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The Old Hoe Hall of Fame

“Who shows up at a blind date and can’t get it up?”

The line is epic, the tone is rude and the speaker is an old whore. (Disclaimer – The views expressed in this blog are based in fact and completely true, hand to God pinky swear on that one.)

Using the term “Old whore” is not because of her obvious promiscuity.

Its for being crass enough to say this in a Starbucks while sitting at a table with young children 2 tables away.

Here’s what we know so far:

  1. Betty is old enough to be my mother’s aunt.
  2. Betty is single and on the prowl.
  3. Betty is not aging well.

Online dating has done to dating what politics has done to civil discourse. (In other words, gang raped it and shit all over it.

Despite putting you in touch with thousands more people that you might have never met, it is now harder than ever to meet Mr/Mrs Right. (That includes Mr/Mrs Right Now. Patron saint of one night stands and non-lethal STDs.)

And the quality of people has gone thru the floor.

It used to be that if you wanted to meet someone of a certain class or economic strata, you simply went to a bar in a better section of town.

Catfishing seems to be the order of the day. (I would normally tell you to Google it, but its central to the story here.)

Catfishing is basically pretending to be who you aren’t.

The simplest form of Catfishing is posting photos that are not yours. (I once got catfished by a 76 year old woman who posted photos of her daughter. Even good coffee could not save that awkward little meet-n-greet)

People pretend to be wealthier, better looking, better place in life, better you name it.

But it may be a new and weird type of catfish that you present yourself as a player when your sexual function is gone.

The concept of the player who cannot play is new.

Or maybe very old.

Either way it does tone down the spotlight pointed at Betty the hoe.

Someone suggested that I am slut-shaming Betty the hoe.

It’s not shaming because Betty has no idea I did it.

It’s not like anyone she knows is going to read this.

So it’s like a private joke between me and the three people who actually read this shit.

Also, let’s have a slut talk, shall we?

Slut is a word that mean girls and assholes in highschool say to hurt girls that may or may not have slept around.

I know many a girl called slut in highschool who hadn’t done a damned thing.

And the girls calling names were usually the biggest sluts I knew at the time. (I was lucky enough to meet some truly epic sluts after high school.)

But a woman out of school who sleeps around?

She is empowered and knows what she wants.

More power to her. (I was also lucky enough to meet of few of these lovely ladies as well.)

Hoe-shaming would be more accurate.

Except for one thing.

Hoes don’t give a shit.

Not in a confident way, but in more of a ignorant of the fact that it’s an insult to begin with.

I sight as an example:

Betty sipped her coffee and let out a big sigh.

“Maybe I’m just some old hoe.”

Maybe?

Don’t sell yourself short, Betty.

You are a hall of fame Old Hoe.

Mmmmmm, coffee.

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Posted by on December 30, 2018 in Uncategorized

 

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Who’s the bigger hoe?

Here we are, where we have been so many times before.

Two young 20 somethings in line at Starbucks.

The black dresses are a little wrinkled, makeup has got some sloppy city miles on it, the hair has that look like they were fighting off the bottom on the couch for a half hour before they took that show into the bedroom and taught that hairstyle the meaning of the word respect.

But it is the 6 inch hooker heels at 8 am on a Sunday that says, loud and clear…

Walk of shame.

Time for our favorite sexist gameshow –

“Who’s the bigger hoe?”™

Our first contestant, lets call her Tammy. (A little too much mascara from the night before and she is channeling a Tammy Fay Baker vibe. Google that and click “Images” when you see the pic of her crying with WAY too much mascara, you get it.)

Tammy was a pretty blonde with stylish long blonde hair…. yesterday. Today, she looks like she has “Jersey hair” and may have been initiated into the Hell’s Angels a few hours ago. (You can Google that, but its filthy.)

Tammy has a tattoo of the Chinese character for bread on the back of her neck. (I Googled that one myself.)

And she keeps talking about someone name Naldo. Lets assume that is who her stylist is this morning.

