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Good Advice From My Mamma

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When I was way younger my Mamma would say to me, “Brenda!” I would reply, “Mamma, my name isn’t Brenda it is Harriett.”  She would take a few more swigs of whiskey and say, “Brenda! Do you know what a man loves? A Whore! Men love them some whores. So you be the best whore you can be, you hear me girl?”  Then she would go on and on about how when she was younger all the good looking guys would sniff around her for pussy.  Married men, single men, didn’t matter, she would spread her legs for a few bucks and everyone was happy.  It got to the point though where they didn’t want Mamma anymore, they wanted me and my sisters.

Most of my sisters said, “No.” I didn’t, I liked having money, I liked being taken out and getting drunk in the back of trucks, or on front porches.  It was fun to me.  This made me feel bad for my Mamma because she wasn’t getting the type of play she used to.  Only a couple of the guys would come over for Mamma, and they were old as dirt.  It was no wonder Mamma drank up before one of them would make their way over to our place. 

The thing of it is, is that Mamma was right.  The more slutty you acted, the more attention you received, the more money in your pocket.  I loved it from the very start.  Now I say the same thing to my girls, although I do manage to get their names correct … on occasion.  I think they appreciate that little tidbit of advice, they seem to love it just as much as I did at their age. It makes me glad that when I get to be Mamma’s age that my girls will carry on the family of tradition of giving men what they love … whores.

Speaking of which … you should follow us on twitter.  You can get your daily dose of whore-tweets.  Find out what we are up to, and get your dick ready for later, when one of us can be the sluttiest phone whore for your personal pleasure.

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A Mother – The Perfect Muse For National Poetry Month

Adult phone chatGood morning everyone!  I hope your day will be a good one, but before you leave for work, or where ever it is you are going today I want you to meet someone.  Her name is Lenora and she is a sexy assed Mommy, just like I am.  Her name reminds me of the poem by Edgar Allen Poe, The Raven.  Now I know, in the poem it is Lenore, but hey, Lenora is very close.  PLUS, Lenora has jet black hair.  You see the connection?  I hope this is making some sort of sense because I have been doing bump after bump of ice, so bare with me here. HA!

Phone sexThis month is National Poetry Month.  I bet you are thinking, “How the hell can a washed up drug whore know it is National Poetry Month?”  Just because I suck dick and snort all kinds of candy doesn’t mean I do not have a brain in my head darling.  Oh no, you would be surprised at the shit I know.  Anyway, all the aforementioned also made me think of how many times people have wrote Poems about their Moms.  We are the best muses if you ask me.  The relationship we have with our offspring is diverse, sometimes the dynamic is fucked up, sometimes it is all good.  I mean hell, even if you hate your Mamma, you still think about her from time to time.  There is always that connection, which gives a creative person the fodder to write about.

Mommy phone sexWow, I’m getting deep here. HA!  You know what I want? I want some of you to write a poem about your Mom, good or bad, I don’t care.  Or if you so choose, pick one of the Moms here and let the words fly.  If you email them to me; with your permission of course; I will post them in a blog so you can see your work.  Now I have to get going because my boys need to get their butts out of bed and get ready for school.  In meantime, you go and visit Ms. Lenora, check her out, and start writing those poems!