Pure Poetry

You've already won my heart and made the edges of my cunt gene tingle when you start off an email with "because this email is going to be a rough fucking ride."

A Deadspin reader sent them an electronic bitch slapping that the head of some bottom of the barrel sorority at the University of Maryland gave to her sisters. If there was a MoCA (Museum of Cunty Art), this email would be its Mona Lisa. The Mel Gibson of sorority sisters broke her MacBook Air when she rage typed out an email to her sisters, letting those slacking slackers know that they need to get their shit together. This chick's sorority has been matched up with a big frat on campus for Greek Week and I guess the only thing her sisters have been winning are credits toward getting their PhD in SUCK.

The entire email is after the cunt (typo and it stays) and it's best if you read it in Christian Bale's voice, because this is pretty much the same rant he shouts at the crew every morning. Going half-Kanye (aka using random CAPS) was a nice, poetic touch. Go, you AWKWARD, boring bitches! 

I will never tell Aunt Viv the First from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air to kindly step away from her laptop or to turn off her recording device of choice, because when she yanks off a bitch's wig, she yanks so hard that it leaves a carpet burn on that bitch's forehead. Janet Hubert already went after  Wendy Williams for dragging Whitney Houston when she was alive but turning into a puddle of sad tears and wet wig hair when she died. This time, Janet is grabbing the step stool and climbing up it to choke Wendy out, because Wendy brought up her name while talking to Tatyana Ali on her show earlier this week. Wendy only asked Tatyana what happened to the first Aunt Viv, and I guess Janet didn't like that her name came out of Wendy's mouth, because she had some shit to say and then some on her Blog Talk Radio show. Here's just a piece of the verbal slap down Aunt Viv laid down on Wendy, courtesy of Ronald Matters and The Urban Daily:

Dear Wiggy, I’m sorry, Wendy,

Recently, you found the need to put an end to the mystery surrounding my departure from a show that I did so damn long ago that I don’t even remember why I departed.

Wendy Williams, or whatever you are supposed to be, I’m not quite sure. I’m writing you yet again, to appeal to your sense of womanhood or manhood as some suggest. Please close your mouth about things that you know nothing of.

Now perhaps other black women have allowed you to berate them and continued to support you in this manner of madness and rewarding hatefulness. So I sat there and watched you like some devilish sinkhole swallow up Tatyana Ali. You reduced her to a child sitting their tempting to keep some symbolism of dignity about her as you pried and invaded her life until you got what you wanted.

You are such a demon Wendy. You are wicked, awful, conniving, sinister, spiteful, jealous of every other woman. Simply put, Wendy you are a virus. You are not nor have you ever been a true woman.

I just would like to know who died and told you that you were reborn as Oprah. You want to be Oprah so bad that you would kill for it and you will kill anyone to achieve success. Sister, you will never be another Oprah. Oprah lifted her audience up and exuded an air of class.

But you know what Wendy, you are not even in my league. It is so beneath me to even bother with someone like you, but you asked for it. You will not destroy all of the hard work that I went through for the last decade to clear my good name. I simply will not allow you to do so. I’m a lady and a real one.

Wendy girlfriend you just messed with the wrong sista.

So, here is my advice to you Wendy. Wipe your giant teeth off camera. Please put some sweat pits under your arms, and darling if your sweater is pulling until there are lines across your chest, its too tight. You might want to deflate those tremendous breast. Take off the fake blonde hair. You have to stop playing the race card because you are coming off like a wannabe white girl who will never be white. 

I kind of feel sorry for you. You sit there on your big-footed tacky throne everyday while millions of people are laughing at you not with you. There is a big difference. Nobody cares about what you think about their lives. But we do care about what you put out there about us.

My heart saddens at how women, especially black women, have embraced her evil after all of our struggles in society. You and your kind have set us back a hundred years or so. How dare you chastise anyone when you are such a travesty?

Now take that, chew it my dear and stick it on your lord have mercy you are disgusting fly ridden gum wall. And that’s the advice I have for you my sister. Peace. 

I love how Wendy didn't even talk shit about Aunt Viv. All she did was say Aunt Viv's name and Janet Hubert still put a question mark over her crotch, called out her juicy pits and said she was a demon from hell. I swear, Aunt Viv acts like Wendy broke into her backyard, stole her dog, skinned it and is now wearing it as a wig. But I still love it when Aunt Viv loses whatever is left of her mind and goes off. Can somebody please lie to Aunt Viv 1.0 and tell her the Kardashians are smearing shit all over her good name, because I want to see her rip their faces off with her words.

Click here to listen to Aunt Viv the First reading her letter out loud. Why isn't she on The View?!!!

