Mister LaFond, in our gaming group there are these two eighteen-year-old boys—good dudes. The one is banging all kind of bitches, while the other just kicked his shorty to the curb. From what I heard from him, she was a good girl, cute, pleasant, making nice.

Here he decided that he wants a better car. He had an okay car, but wanted a much better one. I was proud of him that he traded in all of his collectable cards and other boy stuff for the money to get this car. But then he goes and kicks his shorty to the curb, because he said he was spending too much time with her, and too much money on her. I’m like, “Boy, the hand is never as good as pussy and when you have some good pussy why would you trade it in for the hand.”

He gonna show up to play cards with a sprained wrist before the summer out if he don’t line up some pussy. Mister LaFond, am I right? The hand doesn’t cut it—pussy is where it is at. Here I am, after the breakup, trying to retool and get back into the shorty seat and he’s throwing pussy away! And it’s not like he has more pussy, like the other boy. I could understand kicking an expensive shorty to the curb when you bangin’ all kind a bitches.

Now I am beginning to worry about this boy. Him and this other dude he works with are goin’ to the ball game together and doin’ all kind of other stuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if we turned around a year from now and he is coming out of the closet announcing that he a cake boy. Now, I’m cool with cake boys. I’m not into what they into, but can be friends nonetheless. In fact, I recently had need of a cake boy.

I was looking to buy some lingerie for my wife at Victory Secret. My female friends were all either busy or were with jealous dudes. So I went to my cake boy friend and said, “Hey, Armon I need a feminine point of view. Cold you help me out?”

He was cool with it. So we go to Victory Secret and who is waiting on us but another cake boy! It was hilarious, the way these two were carrying on. The more so because the dude thought I was a cake boy, because I was with a cake boy and he gave me a twenty-percent discount. Then, after the purchase, the cake boy says, “Who are you getting this for? It won’t fit either one of you.”

Who knows, maybe he thought he could fit into it. I looked right at him and said, “This is an anniversary present for my wife.”

Oh, the look on his face was priceless. I knew right then that he only gave me the discount because he thought I was a cake boy. When we walked out of there he was flaming angry. But what’s he going to do, actually announce that discounts are only for the cake boy?