Posts Tagged ‘Mark sanford’

Sir, sir, stop running from the camera sir! Thats not your wife, is it, sir?

We're here in Buenos Aires, Argentina searching for Cheaters. And guess what we found? Appalachian Trail, my ass.

Mayne. What a month for the other woman, huh? First John Ensign out in Nevada decides he’s going to get it in with a campaign staffer. Then your boy Mark Sanford decides he’s going to go AWOL from the state he runs for days to get up with his foreign trim. And then it really hit home. Steve McNair gets killed for assumably trying to break things off with his sidepiece. Actually, it’s not so much that it’s been a month for the other woman, it’s been the decade. John Edwards’ wandering cock basically blew out any chance he had of being President. Or VEEP. Or welcome in the Democratic party period. Billy Clint? was shooting nut off on side broads’ dresses like it was Oxyclean (RIP BIlly Mays). Michael Jordan? Getting it on the side. Li’l Wayne? Well, he ain’t married, but when you have two broads pregnant at the same time, my guess is someone musta thought they were the main chick. TI? Has said publicly that he gets it in with other chicks. But because Miss Piggy gets down on the threeway, it’s not cheating. Let’s talk about Eric Benet. Dude locked down the universally acknowledged most beautiful woman in the world (by universally acknowledged, I mean we argue about it all the time) and then CHEATED ON HER! Dog, I can see giving up a political career. Losing half in a divorce proceeding. But you found some better tail than the finest woman in the world? I don’t understand it. Were these dudes raised by wolves? No.

But they are wolves. See, New Pussy is a drug.  I’ve never smoked crack. But I imagine the only reason that a man would smoke crack is because he can’t get New Pussy.  An unscientific surface study of most male crackheads would suggest that it’s been a while since they got some New Pussy. Well, cept for maybe this fella here:

I get it in

I get it in

Naw. IIIIIIIIII get it in

Naw. IIIIIIIIII get it in

Gotta love DC. (Read the full story here, it’s hilarious). So maybe crack is an acceptable substitute for some people, I don’t know. I don’t think women have any idea how intoxicating that drug is. How exciting it is to wonder whether or not we’ll score some NP. To see the NP dealer posted up on your block and have enough in your pocket to cop a bag. But the question becomes, at what point can a NP addict put down the pipe? In some people’s case, it seems like never. No matter what the consequences, what the devasation to their lives and those around them, “It just keep calling (them).”

My estranged brother Pookins St. Randy AKA Pookie

My estranged brother Pookins St. Randy AKA Pookie

I know people will argue it’s a question of discipline and people SHOULD this or should know better that, but in the macro environment, we recognize that cheating exists. It may very well be rampant, I don’t know how accurate polls are (I googled up one study that said 23% of men and 10-15% of women were at some point unfaithful to their spouse and another that said 33% of both men and women). I’ve never been married. I’ve been faithful as a boyfriend but I have no idea how I would react under the pressures and issues of marriage and kids. I hope I’d be able to walk the line. But clearly some people can’t.

Which brings me to marriage. My buddy, Belle, has been going on a tirade of late about cheating husbands. She even said if she was steve McNair’s wife, she wouldn’t go to the funeral. I think that’s a pretty venal reaction, and I doubt it’s true, but I thin it speaks to the hurt and anger cheating can cause. So what can you do if you’re just not a faithful person? Every guy I know wants to get married, no matter how unqualified they are to be a husband. They want a beautiful wife who loves them, and kids to raise and adore. Some of my friends are already married, some of them are well on their way. Some are fighting tooth and nail to stay single just a little longer. But knowing some of them like I know them, I gotta wonder. Some of these dudes are serial philanderers. Like that shit’s in their bloodstream. These dudes are just wolves.  I kinda almost think of them as the straight version of DL dudes. Like at the end of the day, try as they might to be faithful husbands and fit into the box everyone wants them too, they just need something more. Only instead of man-ass at a truck stop, it’s NP. And they’re all very successful, upwardly mobile dudes. Which means they have the male version of NP: Power. If NP is a drug, Power is the currency that buys NP. Where there’s NP, there’s Power, and where there’s power, there’s NP. You can’t separate the two. Doesn’t matter f it’s backstage at the CMA’s, in the boardroom, in the locker room, or on the campaign trail, the two will find each other. I’m not suggesting that the two MUST make an exchange. There are plenty of situations where the two pass right by each other and nothing is asked and nothing is given. But the potential is always there. Especially after the shine’s worn off of the marriage. The wife’s picked up a few pounds. The sex isn’t as explosive as it used to be. You start taking each other for granted. Maybe don’t feel appreciated like you used to. And you’re a wolf. Bill Clinton, make no mistake: he’s a wolf. Steve McNair rest his soul, was a wolf. John F. Kennedy, a wolf.  Nas, he’s a wolf. A-Rod, wolf. The list goes on.

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Is there anything a woman can do to stop it? Is there anything the wolf can do? Or do the woman and the wolf just have to make a deal? He can still be a wolf if he brings home something she wants: trip to Paris maybe, $4 million purple diamond, a shot at the presidency? You tell me. Some women have already decided that all men are dogs. She calls the Wolves bad dogs. (NOTE, IF YOU CLICK ON THE LINK AT WORK, TURN THE VOLUME DOWN FIRST!) What’s your take?

Faithfully yours,

B ST. ARRRRUH

You are. My fire. My one. Desire. Believe. When I say.

You are. My fire. My one. Desire. Believe. When I say.

