Yeah, I Said It

by Wanda Sykes

  The Article

  My publicist called to tell me that Esquire magazine wanted me to do an article entitled “Ten Things You Didn’t Know About Women.” I thought it would be fun, so I accepted. Of course, being the procrastinator that I am, I was sweating, trying to beat the end-of-the-day deadline during lunch with Sue and Alyson, who you just met, a couple of my girlfriends who are also writers. I jokingly said something like, “The way to a woman’s heart is through her clit.” My friends fell out laughing and quickly jumped on the clit bandwagon. They talked me into doing this list. I actually submitted this to Esquire.

  The quickest way to a woman’s heart is through her clit.

  When we say we want you to get in touch with your feminine side, we really mean you need to touch our clits.

  When we ask you if we look fat, it really means, “Can you see my clit?”

  We’d love to meet your mom. Right after we introduce you to our clits.

  Diamonds are forever, but touching our clits can buy ya two or three years.

  When we tell you, “We’re not communicating,” it really means you’re not touching our clits.

  We’d be happy to buy our own damn drinks, if you touch our clits.

  When we say, “Harder! Harder!” that means, “Take it out and touch my clit.”

  The fact that women make seventy-five cents to every man’s dollar won’t bother us…as long as you touch our clits.

  “Go have a boys’ night out” really means, “I’ll stay home and touch my clit.”

  I know, very funny. The person at Esquire didn’t think so. I got another call from my publicist.

  Publicist: Wanda, about that article, I really wished that you had sent it to me before sending it right in to Esquire.

  Me: (through a laugh) What’s the problem?

  Publicist: Esquire feels that it’s a little too uh…racy…uh, edgy for them to publish.

  Me: What do you mean?

  Publicist: Okay, to be honest, it’s just too much clit. I mean, like every joke is clit.

  Me: What’s wrong with clit? I think this article could be very helpful to some guys.

  Publicist: Uh, yeah, but it’s just too much clit. You need to do another pass at this. One, maybe two clit jokes are fine, but the entire list of clit lines is just overkill.

  Me: Oh, I think one or two clit lines would just come across as tacky and vulgar.

  Publicist: Okay, well, do another list without any clit at all.

  After being lectured about the clit article by my publicist, I came up with a watered-down version. My publicist was delighted.

  Writing poetry makes us look for your other homosexual tendencies. You write us a beautiful poem. We think this is pretty and sensitive. Wait, this is pretty. What the fuck? What else is pretty about this man? If a man’s gonna express his feelings, he should write dirty poetry. Why sugarcoat it with all that mushy stuff?

  If women were physically stronger than men, we’d kick your ass every day.

  You’ve never talked your way into our pants. We made that decision when we met you. However, if we’re wearing shabby underwear, we hadn’t planned on sleeping with you that day.

  Why do we fake orgasms? It’s called time management.

  After sex, you can gauge your performance by the temperature of the washcloth we bring you. If it’s warm, you were great. If it’s cold, we’ve had better. If you have to get it yourself, don’t bother coming back to bed.

  Being a sports fan is cool, but we think guys who paint their faces are closeted drag queens.

  We think the Three Stooges are funny, too, just for different reasons.

  We really aren’t bad drivers. We’re just trying to ruin your day.

  It is about money and power. Donald Trump driving a bus, he’s ignored. Donald Trump standing in front of his casino, he’s a handsome fella.

  We don’t like it when you cry. Be a man, dammit!

  Clearly this version didn’t hit the sweet spot like the Clit version. And I wasn’t the only one who noticed. I received a message from my publicist: “The editor in chief likes the clit version.” I said, “Great!! We have something in common.” Then the conversation went something like this:

  Publicist: I think you should go with the second version. The one without all of the clit.

  Me: But it’s not as funny. Anybody could have written that boring shit. The clit is me.

  Publicist: But you don’t want to be known as the “clit woman.” I don’t want you on every talk show being asked about your clit.

  Me: It’s a good icebreaker.

  Publicist: It’s your call. My advice, don’t go with the clit.

  Me: I gotta go with my gut and it’s feeling clit.

  The Orlando Jones Show was the only interview that I did where I was asked about this article.

