All the good men are either married or gay! The rest are seriously messed up and sleeping with every creature that has a womb. Well, this is according to some women anyway.
Women are good at complaining and saying things like “there are no good men are left”. All that’s left are cheating bastards. I wonder what these women base this on. And which places do they go man hunting? Could she be the one attracting the ‘wrong’ men?
Just like every shoe has its pair, every woman on this planet has her other half somewhere, only some women scare him off! A woman who drinks is fun to hang with as she is carefree and acts like she doesn’t have anything to lose (which is true in most cases).
This kind of woman will always have a lot of guys around her; her phone will be busier than a telecommunications customer care line.
Like they say, he who wants all, loses all, you might be having half a million guys on your case but trust me,no man in his right senses can take you to meet his mum when your lips are firmly attached to a bottle every time. You wouldn’t take ‘you’ either if you were a guy, would you?
Such a woman, even though only in her mid-twenties, her eyes are red and puffy due to incalculable sleepless nights at the night clubs, bars and parties. Her once beautiful jet-black hair is gone and now sits an ugly heap of messy synthetic imported Asian mesh.
Her velvety, silky-honey dripping voice couldn’t handle the gallons of alcohol she downs so it wisely did a disappearing act leaving her croaking like an ill frog. Her lips are now like burning coal, and painting them with grams of lipstick only makes matters worse.
This sister speaks while chewing gum not because she chooses to be rude, but she is only saving you from the emitted toxic breath, her finger nails are broken, so she thinks gluing artificial nails will do the trick but instead ends up looking like she dropped straight from a bad horror movie.
Her eye brows are shaven off and with a marker, an arc is now where they used to be. Her once pretty face now looks like a canvas of an unpaid painter, her eyes sunken, and her cheeks hollow. Her frail frame looks horrible; she can be mistaken for someone on a hunger strike. She uncaringly exposes it in a sleeveless blouse and tight pants that looks like they were spray- painted on her, her breast surrendered to gravity not even a wonder bra can save the day. Then she sits on her drunken bottom and complains how all men are cheating bastards! Really?