So there was an article somewhere in Slate reviewing a book called “A Vindication of Love.” The book is basically a rejection of today’s focus on dull but safe relationships, which while they may not be emotionally satisfying, at least don’t put you at the risk of wrenching heartbreak.

Nehring yearns for a revival of a messier ardor. In her view, we have domesticated love past all recognition, turning what is rightly leonine, destructive, and majestic into a yawning, chubby house cat. Hers is no modest project. She wants nothing less than to radicalize our framework for love, mainly by restoring its chaotic potential: “Romance in our day is a poor and shrunken thing,” she writes. “Among the many rights we must reclaim in love is the right to fail.” A Vindication of Love is not a book that will persuade every reader to jump off the couch and into the arms of a dark, smoky-eyed stranger, but it will rearrange your tidily laid out mental furniture while you’re not looking. For at its core is a well-taken point: With its emphasis on equitable marriage, “choice feminism” has endorsed a tyrannical habit of trying to subordinate passion to reason. And along the way it has demonized obsession. What, Nehring asks, is so wrong with being crazy in love?

What indeed? I remember being at a dinner party with a bunch of girls, and Beyonce’s “Crazy in Love” was playing in the background. “You know”, one of the girls said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been dangerously in love.

I’ve had some dangerous ass sex, mind you.” To which the entire table erupted in laughter. But her point was well taken. Especially for our crowd, don’t we tend to subvert passion for reason? Isn’t “power couple-hood” the antithesis of romantic, wind at your back love? I know a couple women who’ve married because their now husbands seem like safe bets. White picket fences and stability and shit. I actually had an orgy with one of them right before she got engaged. My best friend fucked the shit out of her while her now-husband blew up her cell phone and her friend blew me. Good times. And what about me? Have I given up the dream of an artsy blue-haired girl with no formal education but mad talent and love so I could be with someone who would help advance my career? Not make waves at the company picnic?

I hope not. But I think it’s really easy to do. We look down on crazy love these days. If someone likes you too much, they’re “thirsty.” We’ll call someone a stalker in a heartbeat. Go to one of these “young professional” parties. What’s everyone doing? Working the wall. Not trying to look pressed. Or the lists that people have for how they meet someone. Refuse to meet someone in a club. They must be introduced by a mutual Point of Reference. etc. etc. Romeo would be considered a bug-a-boo today. Barack wouldn’t have asked out Michelle that second time because she’d have his as on blast on Twitter:

RT@MichyMich: Won’t that African-named bamma leave me alone? I mean, damn Hussein, go blow up an oil well or something.

Or let’s look at Mark Sanford. I mean, this dude rolled out to Argentina to be with his piece. Fuck the wife, fuck the kids, fuck the state assembly, I gots to be with my chica. Not to suggest that he wasn’t the slightest bit irresponsible, but when you read the emails, I mean, don’t you get a little tingle? When’s the last time you got this hot and bothered over email?

“This is ground I have never certainly never covered before – so if you have pearls of wisdom on how we figure all this out please let me know,” Sanford wrote. “In the meantime please sleep soundly knowing that despite the best efforts of my head my heart cries out for you, your voice, your body, the touch of your lips, the touch of your finger tips and an even deeper connection to your soul.”

Ay Ay Ay, Mi Amor. Yes, I can play the John Mayer for you, my love.

Ay Ay Ay, Mi Amor. Yes, I can play the John Mayer for you, my love.

The relationship apparently also caused Maria conflicts.

“As I told you I shouldn’t have done this trip but I would have felt worst if I wouldn’t have come,” she wrote. “He is a very nice guy, great heart … but unfortunately I am not in love with him … You are my love.”

If you read that shit with an accent, it’s even better.

From Gov. Sanford, Date: Thursday, July 10, 2008, 12:24 a.m.

“Two, mutual feelings . . . You have a particular grace and calm that I adore. You have a level of sophistication that so fitting with your beauty. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificent gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curve of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of the night’s light – but hey, that would be going into sexual details …

“Three and finally, while all the things above are all too true – at the same time we are in a hopelessly – or as you put it impossible – or how about combine and simply say hopelessly impossible situation of love. How in the world this lightening strike snuck up on us I am still not quite sure. As I have said to you before I certainly had a special feeling about you from the first time we met, but these feelings were contained and I genuinely enjoyed our special friendship and the comparing of all too many personal notes …

“Lastly I also suspect I feel a little vulnerable because this is ground I have never certainly never covered before – so if you have pearls of wisdom on how we figure all this out please let me know… In the meantime please sleep soundly knowing that despite the best efforts of my head my heart cries out for you, your voice, your body, the touch of your lips, the touch of your finger tips and an even deeper connection to your soul.”

Coke in the Ride was a UGK song? Shit, I thought it was just a lifestyle

"Coke in the Ride" was a UGK song? Shit, I thought it was just a lifestyle

From Maria, Wednesday, July 9, 2008 8:14 p.m.

“As I told you I shouldn’t have done this trip but I would have felt worst if I wouldn’t have come because it was too over the date, he is a very nice guy, great heart … but unfortunately I am not in love with him … You are my love … something hard to believe even for myself as it’s also a kind of impossible love, not only because of distance but situation. Sometimes you don’t choose things, they just happen… I can’t redirect my feelings and I am very happy with mine towards you.”

This was a chick flick, but the guns were cool so its man-approved

This was a chick flick, but the guns were cool so it's man-approved

Like doesn’t that take you back to when women wore bustiers and dudes had horses and settled their disputes with a pistol duel? I for one am all about it. What do y’all think?