Professor Brian McKnight, who has a PhD in pussy education, is serious about teaching you the ABCs of poon and so he's released the full version of his how-to-make-your-coochie-cream ballad. Never mind that most pussies will force themselves into sleep mode if Professor McKnight tried to teach it anything, I'll still be humming it while rolling around my Ikea sheepskin rug tonight. And now I'll leave you and this mess alone, because I know you need to practice the moves you're going to do while slow dancing to this song at your wedding. It's definitely some first dance shit.

You know, this fuckery could also double as an anthem for cats in the workforce.

via Kid Fury

Last month, Casper Smart jail broke the Speak & Spell in his nursery to Tweet fight with all of his haters and he's done it again, but this time we saw a wiser, gentler and a more profound side of Casper the Friendly Boy Toy. JLo's baby is growing up.

Casper must be sick of restaurant hosts pulling up a high chair for him when he takes his abuela (the restaurant host's words, not mine) out to dinner, because he covered his Twitter page with a poem called "Love Sees No Age (Because The Blinking Dollar Signs Are In The Way)" Casper's poetweet was as meaningful as a JLo ballad and as suspenseful as watching Skeletor hold a fan's baby (Will he kiss it or will he suck all the blood out of its neck?). Casper's poem is so suspenseful that Rod Serling is going to resurrect himself from the grave to turn these Tweets into a very special Tweetlight Zone episode. Seriously, put a thimble on each of your fingers, because you will have the urge to bite down to your cuticles.

Age, status, n opinions of others are irrelevant. Our hearts are endless and our souls infinite........... To be continued

Don't you have that same feeling you felt after Lost's season 2 cliffhanger?! The anticipation is eating those thimbles off of your fingers! Breathe, because Casper didn't wait an entire season to tell you what comes next.

Our ages are mere reminders of the hours logged on this earth and the precious time remaining......... To be continued

You're right, Casper! We only have a few precious hours on earth, so please tell everyone the next part of they'll be buried with this look on their faces because they went to the grave not knowing what happens in part 3!

We should all honor our time here by indulging our passion and dreams. So, close your ears and open your hearts; Love and be happy!

Aaaand exhale. Can you believe you got through that without your heart jumping out of your mouth to hit the scroll button to find out what happens next?! That Casper is as masterful at bullshitting as he is as writing suspenseful poetry. This what happens when Pampers puts famous lines of poetry on their sticky tabs and JLo starts showing Scooby Doo episodes in Casper's playroom.

I know you probably chewed through those thimbles and pulled your nails out, so I made you an appointment for a nail transplant. Your appointment is scheduled for........... To be continued.

Father Andrés García Torres, a Spanish Catholic priest, is in danger of losing his position at his parish in Madrid after Bishop Getafe saw this picture of him hugging on a young Cuban seminarian and declared that some ESCANDALOSO Oh-mo-sex-oo-ahl-ish shit must be going on. If two dudes are side hugging in a picture it must mean that they were just side fucking until the stained glass windows blew out, obviously.

Bishop Getafe is so sure that the hot piece on the left made the sign of the father, the son and the holy ghost on Father Andrés' asshole with his peen that the bishop is calling for the father's resignation, a psychiatric evaluation and an HIV test. Father Andrés Unibrow denies the shit that is coming out of Bishop Getafe's mouth and says that his madre is wailing through the streets about this. Father Andrés will travel to Rome to try to prove that he's just friends with the seminarian and that the bishop is pushing him out of his parish without any proof. And then the literary angels cried when Father Andrés said this:

" Let them measure my anus and see if it is dilated."

I was about to clutch my pearls with my hands, but one of the lips of my way too dilated anus just reached around, crawled up and did it for me. Let's translate this work of poetry into Google Spanish and see if it has the same effect:

"Vamos a medir mi ano y ver si se dilata."

This time both of my anus lips clutched my pearls! And I thought that Lindsay Lohan's "move that cone" line was the quote of the week, but nope. "Let them measure my anus" is the new "Show me the receipts!"

This reminds me of something one of my friends said. He said that b-holes are sort of like tree trunks: you can tell how long they've been around by how many rings (or lines) they have. Oh, hell, I have probably the mighty oak of assholes. If you peered into it, you'd probably see the face of a wise old woman who would tell you to follow your heart and dance through the colors of the wind. Then you'd bring your white ship captain to meet the old lady in my asshole and ask for her approval. NO GRACIAS. That is why Father Andrés is braver (and less dilated in the anus) than me, because I'd never let anyone closely examine my Grandmother Willow asshole under bright lights.

And Bishop Getafe ain't shit! That shady bitch is up to something. I bet that Bishop Getafe will take Father Andrés up on that offer and show up to the anus measuring ceremony with ruler marks on his peen. I see you, Bishop Getafe!

via Free Thinker (Thanks to everybody who sent this in!)