Sleep clung onto me this morning like garlic hangs on my breath after pasta night on Friday. Typically, my body starts moving, even when my mind has to play catch-up; but today they seemed like lazy co-workers, dragging each other back to work after a three-day weekend. Out of habit, I grabbed my phone to see what was up with the world. Email–check: nothing urgent; text-check: nothing; Twitter: bingo! Nikki Minaj’s ex Safaree’s schlong was trending–crushing folk’s #Mondaymotivation tweets (though some would say that Safaree’s pic was quite motivating).
Now I ain’t gonna lie (cause I’m always honest—well, at least when I’m drinkin): the sleepy slits in my eyes quickly slid open like elevator doors. Well, I might as well see what all the fuss is about. Now, I don’t know who dis Safaree boy is; but he must have a terrible-personality to make Nikki break-up with him. He’s equipped in such a way that girls have done forgiven him his whole life for all his missteps — both big and small. A magic stick like that will make good sense disappear.
But even with that being said, I must say I have been struck by all the dick-pics in the news as of late. When in the hell did this become a thing; and why is it a thing? When I was younger, no one really wanted to see that “thang.” I mean—Mark H. and I did play the “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ game” in elementary school. After that, it was all about feeling it, not seeing it. To me, it’s always seemed like a seaweed mask; it felt good but was not necessarily something you needed to look at.
I’ve always understood that men are visual. I get why ladies send guys pics of themselves and their body parts. Women, while we like some eye candy, have always seemed more moved by romantic gestures. Send me the lyrics to an R&B song, a picture of a flower. Hell, I’d be more excited by an I love you, I miss you, or a heart eyes emoji than a pic of his schlong. Now there are exceptions to every rule: Safaree don’t have to love me or nobody else. He’s like that one chef I had 4 years ago that made Tofu delicious—it was something special, a gift, a once in a lifetime experience. I don’t want tofu weekly, and I don’t think most women want to see most men’s thangs.
The only exception is in the “probation” phase according to the young folks around me. From what they tell me, that’s the phase where women are talking to you, and their ex, and maybe one or two other dudes, trying to figure out which of you sucks the least). During that phase, the woman and at least one of her girls will spend hours evaluating your promise (he’s got a great job, and he’s funny; but what’s up with his teeth. He is so fun, but how in da hell are we gonna live off a delivery man’s salary? Girl his ass never takes me out, but damn ain’t he fine). During this phase, a picture of your penis may be appreciated; but understand that at least three people will see it, check it for lighting and angle tricks, and then have three-way calls about its possibilities (or the lack thereof). It, unlike nudes of a woman, will not be appreciated, but evaluated, it’s performance guesstimated, and its size rated (against past lovers). For many women, it will be like buying an appliance: we will check out all the characteristics, compare it to old ones, ask our friends for advice before we commit. And once we’ve purchased, there is no need for Sears or Best Buy or Walmart to send us a picture of what we’ve got, particularly if it’s operating fine.
I’ve got sons, I know you men love your thangs and perhaps want to show ‘em off now and then. But don’t . . . okay? I can’t imagine the women who were on the receiving end of these pics were … excited.
Even if she sent you a comment that said she liked it—her ass was fakin’ it. We are good at that (but that’s a whole ‘nuther post for a whole ‘nuther day)..
Aunt Randi’s hobbies are talking shit and drinking wine—preferably at the same time.