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Jason Whitlock = Fucked Buttholes: An Explanation.

I don't believe I'm giving some thinkpiece-defining hot take or making a novel/insightful observation by saying that shit is real right now.

Forreal forreal.

Political gamesmanship at the expense of communities of color, a rugged individualist society that collects guns like Taylor Swift collects participation awards of victimhood, and a country in which the promotion of state-owned media is buoyed by chants of 'fake news' just doesn't allow one to focus on the artisanal-grade fuckshit as one would otherwise. Which is why I'm officially endorsing the throwing of hot cheddar grits on anything Jason Whitlock has to say.

Scour local businesses to see which offer the best services regarding exorcising the opinions of a self-hating coon whose appearance would be more appropriate for a troll blocking the protagonist from crossing a bridge unless he can solve three riddles in a Disney cartoon.

Check your tv listings in anticipation of any one of his programs so that you have the forenotice to devour as much coffee, casserole, and Breyers ThickWhip Ice Cream so that when his program airs, you'll have the equivalent of a XXXtenTacion concert happening in your intestines and can drown out his nonsense with an unending stream of shit. I've tried this, and I guarantee you that you'd be hard pressed to discern a difference between the symphony of bowels hitting your toilet bowl and what this man is paid to say on a daily basis.

Attend the last thirty minutes of a 4th grade Social Studies lesson to attain a more functional working knowledge of the disruptive potential of using a highly visible public figure's platform for political protest. Once you've attained this knowledge, disregard it by filling a tube sock with frozen sweet potatoes stand menacingly outside of ESPN's headquarters while swinging it in a counter clockwise motion.

I understand that some, if not all, of these suggestions border on the obscene if not felonious. Let me be clear: while this man's ideals merit no more compassion than a Cobra Kai in the dick allows, that is no endorsement of assaulting his physical person. The purpose of this piece is meant to illustrate the absolute intolerance of someone psychologically compelled to be White America's 'Black Friend.' So much so that you will go through comically inept lengths to invalidate, mock, and undermine an empirically capable athlete and human being's silent, peaceful protests that highlight a societal ill that has existed long before Whitlock's misinformed, unripe pomegranate shaped ass had something to say.

With that disclaimer out of the way, feel free to hack into all of his social media accounts and replace every picture, post, and video present with that of fucked buttholes, You know, as a visual metaphor for the origin of everything he says and thinks.

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White America: Come Collect Your People.

I imagine you're at a crossroads about whether or not Dax Shepard and Kristin Bell have crossed the event horizon into annoying or, at least, annoyingly cute.

Maybe you're consciously resentful of the accusations of plagiarism dogging Taylor Swift's music video for  "Not My Fault: A White Woman's Journey (I'm not sure of the title.) Perhaps you feel like Beyonce has enough praise and should learn how to share.

Is it almond milk?

Whatever the answer is, I have to make my peace with the fact that I'm just unequipped of the prerequisite cream cheese preferences to know what exactly is on white people's minds Though, that is not to say that I don't WANT to know. 

I'm by no means the self-anointed spokesperson for East Coast Niggadom, but we've all wondered what it's like to be white, right? To use phrases like "that nice policeman..." or respond with the nonsensical descriptor of  "mid-day" when someone asks you for the time. 

Even if it were just to have people take me seriously when I offer a fantastic recipe for a quinoa and heirloom tomato salad. I can't help but wonder at what it must feel like to walk through this country in what has to be the equivalent of 'plot armor' as far as the conceptual relics for the basis of this country is concerned. All of which leads me to another speculative chasm: what do White people think about the white people warranting the unironic usage of 'white people.'

I ask because this is the first time I can remember seeing white people employ an organized effort to collect their own. Almost as if White America has had to reconcile segments of itself and, unlike usual, POC may not be left to clean up from the fallout by themselves.

Perhaps this is a case of me treating an Instagram thirst trap as if it's Langston Hughes's lost works (i.e., reading too deeply into a situation that doesn't merit the scrutiny.). However, I don't believe that's true in this case. We watched as several white supremacists beat Deandre Harris until his blood coated the cement of that parking garage. We watched as they fired guns into a crowd with no fear of action on behalf of the officers present because that's counter to the narrative this country has reinforced their entire lives. We watched as America ate itself.

Though despite my cynicism, I've also witnessed White America not only condemn these sentient herpes diagnoses masquerading as human beings in the harshest of terms but also go as far as to make these assholes catch that work. I won't deny the subtle yet heady tingle I get whenever I see a white person educate a racist with the five fist exploding palm technique (the benefits of which recently demonstrated by the character in Street Fighter that's blacked out until you beat the game on 'expert,' Colleen Dagg.) Because of this, I can sympathize to an extent. 

