Not to contradict your dear old mom, who’s both wicked smart and wonderful, but, no, we don’t have to be realistic. Not when it comes to love.

Make me an offer, I’ll counter the shit out of it. We will handle this like the proud, beautiful black men we are.

I never intended to be famous, but I do like being the center of attention. It feels just like I thought it would… totally fucking great.

Maybe I should hide under your clit, he’d never find me there.

And you’re no Brett fucking Ratner. But that could be a compliment, and in that case, I didn’t mean to.

You have a dog named Cat Stevens? Holy fuck!

Hell-A Magazine blog number one. Hank hates you all. A few things I’ve learned in my travels through this crazy little thing called life. One: a morning of awkwardness is far better than a night of loneliness. Two: I probably won’t go down in history, but I will go down on your sister. And three: while I’m down there, it might be nice to see a hint of pubis. I’m not talking about a huge’70s playboy bush or anything, just something that reminds me that I’m performing cunnilingus on an adult. But I guess the larger question is,  why is the city of angels so hell-bent on destroying its female population?

Must be my trick ear but I thought you said “blog”.

Don’t tell me what to feel. All my fucking life, people have been telling me I do things wrong. I’m always the fucking asshole. I look around and I see everybody else is infinitely more fucked up than I am.

What is a marriage, if not an opportunity to mock someone through thick and thin while simultaneously exploring your deepest darkest sexual desires?