Win a Date with Humantity F Critic!!: My 4th Date..

I have to be honest here, since I haven't had a steady stream of booty since the Clinton Impeachment hearings, I have thought entirely too much about folding that republican chick up like origami. Some people think that her politics shouldn't matter, that I should be more open, that my hesitation based on our opposing political ideologies is holding me back from possibly finding a soul-mate. All of which might be true, but I'm scared of black republican chicks the same way most homophobes are scared of gay guys, its not really about hating what they stand for but actually a secret fear that they might convert me to the "dark side" so to speak. I can see it now, doing The O'Reilly factor and attacking my own people on some "Uncle Ruckus" shit, condemning Hip Hop as that main culprit when it comes to the downfall of black civilization, saying that Strom Thurmond is my personal hero, all for the sake of pleasing my new Black republican girlfriend. I'm saying, I love ass, and just so I would receive a steady stream of mouth-hugs and the chance to pick an orifice of my choice to stick my "Black myth ruiner" into, I can see myself saying shit like how I pray to a shrine to Ronald Reagan, that I masturbate to vintage Richard Nixon speeches, and that Karl Rove is in my Top 8 on myspace.

Ok, I don't love ass that much, if you guys want to see a black dude shucking and jiving ad nauseum I suggest you rent a Cuba Gooding Jr, flick. That being said, I still haven't ruled out putting that black republican chick on the business end of a Humanity F Critic fuck-fest, there is something sexy about having dirty sex to a FOX News broadcast. Anyway, here is my fourth date.

Date #4: The Headwrap Chick The problem with alcohol, besides the fact that it ruins your liver and it makes me personally the sloppiest lay this side of a retarded porn star, it tends to give me a significant amount of game. Listen, I'm not scared to talk to women when I'm sober, but usually when I don't have any drinks in my I'm more of the "average man with a sharp wit and a softer side" guy. But when I am shit faced, I'm embarrassed to say, I'm more of the "What?? How haven't I fucked you yet? Give me your number, so when I call you just know that you and I are going to fuck like two stoned test bunnies" guy. Well, apparently I was the latter when I approached this chick named Janis, this artist chick equipped with the standard Hippy uniform, head-wrap and dashiki. I had known her a while through some mutual friends for a while and had visions of me one day fucking her to some goapele, taking off her head-wrap and using it as some sort of kinky hand restraints, all the way reciting impromptu spoken word poetry based on my penis, but I never thought that she particularly dug me.

Anyway, I pick her up for our date and she looks like she is going to a 70's theme costume party, no lie. She had these freaky ass boots on, jeans with flowers on them so tight that you could actually tell if she shaved her legs that day, a blouse that made me think that she went rifling through her mother's closet, and an Afro that would bitchslap Questlove's nappy mane like it was a pimps worst earner. As she got in the car I kept wondering who she reminded me on, as she talked about god knows what I was going through my mental rolodex, "Who does she remind me of??" Then the light bulb in my head came on, her ass looked like Bernadette Stanis, Thelma from "Good Times" and shit. Oh how I love Thelma, so my mind suddenly took me to a place where I could see myself saying shit like "Dynomite" during foreplay, then pounding my fist on the headboard during premature ejaculation, screaming "Damn, Damn, Damn!!!" Put it this way, I asked her to call me "JJ" for the rest of the night.

On the way to dinner things were going alright, I mean, she did claim that she was a member of PETA even though she had a leather belt on, but I could forgive that. But one thing that I couldn't forgive is the way her well manicured paws decided to fuck with my radio, a cardinal fucking sin in my book. Listen, if she took out my CD to listen to NPR or some respectable MC that the radio mistakenly decided to play then fine, but imagine my shock as she gyrated like Barney Fife on acid as a fucking Nelly song played. When I abruptly put my CD back in, trying to quickly dismiss what I consider a hell-worthy trespass for the sake of moistening my nether regions later.

We get to dinner and immediately she is telling me about some of the experiences that she has had with some of her more recent exes, but after like 5 minutes she is on her 20th ex and I'm beginning to think that this girl has had more cocks in her than a chicken coop. Yes I'm a horny bastard but I'm also a germaphobe, so with each mention of an ex I started to get nauseous, I even envision germcloud around her crotch akin to the dustcloud that follows "Pig Pen" around. Then we got our food, starting eating obviously, then she did something else that I hate: She started eating off of my plate. I don't mind if a woman wants to "try" something off of my plate, but this mangy broad was giving her plate and my plate the same amount of attention. She went back and forth between both dishes like a goddamn DJ, to the point that I threw my arm around my plate on some Mike Tyson "My style is impetuous. My defenses impregnable" shit.

Lets see, after that she continued to smack when she ate like she had no home training, she was rude to the wait staff, I didn't even mention how she ordered from the "Yeah, you are at least giving me a hand-job" side of the menu. She was beautiful and I really wanted to disappoint her sexually, but not only did she irritate me, but she committed so many date infractions that I felt that she was my arch enemy. The same way Superman had Lex Luther, Spiderman had the Green Goblin, LL Cool J had Kool Moe Dee, the way Black folks had Ronald Reagan, I had this greedy, Eryka "Ba-don't" chick.

Despite all of that I still wanted to play the character of "G.Y.N with a hidden agenda", so I went back to her house. Her house was an absolute mess with a distinct pissy aroma that tickled my nostrils, so I high tailed it out of there. Like I said before, I don't mess with a chick with a messy house, just imagine the sorry state of affairs she keeps her vagina.