Forget the White Supremacists like David Duke and the calm, measured hate of figureheads like Richard Spencer. Think about what the 'nice white' must be feeling right now.

It's a must be a viscerally upsetting epiphany whose mere mention is triggering enough to make tv anchors cry on air.  There are many public instances in which that same uncomfortable feeling has manifested into some truly peculiar, if not outright frustrating, spectacles. My hope, though, lies in the fact that more and more I see segments of White America push past their perceived comfortability and have conversations that it has previously ignored or dismissed with the utmost prejudice.

This is not to give too much credit or to make it seem as if I've thought so little of White America that the slightest bit of effort warrants the parade from the end of Return of The Jedi. One of the easiest things to do in this life is to condemn a Nazi. Right there behind politely asking Stacey Dash to sit quietly in the corner.

It's just that for the survival of not only myself, but that of my family and my unborn children, we've always needed them to do better. And, the silver lining on the undeniable semen and turd tostada, I'm getting small glimpses into their capability of doing so.

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Can't get through life alone....#friendshipquotes #friendshipgoals #squadgoals #addiction

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But do they have the number...for their emotions?⠀#fukette #hilaryclinton #zackmorris #zackattack #truth #realtalk #facts

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Priorities people....⠀ #fukette #funny #sexandthecity #isis #samantha

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Brad in poli-sci never did let me borrow his pen....@fukette

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If it makes you feel any better, I'm sure she has wifi...#fukette #funnyaf #coffeethoughts #altright #sunkenplace

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4 Common Wishes About Sex (That Could Actually Make It Worse)

Sex, as most of us know and enjoy, is a bit of a tricky subject for a lot of people. Most everyone has different standards for what constitutes as 'good' or 'bad, ' but there are some things that a lot of people tend to have in common when it comes to having sex with someone. There are entire industries built on 'penis enlargement' pills or Viagra and its instant erections. What most people don't stop to think about is how subjective these things are and how not every woman necessarily WANTS nor has the physical capacity to deal with an 8-inch penis. This piece will explore the most common wishes or critiques in regards to sex and showcase the genuine likelihood that your partner has no interest in what you would consider an 'improvement.' The piece is not gender-specific in regards to the exact desires one would want to change.

Personally, I feel most sexual encounters don't include nearly enough Jelly Bellies. Not for anything sexual, though. Just as a nice way to treat yourself afterwards.

1 Penis Size

In what universe did you think we were in that the size of a man's penis wasn't at the top of the wish list? The only place where that wouldn't be true is Xanadu, and that's only because cocaine and roller blades don't allow for the most accurate penetration. No, penis size is definitely a mainstay on the male wish list much the same as "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" is at your cousin Stacy's wedding as well as the prominent placement of an elderly relative at that same wedding just to remind everyone that death is always near, so you should cherish life.

"Okay, Gram Gram. I'm gonna need you to do me a solid and stop speaking Hebrew while standing next to the buffet table. People think you're putting a hex on the potato salad."

What most people don't realize is that there are a variety of penises, in a variety of sizes, because there are a variety of vaginas/anuses/grapefruit with a hole cut in it, and it is most certainly not a case of one size fits all.

While this is not necessarily a situation that can become a problem in your twenties and early thirties, studies show that as women become older, their vaginas pretty much, for lack of a more precise term, feng shui it's living quarters into a relatively smaller, cozier abode. The likelihood of hitting a woman's cervix (which, I'm told, is more painful than getting kicked in the balls and watching the entire run of Burn Notice COMBINED.) becomes exponentially more so with every inch. For this reason, most experts say the ideal metric of a big penis would be in girth instead of length.

Now, since we're already on this interstate of explicit sexual information, we can't just drive past the exit for that ass, now can we? In this regard, the anus is more at risk than the vagina considering that it doesn't produce its own natural lubricants like the vagina can. This means that tears and fissures can become more of a concern than it would otherwise be if your partner were just of average size.

This is not to say that the no pants dance has to be less enjoyable than a Mormon Sock-Hop if your man-bits are larger than average, just that more precaution needs to be taken regarding both you and your partner(s)'s safety. In light of all this, wouldn't you rather just be short, but fierce like Bruce Lee instead of the towering, but cumbersome Kareem Abdul Jabbar?

If you're gonna stand there and tell me that this isn't a ready made advertisement for a gentleman's condom then I don't want to live on this planet anymore.

2. Lasting Longer

Personally, I feel that if sexual congress (from foreplay to rolling over exhausted and picking up your phone to see what's happening on Facebook) lasts longer than an episode of Seinfeld, then someone had better gimme a Gatorade and a pep talk cause I'm breaking down, coach!