And now its time to meet our other contestant, Babs.

Babs is slightly older, and I am being generous here.

If I had to call it and I was being honest, I would have to say that Tammy probably dated Babs son at some point. When they broke up, Babs decided to finally become one of the popular kids and began hoeing around with her son’s ex.

To call her a peroxide blonde with fake tits is an insult to honest sluts everywhere.

She is trying way too hard and it shows.

So, after having missed out on the swimsuit competition, (And who doesn’t love a love in a bikini?) we move on to the talent portion of the show.

Tammy’s talent appears to be texting and it looks like she is good at it. The high point of her performance was when she looked up at Babs and talked for about a minute and never stopped texting the entire time.

It was impressive.

And now its Babs turn.

Babs talent is her core skill.

Being Slutty.

“What was Naldo’s friend’s name? He’s young enough to be my son!”

No shame, no morals, no brains, no headaches.

We have a runaway winner, it wasn’t even close.

Like a young Brando, she nailed it (And Naldo’s nameless friend) coming thru the door.

Impressive, and sad.

And I hope Naldo’s friend has health care, because the parting gift is an STD.

(I can only imagine the hate mail being generated as we speak. Sad thing is, I kind of agree with it, this is pretty vile, even for me. Unless of course, Babs is your mother, then that hoe is your problem, not mine.)

 

 
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Posted by on February 19, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Don’t be showing your koochie in public.

There is a special bond between two people that grew up together.

Time doesn’t touch some friendships. They just endure and continue on as if nothing happened and no time has passed.

Here is what I am looking at.

Picture two girls, either late teens or early twenties.

Judging by their conversation, they grew up together, but have not been in touch for a number of years.

And life has led them down different paths.

They say you can’t judge someone based on their looks.

Bullshit.

I don’t need to walk a mile in your Nike’s just to figure out that they would never fit me.

I would much rather sit in morally superior tower and cast judgement on others.

Here is why.

The first girl, she is the good girl next door.

Clean cut, smelling of Ivory soap and with freshly brushed teeth that once had braces.

She is a law student by my guess. Innocently studying to lose her soul and become the embodiment of badness in the business law.

If you are a guy, your mother would have been thrilled if you brought her home from college for Thanksgiving dinner. (Or a girl for that matter. She is that wholesome.)

If you are a girl, (Straight girl), your mom would prefer that you hang out with her because she is a “Good influence”.

So do we all understand that she is the essence of “Sweetness and Light” in this little scenario?

Good.

Now we move on to her friend.

Ok.

So, go live the life you want to live, but if you look like, talk like, act like, behave like, and generally are, in fact a ho…

Then you’s a ho.

Opposite end of the spectrum time.

Let’s call her Babs.

Babs is a little chunky, got some pasty looking legs, but that is not stopping her from wearing a minidress that is high enough to shock her OB Gyn and tight enough to threaten circulation if she washes it just once.

There are some faded bruises on her thighs. And we are not speculating where they came from, just noting that they are there.

She is missing a tooth near the front that brings Meth into the equation.

There is some bags under those eyes that are there a decade or more ahead of schedule.

It would not shock me to find a tattoo on her lower back, right under the tramp stamp that you KNOW is there, that says “Property of Hell’s Angels”

You can google that one and still may not find out how you get that little tattoo. (I was told by a girl who had one right before I grabbed my clothes and backed slowly out of the room naked.)

So Babs has been road hard and put away wet, just to use some equestrian verbiage there.

Life has been tough and some bad decisions have been made.

But the good girl and the bad girl are now catching up on things.

School, jail, relatives, deaths, and what not.

And the good girl is managing to keep her flinching to a minimum.

And the bad girl is managing not to tweak too much.

And while they seem to be getting along, that is a long latte to get thru.

But they finished and parted ways after a little while.

Someone had to go study and someone else had to go handle some “Bidness”.

And life goes on.

 
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Posted by on December 4, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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