  How to Ruin Porn

  I know you guys are going, “Why in the world would you want to do that?” Well, fellas, some of us ladies are not big fans of the porn. It’s not that I’m a prude or anything. I’m just more of a film buff. When I watch a “movie,” I pay attention to the dialogue, the performance, the direction, the cinematography, wardrobe, I watch it all. I can’t watch a movie for the sheer fucking. All of the other things that are lacking get in the way and I just find the whole thing funny. So I laugh. Yes, if you pop a porn in, the only reaction that you are getting out of me is giggles. You might as well turn on Nick at Nite, you’ll get the same response, laughs. Ladies, guys hate that. If you want to score points, don’t laugh during the porn watching.

  However, if you’re like me and want to put an end to the porn watching, warm-up part of the sex festivities, laugh. Plus, I don’t need it. Hey, I love football, but I really don’t need to see the pregame. Guys, to me your porn watching is like our postgame cuddling; you don’t need it, nor do you look forward to it.

  Last guy I was with, I just got fed up with the porn watching. So instead of laughing, I decided to break him. If you want to ruin porn, ladies, follow the scenario that I played out. The two of you are watching some porn, you are stroking him, then stop and point to the TV screen.

  You: Look at that dick! I have never seen a dick that big before in my life. Are they supposed to be that big?

  Him: Oh, uh…uh…don’t pay any attention to that. They do that with uh…uh…that’s just lights and shit.

  You: Lights? Hmmm…we need to get some lights up in here. Floodlights, flashlights, strobe lights, Christmas lights, candlelight, lightning bugs, I don’t care; we just need some lights up in this bitch.

  This is when he gets pissed.

  Him: Well, look at her titties. Man, she has some nice, big ol’ titties. That’s a lucky man right there.

  You: Lucky? Shit, he deserves those titties. Look at that big-ass dick!

  After that, the next movie you guys watch together will be Finding Nemo. Still give him shit: “Nemo’s daddy is sexy.”

  More Advice…for Her

  After the “Ten Things You Don’t Know About Women” Esquire article, Alyson and I were talking about how most of the magazines for women give the worst advice. It’s almost as if these writers have never actually met a man. The things they tell women to do are just ridiculous. The only thing I got from these articles is that these people know absolutely nothing about men. Men are not complex at all. Ladies, there’s not much to know. My girl Alyson is back to hook y’all up with a very simple way to get you a man. Take it away, Alyson.

  TEN WAYS TO SEDUCE A MAN

  Wash your hair with an exotic floral-scented shampoo, then tell him you want to fuck him.

  In fresh red and pink rose petals, spell out “I want to fuck you.”

  Put on your sexiest dress, then pull it up over your head and tell him you want to fuck him.

  Spend hours in the kitchen cooking his favorite meal, then tell him you want to fuck him.

  Cuddle up in front of the television and put in your favorite romantic movie. Sleepless in Seattle is always a
good choice. Then tell him you want to fuck him.

  Surprise him during halftime with your own special cheer. It should go something like this: “I want to fuck you.”

  Put the kids to bed early, then tell him you want to fuck him. This is especially seductive if those ain’t his kids.

  Take a stripper class. Then once you bust your ass sliding down that pole, tell him you want to fuck him.

  Bust all the windows out of his car, then on the side spray-paint, “I want to fuck you.”

  Say hello, then tell him you want to fuck him.

  Alyson, I don’t know if the girls have caught on yet. Can you help them out? I mean, they’ve been misled for decades.

  Sure.

  11. Step on his foot, then tell him you want to fuck him.

  12. Find a common interest like…you want to fuck him.

  13. Spanish is considered to be a very romantic language. Learn some Spanish phrases, then tell him, “I want to fuck you, señor.”

  14. Answer the door wrapped in cellophane, then tell him as soon as you get that shit off your sweaty ass you want to fuck him.

  15. Fuck his brother to show just how much you want to fuck him.

  16. Take his dick out of your mouth, then tell him you want to fuck him.

  17. Accept the speeding ticket, then tell him you want to fuck him.

  18. Say you voted for him, then tell him you want to fuck him.

  19. Show up at his job wearing nothing but pumps and a trench coat. Then after he’s fired, you’ll have all day to tell him you want to fuck his unemployed ass.

  20. Ask him if he likes pussy. Then depending on his answer, tell him you want to fuck him.

  Thanks, Alyson.

  Sugar and Spice

  Growing up we are all taught that little girls are made up of sugar and spice and everything nice. Guys, I know you want to believe that us girls are sweet and sensitive, but you know we’re evil, right? Hey, cayenne pepper is also a spice. It will burn you up inside. Most of us try to put up that front of being ladylike and all soft, but deep down we are some dark creatures. Guys, I’m going to give you a little peek into our minds, give you just a glimpse of how we see shit.