She keeps...telling me...to do a 'pooch kick'...it can't mean what I think it means...it can't.

There are more than a few men that can vividly recall experiencing the embarrassment that comes with having a challenger situation occur. (You know. A lot of planning and excitement that leads to untimely explosions and nationwide mourning. That one.) So much so that there are homebrew techniques men have perfected if they feel like they're being pushed and getting close to the edge (s/o to Grandmaster Flash). From the 'imagine your Grandmother bathing naked while eating raw tilapia' to 'Ted Cruz doing __,' there's no shortage of rumored ways to approach staying in control. But is lasting longer really such a good thing?

Well, The Journal of Sexual Medicine did a hard hitting (eh? eh? I'll see myself out.) piece about just this back in 2008 and concluded that 1-2 minutes of sex was "too short", 7-13 minutes of sex was "desirable", and 10-30 minutes was "what the hell is wrong with you? You're not going to Vietnam, and I'm not a pornstar. Get off of me." Also, in one of the rare instances of parity between the genders in the sexual arena, the study also mentions that both men and women worry about whether or not they're taking too long.

"A lot of women worry, especially when receiving oral sex, thinking, Is this taking too long? Are they enjoying themselves? How soon am I going to come?" says Kerner. "That kind of anxiety can really delay orgasm and inhibit pleasure."

Not to mention that most vaginas are only capable of being steam pistoned for so long before they run the risk of becoming dryer than David Sedaris' novels. When that happens, prolonged soreness, bleeding, tears and a whole host of other unpleasant physical reactions can occur. In the end, it would appear that sex should last exactly how long both you and your partner(s) should decide it lasts. Or, if you're like me, you put on a video of the Thundercats opening credits on youtube to play in the back ground and if neither of you orgasm by the time Lionel says "HOOOOOO!" then you call it a day. Try again tomorrow.

3. Dirty Talk

If I were to ask you to imagine the dirty talk scene from one of your more saucy movies of preference, chances are it would be something palatable for a wide audience. Something like "Oooh baby! You get me so hot!" or "Aww yeah, we're already an hour and twenty minutes into this movie, so I'm probably not going to be able to have a complex character arc as a woman. Might as well fuck." The point is that the concept of dirty talk can be many different things to many different people. A lot of these verbiage hurdles can be passed just by getting to know your partner while also paying especially close attention to what they do or do not respond to. But for the emotionally unavailable, unlovable homunculus amongst us (Hi!), you may have a partner that fully appreciates dirty talk in addition to you having all the intuition and sexual navigation skills of Google Maps in a dead zone.

If these circumstances apply to you, then I advise you to consider the potential pratfalls for dirty talk and avoid it like the 'ex-con uncles' table at the family reunion cookout. For instance, where some people like to comment on the size of their partner's penis, some like to get too specific. Hearing that your penis is smaller than her ex's but is "so comfy and cozy I just want to knit it a little hat" may sound encouraging on paper, but less so at the moment. The same goes asking someone to "fuck you like Reagan did the middle-class" or (true story) making the same noise as the Owl from the Tootsie Roll commercial whenever your partner performs oral sex. Essentially, vague, ambiguous encouragement is usually the best route if familiarity is going to be a factor during your encounter. For every instance of dirty talk that made your body arc like that scene in The Ring when the girl spider-walked into my nightmares, there are even more occasions in which the dirty talk fell flat.

TFW your dirty talk ends with "...get off like R.Kelly"

4. Control

Who doesn't like being in control? I, for one, love it so much that, to this day, I refuse to watch as a Subway sandwich artist makes my sandwich FOR me. I'll do it myself because I'm an American and I will freedom the shit out of this meatball parm, so will you PLEASE pass me the goddamn marinara sauce, Brendan!?! Saying that, every now and again, it's refreshing to cede control to a willing party. Especially when it comes to matters of the loins and the activities to be found within. Having someone else steer the coitus tortoise can be a welcome change or even a lifestyle choice for those who feel fulfilled by following the whims of another.

In a heterosexual context, men are expected to be the aggressive/dominant partner, but that can be constraining for men who identify as submissive. What if the partner is a female who has no experience being the aggressor and can only muster a tone with all the edge of a drunk puppy. What if she slaps bear all the weight of an overly-self aware and increasingly unaroused feather. But that's just an example for straight people. Consider the confusion that would occur between two gay men who haven't discussed which one of them tops and who bottoms. The puzzlement between two women, neither of whom enjoy being penetrated, who brought enough penetrative marital aids to conquer a small country with.

