July 18, 2012

Let's Not Talk About Slapping Hoes

I’m going to admit something to you, and you’re going to judge me.  I want you to know that your judgment cannot permeate this tough, rugged exterior. I’m tough as nails, bitches, and you can keep your raised eyebrows and audible sighs to yourself.

Actually, no, wait. Please share them. I’m a sucker for a little abuse. (Ok. Seriously? Two posts in a row that talk about punishment and/or abuse? This is a whole new side to this blog. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m excited.)

Ok, where was I? Oh right.

I love hip-hop.  Seriously. I love it. 

I love how offensive it is; I love that it makes no sense, I love that it makes grown men make silly rhymes and pronounce words like ‘baby’ as ‘babay’ because it’s more badass. I love that grillz exist. 

I love that wearing a Band-Aid on your face can be cool. I love that even in all of my pasty-white glory, I get an obscene amount of joy out of shaking my ass like a poorly-endowed Beyonce while whipping my hair and making milkshakes. (We’ve talked about my dancing before. If you missed it, you can read about it here. I’m available for back up dancing anytime. Inquire inside.)

But my favourite thing about hip-hop is, hands down, the lyrics.

The beats are catchy, they’re hypnotic and they’re distracting.  That last one was the most important. By distracting listeners with make-your-hips-move beats, those motherfuckers can say anything they goddamn want to. They can tell me that they like fluffy pink slippers and sipping earl grey in their mom’s Jacuzzi, and it’ll sound fucking badass if it’s accompanied by a dirty beat and some sexy auto-tuned bitch singing about hundred dollar bills and private jets. And guess what? I’ll eat it all up with a giant fucking spoon because I love it all so much.  

Don’t get me wrong, sometimes the lyrics are hard to miss. They’re in your face like Christina Aguilara’s tits, and sometimes I’m okay with that. (The lyrics, not the tits. Ms. Aguilara needs to put those puppies to bed.)  Geniuses, such as the always-sexy Snoop Dogg, make no apologies for their disgusting, offensive, crude rhymes that make me want to shield old ladies’ ears. 

To say the very least, this dude is not subtle. Here is an excerpt from one of my latest favourite songs.

Disclaimer: It’s fucking poetry.

Can you be my doctor, can you fix me up?
Can you wipe me down, so I can lick you up?
Make you give it up, give it up 'til you say my name
Like a jersey, jersey, shittin' down the game

Make it, make it, make it wet
I wanna get you wet
Tell tell me, baby, are you wet?
I just wanna get you wet
Wet, wet

I can’t be 100% positive, but I’m pretty sure Snoop wants to make someone’s vagina wet.
I might be misreading this and making some pretty lewd assumptions, but that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Oh, Snoop, you sly dogg, you.
(See what I did there?)

The other great facet of hip-hop lyrics includes what I like to call ‘quick rhymes’. Awesome rappers do it effortlessly. They rhyme itch, bitch, witch, switch, snitch and junkwich* like no one’s business and you can’t even question it because they’re fucking pros.

*Why yes, junkwich is, indeed, short for ‘junk sandwich’. I’m glad you asked.

This song by the ever-talented David Guetta (Feat. Taio Cruz) is a great example of this kind of rhyming brilliance.  I never would have thought to rhyme stackin’ with slappin’. I’ll leave it to the professionals.

She got my heart jumpin'
And my adrenalin pumpin' and gunnin'
Like ain't nobody ever seen (seen seen seen…)
As a matter of fact I've seen this woman all up in my dreams
Whippin' and flippin' and stackin' and slappin'
I'm attacking after she back it up and make it DROP (Drop drop drop…)

I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve never seen a woman all up in your dreams whippin’ and flippin’, but now I’m feeling like I’m missing out on some pretty valuable life experiences.  To say the least, this is a new life goal.  Makin’ mama proud, one dream at a time!

I’m 90% sure that some of you are probably closeted rappers. Maybe only when you’re shitfaced, and maybe only when you think no one is home, but regardless, you rap the shit out of a beat and you drop it like it’s hot.

With this in mind, I’d be interested to know if any of you have any real rapping abilities. I’d request a recording and/or video, but I realize that’s probably a lot to ask and none of you love me enough to do such a grand gesture of awesomness. (Why yes, I am using guilt to get you to do something. Is it working?) IF you don’t love me enough for that, but still want to show off some of your skillz, share some of your rhymes below! I will be forever indebted to you for the joy and entertainment it will bring me.

*Disclaimer: If you wish to leave a comment, it doesn’t have to rhyme, but, you know, you’d be a lot cooler if it did rhyme. But it’s your life. These are your choices.


Some of you participated in my last post’s word challenge.

I want you to know that each and every one of them made me giggle to myself in public like a drunk schoolgirl.

One in particular took the cake. I’m probably biased because it mentioned boobs.

Join me in giving a round of slaps to Méthodique Boisson of Scientific Facts... I just made up!

The winning submission:

"When I think about side-boob, it penetrates my brain until I want to rub myself so much it almost feels like punishment."

I recommend reading all of the comments, though, because you guys are flippin’ brilliant.


