If I Had A Type It’d Be Crazy Women

Let’s be honest, although Drake and other artists glorify strippers, they really aren’t all that. Strippers are beautiful women, with build a bear bodies, and a personality that warms your heart. But everybody fails to mention the fact that they’re crazy as hell. I’m not saying all strippers are crazy but the three I’ve dealt with made me erect as well as raise my blood pressure. 

I have a history of dealing with crazy women. To me, death threats are like love letters. Saying I love you just doesn’t mean as much anymore. But saying I’ll kill you, that’s real love. Unfortunately, well fortunately if I’m being honest, those I’ll kill yous were real I’ll kill yous. These strippers really tried to take my life. And I kind of liked it.

All strippers seem to have a few things in common; they’re about getting money, having fun, and they always seem to have a blade handy. I’ve yet to meet a stripper that didn’t have a knife tucked in some hidden body part. Maybe it’s because they’re surrounded by men who take thirst to a whole new level. Or maybe it’s because they’re crazy as hell. Either way that hidden blade is like a hidden treasure.

My ex girl, who happened to be a stripper was beautiful, and I’m average, so I’m not sure if we complimented each other, but I guess she enjoyed my company. My nonchalance seemed to turn her on. How I allowed her to live her life stress free, but the truth is, I didn’t care. I knew this relationship wasn’t going to last. I just enjoyed relaxing and giving late night booty rubs.

Now sometimes my nonchalance turns into carelessness. Carelessness leads to death threats. And death threats lead to dodging oncoming vehicles. Crazy right. It’s all Instagram’s fault. Now I barely use my Instagram. I’m 17 Instagram followers strong right now and it’s because I don’t care to take pictures. So when number three asked for my Instagram I responded I do not have one. Now to a woman that means I have one, but, I have plenty of women also, and I’m not trying to get caught up; which is not the truth, but she left it alone.

A week goes by and I randomly check my idle Instagram. The second I opened the app I knew something was wrong. I looked down to see 40 notifications, now either Chris Brown just shouted me out or I’ve been hacked. I clicked on the notifications and there she was under every photo I’ve every posted, all three of them, with phrases like”I’m going to kill you” “Watch this” “You damn liar” “I hope you’re ready to die”.

Am I ready to die? Not at all, but out of all those comments the scariest one had to be “watch this”. Saying watch this means that you’re already in the process of doing something crazy and you can’t wait to see my reaction. So what did I do? Did I reply to any of these messages? Nope. I put my phone on do not disturb and turned on the TV.

About an hour goes by and still nothing, so I figure it’s over and everything is okay. The fridge is empty and I’m starving, so I grab my keys and head to the car. The second I stepped onto the sidewalk a car comes flying at me. Thank God the car was a 2016 because had it been a 02 with faulty breaks she would’ve hit all the lower level apartments.

Now I’m trying to talk some sense into this woman, it wasn’t working at all. Gucci Mane’s First Day Out record was being played at the loudest volume possible; part of me wanted to sit back and admire the fact she knew the song word for word, but I couldn’t, because the other part of me was trying to stay alive.

Finally the song began to fade out and the driver’s side window rolled down. Peace right? Not at all. She screamed “You lying mothefucker”, tossed one of several blades at me, and drove off. None of those blades hit me, but had they hit me, I would not have responded back when she apologized to me via Instagram dms. 

We’re getting dinner tomorrow night.


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