Much like this. Except with disturbingly graphic marital aides.

I guess the lesson here would be that a discussion of ground rules is just as important as a prophylactic. And just as likely to leave you without a cringe-worthy memory that only emerges during your morning shower.

5. Foreplay

The metaphor used to be "You can't get the motor running without starting the ignition first, " but since the invention of the Tesla with its push start engine and rabbit-whisper like electric motor, it doesn't hold up. I've been conditioned to just pushing a button and getting what I want so if I can't even find YOUR button, shouldn't you just take one for the home team and make sure that I at least get a win? That's inexcusably selfish and inherently misogynistic, you say? Yeah, okay, that's fair.

But, as I've been told numerous times, foreplay serves not only as an indicator of your attentiveness, but it 'sets the stage' so to speak. For women, this means that the vagina has more time to lubricate itself adequately and even expand in preparation for the penis/penis-like instrument. For men, this means that your penis has enough time to become erect which allows it to safely adjust to the sudden shift in blood flow thereby avoiding prematurely going softer than Drake after watching 13 Reasons Why.

Kanye just sent me 13 packages filled with my CDs and mixed tapes and he's not picking up the phone when I call. Should I be worried?

Someone devoting significant time and effort to make all to make sure that our sexual experience is as gratifying as unwrapping a million Ferrero Rochers is a pre-requisite for most people. The only question would be: what if that went on and on and on ad nauseam? What if the entire exercise consisted of only foreplay and nothing else? Merriam-Webster's defines foreplay as “erotic stimulation preceding sexual intercourse.” which, admittedly, can have various interpretations but the operative word is still 'precedes.' My only contention is that foreplay can go too long and eclipse the organic transition from 'Fuck Town-adjacent' to 'signing the lease for a 30-year mortgage in one of Fuck Town's most prestigious neighborhoods.' There is such a concept as "too much of a good thing, " and too much foreplay can be categorized as such.

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Going through the comment threads on Doctor Who posts today like

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Do we gotta live in a world as dirty as Trump Jr.'s murder trailer because of course he has a murder trailer.

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The Life of Chris Gaines > 4:44 (Fight Me)

With the release of his 13th studio album 4:44, Jay-Z has quietly but efficiently illustrated why Kanye West should shut the fuck up as well as aptly deliver all the reasons why we should leave Kanye to suffer in the Sunken Place...

...and. also, I guess, produce an album that's simultaneously raw, riveting, and wholly vulnerable while still managing to be a sonic masterpiece by its own merits.

The discussion amongst multiple music platforms, as well as the general listening public, is currently dominated by the cultural, emotional, and intellectual framework the album works within. While I support the dissemination of yet another entry into the Musical Hall Of Unapologetic Blackness, I must profess a profound sense of confusion. Confusion stemming from the fact that the Gods have already seen fit to bless us with the audio equivalent of your grandma's shortbread with the butter on the top. What am I referring to you (shamefully) ask?

Chris Gaines/Garth Brook's 'The Life Of Chris Gaines,' of course.

Here he is lookin' like a human Hefty bag that has sex with your wife every day before she picks up the kids from school.

Like, for real, though, this is the shit that most clubs refuse to play for fear that they're gonna be paying the child support for every baby conceived on the dance floor. Every lyric in this melodic, exclusively coconut oil-based massage is dripping with the subtext of "Why are your panties still on?" I could travel the world with the women I love, build a life together including buying our first home in addition to having our first child, and I still would find it hard to blame her if she left me for Chris Gaines after spotting him in the electronic section of Target.

If given a choice between ratifying the national holiday dedicated to Martin Luther King Jr. or instead devoting it entirely to learning how dude got his bangs so fresh...I'm just saying, I would need a few minutes to think some shit over.

I'm just going to list my three favorite tracks cause some of ya'll be on that, "but my momma says I can only stay out til the streetlights come on" shit when it comes to your attention span.

That's the Way I Remember It

From jump, dude already firing off vocals cleaner than your aunt's plastic-wrapped couch. You can play this in an abandoned Hillshire Farm packaging warehouse and still somehow end up having sex with 97' era Vivica A. Foxx.

I give this one 3 out of 5 buttered, erect nipples.

Lost in You

Already learned you about it earlier but, TL;DR, you better stretch before you put this on because it's gonna get inside you whether you want it to or not. (no Cosby)

I give this one 4 out of 5 "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you two to leave the movie theater. We don't take kindly to OTPHJ's (Over The Pants Hand Jobs) here.

