconditional love is not for me, man. I will fight the good fight and sleep on my friend’s couch until I get black out drunk and give his baby weed. Just to hold onto, man. I can’t stop a baby from chiefing. Fair is FAIR!

I make my own videos of my booty and send them to Ludacris. One day he will put me in some booty-eating daisy dukes and let me clap it out in his video that no one will watch because music videos are so Carson Daily TRL, which in translation means: lame.

Booty so phat that it could eat your children.

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