The other evening I watched the Chris Rock comedy special Kill The Messenger. What I most liked about the performance was the brilliantly clever editing, constantly splicing and juxtaposing Rock in three different locations (Johannesburg, London, and New York) while delivering the same exact routine.
There was one segment which struck me as simultaneously holding the greatest truth and having much more relevance today for men than five or ten years ago. I decided to transcribe the segment, mostly to bask in its humor but also so you guys don't need to track down a copy. Of course, I had to do some editing.
There was one segment which struck me as simultaneously holding the greatest truth and having much more relevance today for men than five or ten years ago. I decided to transcribe the segment, mostly to bask in its humor but also so you guys don't need to track down a copy. Of course, I had to do some editing.
Rock bends his knees, looks down, and uses his hand to illustrate...Men and women, so many differences. The biggest difference—one of the biggest differences, men cannot go backwards sexually, women cannot go backwards in lifestyle. Can't fücking do it. The best woman can't do it. Can't do it, can't do it.
Fellas, have you ever been going through some hard times with your woman—you lose your job or something? Your woman tries to console you, saying, "Hey baby, don't worry, we're going to get through this. I know we've got some bills, but if we have to get rid of some of this shït, we will get rid of some of this shït." She's talking about you. Fellas, if you lose your job, you will lose your woman. She may not leave the day you lose it, but the countdown has begun.
Ladies, remember the first time you dated a guy with his own car? Remember that? You were leaving the club, your girlfriends got on the bus, you're like "Bye, bîtches." "I'll see you all later. (I'm getting in his warm ass car.)" From that moment on, you're like, "Hey, you're not getting this püssy without a car. I'm not getting on a bus in February—fück that shît." And that's how you roll for the rest of your life.
Ladies, remember the first time you dated a guy with his own apartment? Remember that? You got in there, you got comfortable, you're like "I can really enjoy getting fücked in here. I can scream, holler, break shît, yell instructions. I will never fück in nobody's momma's house ever again." And you never did.
Ladies, remember the first time you have a guy take you on vacation? "Ooh, this is great!" From that moment on, every guy you dated had to take you somewhere. You let him know as soon as you met him, "Hey, this is passport püssy." "If you think you can handle this püssy in one time zone, you're out of your fücking mind."
Women love to tell you how much better the püssy will be when you get to your destination. "Oh, you got nothing yet. Wait until we get to Jamaica." You get to Jamaica and it's the same püssy you had in Johannesburg." "In London." "In Brooklyn." The only difference now is it has some sand in it. And the crazy thing is, women love to tell you—women have their own money. Women are like, "Hey, if you don't take me on a nice vacation, I'm going to find me a cute guy and I will pay for shït." (But that only lasts for 30 days, because women don't like paying for shït.)
Püssy costs money, dîck is free. Any money you spend on dîck is a bad investment. When it come to women and money, I will tell you right now, nothing dries up a püssy quicker than a woman reaching for her wallet. There's something about a woman reaching for her wallet that just dries up the vagina.
I highly recommend Kill The Messenger. It's a great 80 minute investment of your entertainment quotient.It's almost like the wallet is sending a signal to the püssy that this man is not worthy getting wet for. Even later on, when you go to the gynecologist, he says "OMG, you've been paying for shît." "Another $500 and you'll be in menopause."
Women cannot go backwards in lifestyle.