Snow in July

The title alone lets you know how deep this joint is. 'Snow In July'? That shit don't happen unless you live in an area where you can, like, reasonably expect to see polar bears and penguins and shit on your drive to the post office. This song is more emotionally available than Drake after watching 13 Reasons Why, fam.

I give this one 5 out of 5 Clearblue Plus Pregnancy Test Sticks that just say the word 'YASSS' where it designates whether you're pregnant or not.

You know, the ones next to the tests that always play "Mask on/Fuck it, Mask Off" when you take them out of the box.

For one, bruh has the biggest pair of balls on him this side of KellyAnne Conway with her Ghost Of Democracy Past-lookin' ass. Dude, don't care what kind of rush your in, fuck whatever fam you're visiting, tell the doctor that's waiting to perform surgery that could save your life to choke on a stale dick, he's gonna sit right in the middle of Grand Central Station and eye-fuck the camera so hard that it has to pee afterwards to avoid a UTI. It's this type of brazen ' fuck everybody' attitude is the exact thing that could save the world. Or, at the very least, save you 20% at dinner because you made a scene about how your gazpacho was "chilled but not, like, chilled chilled. Ya know?"

"I'm blocking the wheelchair ramp, you say? Word? How about a handicapped-accessible ass whoopin', my dude? That's right, roll on."

But it's cool and the gang. You guys can keep bumpin that nigga whose recent effort might just be another indicator of rap's transition into a more vulnerable yet consciously accessible art form, as evidenced by other collaborators like Kung Fu Kenny's and J.Cole's latest. I'm not here to convince anyone against making dumb ass decisions all day every day like Groundhog Day, but instead featuring Ma$e. I'll continue to be the realest dude in a sea of music faker than Nicki Minaj's fourth nipple. However, if you do want to get put on game and make some Gaines (See what I did there? Genius, bitches.) then come see me. Cause right now I'm clutching this dude's whole catalog tighter than all the fleece turtlenecks he's wearing in all the promo material.

[fukette]

Sometimes I feel like Apple's getting waaayyy too comfortable with how they organize shit.⠀ ⠀ They know what they tryin to do.

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It's cool that Maury finally broke into the mobile game market. Good for him.

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Kramer walks into ppl's apt and eat their food while telling them how to live because fuck you that's why.⠀ ⠀ Welcome to Trump's America.

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Ever just wake up and think "I don't want to, but I will fight a someone for a bowl of cocoa crispies"? Yeah, me too.

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Brainstorming.

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Reason.

I suppose that I could reign in the indiscriminate use of slang. It may leave those less familiar with the cultural references and contexts within the vernacular feeling more than a bit uncomfortable. Which could be a grounds for the action taken against me, I suppose.

Perhaps it would serve me better to buy clothes deemed fitting of a young man with career aspirations. In this world, apparently clothes set the tone, and I'd hate to make anyone feel the least bit of trepidation on account of what I'm wearing. Especially if we're near one another regardless of whether or not it's on public property like a busy sidewalk or even standing in line at Chik-Fil-A Because that could also be an argument for the grim events that follow.

I should always regulate the speed at which I'm driving. I understand that people not like myself are afforded the misstep of going over the speed limit or are even given a ticket for such a transgression. I just don't have the luxury to assume that every instance will result in a fine or inconvenient court date. I have to monitor the speedometer every second that I'm in my car because that could be the makings of an excuse as well.

Wait, did I forget to mention my hair? I'm sure I did. To be honest, I'm more than long overdue for a haircut anyways. It's getting to become a bit too indicative of not only my ethnicity but some perceived objection to assimilation. As if I've turned my hair into a statement piece instead of some stylized collection of fibers. Maybe others would use their hair as a mechanism of expressing both individual and cultural identity but, as stated above, I can't. I really can't. Although I wouldn't have thought it to be true, this could be another basis for justification.

Another reason.

Another reason for me to be shot dead and robbed of everything I was going to be. For myself and someone else.

I've been ripping my mind apart at the seams because it's becoming more and more apparent that I could die at any time. Not in the existentialist sense in that we all will, inevitably, leave this mortal coil.

No.

I could die at a traffic stop.

I could die in police custody.

I could obey the law to the letter and still be gunned down in front of my children and spouse by an agent of the state.

Fuck.

I could die after CALLING the police to help me.

So I'm writing down a list of reasons to avoid that happening. An assortment of scenarios that, god willing, will leave me still able to draw breath.I believe it is imperative I do this because 'reasons' imply that there is some sort of rationale. Some kind of logistical pathway that these tragic situations take, and I need that. I need to know that I can escape what seems to be a narrowing metric of probability that my next encounter with law enforcement will be the day I die.

I don't want to die.

Please let this help me not die.