If there is a moral to be learned from Superhead’s latest Aesop fable its a simple one: Hoes will be hoes. Presented with limited commercial interruption, Karrine Steffan’s vagina monologue.
Sometimes, in relationships, the pleasure is all theirs. Alone, I am a superhero. With you, I am a mere mortal. You deplete me. I’m tired of being your upgrade. We are not equally yoked. You really deserve someone more basic. I’m tired of pretending your mediocracy is okay with me. I’m tired of pretending I don’t miss G650′s. I’m tied of pretending you’re not a burden. I’m tired of pretending I don’t deserve a fucking BOSS! I’m tired of you driving my car. Stop telling me you love me as if you’re doing me some sort of favor. I don’t need you to love me. I love me.
I’m tired of pretending like you shouldn’t be intimidated by the other men in my life. Cuz you should. I’m tired of pretending as if I support your bullshit dreams. I’m tired of pretending your dick isn’t the smallest dick I’ve ever seen in my life. Cuz it is. I’m tired of pretending I have a headache every time you wanna fuck. I’m tired of walking around this muffukah is sweats asking you what you wanna eat for dinner tonight. I’m tired of pretending your favorite rapper didn’t just beat it up on Friday. I’m tired of paying for everything. Summer is on the way, nigga. You already know what’s up.
I’m tired of you taking all this shit for granted as if you ever deserved any of it. Give me my Mac back. For real tho. I’m tired of washing your wack ass clothes. I hate your whole face. I’m tired of acting like the sex is good. I hate when you roll all the way over onto my side of the bed to hold me. I’m over here for a reason. Did I mention I’m tired of paying for everything? Okay. I’m tired of giving you the game. I’m tired of pretending you’re anything more than a bum. I should’ve just hired you as a cook and kept it moving. I’m tired of congratulating you for accomplishing minuscule shit. I’m tired of you begging.
I’m tired of your insecurities. “You ain’t bout this life.” I am so tired of cleaning up after you. You should really be with that one chick who bagged our groceries this weekend. That’s more your speed. I hate when you try to console me cuz YOU’RE the problem! I’m tired of having to go elsewhere for head. I’m tired of you letting your body go, like a bitch. I’m tired of you asking me questions you already know the answers to. Wait. You thought you were going to shit on me and live? Check my stats newbie.
I’m tired of pretending I give a fuck about how your day is going. I’m tired of moaning when I can’t feel anything! I’m tired of having to think about someone else to get off. I’m tired of having to lock my phone when you’re around. I’m tired of taking showers with you. Can I get a moment! Damn!
Instead of turning her box into a vacation property Karrine would rather shed tears of a harlot on social networking sites. How dreadful.
Only months ago she was deeply in love with a dreadlocked mystery man she “married” in a private ceremony. I know a thing or two about those types of weddings. When I was a youngin’ my favorite cousin and I would tie bedsheets around our waists and take turns walking dramatically as the other hummed “Here Comes The Bride.” I’m sure that Karrine did the same shit just on a grander scale, thus making her rant invalid.
Girl, good day.