woman

My Last Post About Women Ever, Part II: Questlove

questlove

I love making fun of women. I love them but I’ll be damned if I don’t get these jokes off. Y’all are so funny to me. Every duck-lipped selfie and inspirational Instagram post tickles me something fierce (that’s my new thing…saying something tickles me fierce. It sounds like something an old Black woman from Atlanta in 1968 would say. I love it) Light-skinned women make the jokes almost too easy. Self-important broads get that good HARSH sarcasm. All that’s cool but less than 24 hours away from my favorite holiday, I gotta send some love to my beautiful bitter broads.

“Quest…play the damn thing!”

Women, Valentine’s Day is YOUR holiday and when it doesn’t go exactly how you wish, emotions run high and it tickles me something fierce. The crazy thing is I have no idea if bitterness, anger, loneliness, regret, or pure, absolute, radiant craziness is the cause. It doesn’t even matter, truthfully. It’s funny as hell and tickles me something fierce. So I encourage all of you to remember that tomorrow is your day to publicly share all of those emotions with us. C’mon. Share. Shaaaaare! *Sigh*…okay, Lou. Open fire. Quest!

I laugh at your frustration. Good wholesome laughs that emanate from my gut and settle in my throat. Deep-throated laughs that make me clap my hands and collapse on the floor. Thank you, ladies. But when I finish, when I finish- if I ever finish- you can be my valentine. All of you disgruntled, fed-up women can be the objects of my affection tomorrow. I love you all and it sucks you don’t like your own holiday that one of your own people made up so that she can feel even more special than we already have to treat her because she was raised with some weird idea of a man completely pacifying her ideas of romance and she’s crazy as hell and none of you should even pay attention to this crazy broad because you deserve somebody that acts like they like you every day of the year and you should probably boycott this wack broad but I don’t blame you if you don’t because Valentine’s Day has been around so long, you have no idea how to adjust your life and that’s fine because a lot of us men just accept that this is your day and the fact that some of you don’t have that man to acknowledge that and suffer for your happiness makes me sad and I want to buy teddy bears that say ‘Bitch, You Fine’ on the stomach to make you happy and do cute stuff with you and act like nothing was the same and tickle you something fierce. *Takes breath*…Happy Valentine’s Day. Quest, please keep playing something nice for these bitter broads. And bitter broads, keep being bitter; I love you all for it.

A.J. Armstrong paid a lot of money to have ?uestlove play something nice for you bitter broads. He hopes you appreciate it. He is also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities

My Last Post About Women Ever, Part I: These Beautiful Cars

Keri Hilson 2

Women are the givers of life, the wonderful and caring creatures thaaaaxcclqiwfivneowvpropeicc…you get the point; I almost put MYSELF to sleep. They’re gorgeous and deserve our respect and all that, of course. While they do turn heads, they also leave us with our faces buried palm-deep in frustration quite often. Men are simple; women are not. Men are stupid; women are crazy. It’s some Circle of Life shit or something, I don’t know. Whatever. There are just some things I don’t understand about y’all. Namely: everything.

I agree that men are dogs. That makes it easier to compare women to the cars we chase up and down our neighborhoods without some hypersensitive feminist kickback about objectifying these broads. Not that any of that would matter to me anyway. Again: whatever. Women are cars. They are wonderfully flawless cars with exquisite paint jobs and polished wheels that attract us the minute the sun reflects off those beautiful exteriors. We chase them instinctively only to be confused and slightly aggravated two minutes after we get that driver’s side door open.

The interior SEEMS just as striking but that’s well before you start to notice the controls on the console aren’t properly marked. You try to turn on the windshield wipers only to see the high beams flickering on and off. Pumping the brakes turns on the AC somehow. The left turn signal pops the trunk and lowering the passenger side window makes the entire vehicle cry and question where you’re even going in the first place. Obviously, getting anywhere is a hassle and you sometimes look out your window and shake your head before grabbing the keys and walking out the door.

Yeah, your car probably frustrates you. It probably makes you want to smack the dash and bang your head against the steering wheel. It also gets you to where you need to be. Every button you press and every lever you pull might not do what you expect but eventually you figure it out, right? The trips are unorthodox but get much smoother the more you drive. In fact, some of those drives are amusing as you watch the eyes locking onto that exquisite paint job and those polished wheels that glisten in the sun. The car- your car- is still beautiful as hell. So yeah, a lot of these vehicles are bass-ackwards, emotional, and I joke a lot about them; I’d much rather be driving my own. Preferably that sand colored, ’14 Draya Michele.

A.J. Armstrong still takes public transportation. He is also the creator of The Fly Hobo and His World of Oddities