  1. Oh my goodness, Britt,
    You're totally killing it.
    Your blog displays such wit,
    You're cracking me up with this shit.
    Your attitude is definitely a hit,
    I'm in love with you a little bit...
    I mean even more than a banana split.
    I have to admit,
    I'm excited to sit and submit,
    to the awesomeness you're sure to emit,
    when we finally meet and drink a spirit.


    the end.

    1. So. much. love.

      PLEASE. You didn't have to tell me that spirit means booze. I'm a very spirited young lady, you know. And by that I mean: Always full of booze.

      I've never been compared to a banana split before. It even made my tits tingle.

  2. I have two rap lyrics that I'm kind of obsessed with lately because they are so ridiculously awful and awesome at the same time. Don't judge me but one is totally from a Drake song.

    "Almost drowned in her pussy so I swam to her butt" <---- What the hell

    "have you ever had sex with a pharaoh
    I put the pussy in a sarcophagus"

    1. No judgment here, sister.

      That pussy drowning business sounds very complicated. That girl should probably get checked out if she's producing that much fluid.

      Also... who DOESN'T put the pussy in a sarcophagus!? Such a trend these days.

    2. This is some lyrical genius right here folks.

  3. You know I fucking suck at rhymes
    'Cause I don't do it all the time
    Awe, don't throw a fit,
    'Cause, chicka-check it, it's Britt
    She all up in the boozing and baking
    The writing she do is funny making
    She lives up north in CanAyDia
    And likes to drink Vodka and Gatoradia
    Check her rockin' the fu manchu
    She be in style when she says "achoo"
    Now I gotta stop 'cause I'm laughing hard
    'Cause this rhyme proves that Imma fucktard.

    THE END.
    (so no quitting my day job)

    1. Ok. That caused me to laugh out loud at work.
      I nearly choked on my coffee at the "rockin' the fu manchu" because what the actual fuck are you talking about?

      You know what, it doesn't even matter, I love you.

    2. Also, how did you know I'm a stylish sneezer? Is it that obvious?

    3. Ah... the fu manchu is the mustache in your picture. Though it's not QUITE a fu manchu, but close enough. I think. You know what? I don't know. I fucking love the word "fu manchu" and seldom get the opportunity to use it in a sentence OR in a shitty mini-rap.

    4. Fu manchu definitely belongs in every mini rap.

  4. I grew up in a bad neighborhood and have the ghetto in me, but I can't rap. If I could I would have written "Cashin' Out," by Cash Out. There's no getting enough of that song for me.

    1. Good song! I hope you got the ghetto dance moves in you, too.

  5. I'd apply for the backup dancer position, but I dance like Elaine on Seinfeld.

  6. I have failed. I did not work fu manchu into the rap. Mostly because it makes me think of my dad. But that's another story.

    This is about my ode to you, Britt of Wonders.

    Let’s not talk about slappin’ hoes,
    ‘Cause Britt’s the baddest bitch, as ev’ryone knows.

    She’s the original girly Toronto playa,
    She be gettin’ side boob from here to they-ah.

    At night she rolls deep with the vodkarade,
    Her sweet dance moves are never out-played.

    Talk some smack, and you’ll get an orange to the grill,
    And you’d better stay away from her goddamned still!

    Her banana-vodka popsicles go with her ev’ry place,
    While she crusades against Hathaway’s stupid face!

    As much as she loves struttin’ her stuff,
    Britt does have one secret love.

    She keeps the gangsta rap on the down-low,
    So you best not be shoutin’ ‘bout slappin’ a hoe.

    I really think that captures the quiet dignity that you seem to embody, and that I struggle valiantly to achieve.
    (I love how language choice can really class-up the ridiculous shit I say. Not that you don't embody quiet dignity. I mean, you don't--but I am sure you could if you wanted. You are just too busy doing things that are awesome and/or fun and/or hard to piece together from the meager clues on the bedside table. As am I. Plus, I don't know how to be quiet. I think someone turned my voice up to 11 when I was a baby. And now the knob is broken. I also love how parentheses make me feel like I have license to ramble on forever about nothing. Jeff bless grammar.)

    1. You did not lose any points for leaving 'fu manchu' out of your rap. Cerebralmilkshake is a rockstar, and has pretty much coined it as her own at this point anyway.

      Moving along...

      I feel like I've given you an advantage with this comment challenge. You clearly are a professional-grade rapper and didn't disclose that UP FRONT. This leads me to believe you'd make an excellent member of my dance/rap crew that I will soon erect! (Ha. Erect.)

      That rap made me laugh out loud, to myself, at work, maybe (definitely) during a call to a client.
      Thank you.

      I've never been told I have quiet dignity, but I'll take it! It may come as a shock, but I'm also loud as fuck a lot of the time. Quiet people make me nervous. That's why I punch them in the throat. (Just kidding)

    2. I love dirty words that people can't get on your case for saying. I look forward to your dance/rap crew erection.

      Yeah--you never know what quiet people are up to. They are like cats that way. That's why we should put bells on them. I don't need a damn bell--not only can you hear where I am at any given time, I am also probably singing about precisely what I am doing at the top of my lungs. I am awesome like that. Or annoying like that. Same thing.