  Do you know that if we were physically stronger than you, we’d kick your ass every day? Yes, every single day you’d get an ass-whupping. That’s why God gave y’all the muscles. He knew we’d go crazy with them. We’d whup your ass. I don’t know how many times a day, but all women have at least one experience where a man does or says something stupid or condescending and all we think is, Man, I wish I could beat his punk ass right now. If I had the strength to beat him within a breath of his life, Lord knows I would do it. We would lose our minds. We would just fight guys for no reason. “Look at his stupid ass; I’m gonna go break his legs.”

  If things were the other way around and women were in control, guys, you still wouldn’t be able to vote. “Who gives a fuck about how you feel on the issues? Shut up before I bust your lip.”

  Well, guys, there’s just a little peek. I can’t tell you more because it might mess up the revolution. Oops, I said too much.

  Workplace

  I don’t know if there’s something about the tone of our voices or what, but sometimes the few female writers on staff will pitch something and I’ll hear it, but the men will keep talking. And one of them will pitch what she already pitched. Then they’ll all say, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” This would drive them nuts.

  I thought it was kinda funny listening to them bitch. “Did you see what just happened in there? I’m so excited that he was able to recite my idea word for word. I should take him everywhere I go. I bet I’d get what I wanted more often with him around. That asshole in front of me at the game would finally move, my friends would go see the movie of my choice for a change, and I could visit a celebrity’s hotel room after one in the morning. I could just have him yell, ‘Don’t rape me!!’”

  I don’t know if it’s a woman’s tone of voice or that men are just trained to tune us out. Maybe guys are like, “When I go home, I have to hear it. I don’t want to hear that shit at work, too.” When they get home, they have to listen to their wives because that’s who they fuck. They don’t listen to us at work because deep down they feel that we don’t belong there. I think this goes on in male-dominated fields, like a writers’ room. Men don’t expect to hear a female voice in the room so they ignore it. They just don’t hear us. However, there were some benefits, too; the female writers could fart in the room and none of the guys would hear it.

  My Right

  I believe in a woman’s right to choose. First of all, I don’t think it’s any of my business to tell another woman what to do with her body. I’ll leave that up to Joan and Melissa Rivers. You can’t make somebody be a mother if they don’t want to be a mother. The same way you can’t make a man be a father if he doesn’t want to be a father. Yeah, if you’re lucky you can get a monthly support check from him, but that’s about it. He doesn’t even have to see the lil’ bastard if he chooses not to be involved. It all falls on the woman. That’s why when you see news reports about the police finding a four-year-old child left alone in an apartment for a week, it’s always the mother who went to Vegas with her new boyfriend. Mommy was feeling lucky and they don’t allow kids on the casino floor.

  I know the opponents of the right to choose feel that abortions are morally wrong. They feel that abortions are murder of the unborn and go against their Christian beliefs, blah, blah, blah. I can understand that, but I believe the real drive is that they want to have control, especially men. It drives men nuts that they don’t even have a say in something so monumental as giving birth. Remember, there was a time not too long ago when women couldn’t even vote.

  What gets me going is the Right to Lifers act like the pro-choice people are really pro-abortionist. There isn’t a woman out there who is proud to have an abortion. Like we’re out having abortion parties. “Hey, bartender, my girl Jenny had an abortion today. Body shots!” It’s ridiculous. Hallmark doesn’t make greeting cards, “Congrats on Your Abortion,” or “Heard It Was a Boy.”

  An abortion is a personal and private, unfortunate situation that should be between a woman, her doctor, and her God. That’s why all women lie about them. It’s none of your business. A woman will lie to you about an abortion in a minute. Anytime a woman has to fill out a medical history form, I guarantee you that the abortion is not getting checked. “Shit, what does that abortion I had two years ago have to do with a teeth cleaning? No.” It’s none of your business. We will lie like we’re at a congressional hearing. Sometimes we lie so much that it is forgotten. We block it out of our memory. We could be on the table about to have an abortion…

  Doctor: You checked here that you’ve never had an abortion.

  Woman: Right.

  Doctor: I performed an abortion on you last December.

  Woman: Naw, wasn’t me.

  When it comes to an abortion, women are like Nazis when it comes to the Holocaust: It never happened.

  If Roe v. Wade was overturned, I know one person who would be dancing in the streets, Maury Povich. Yep, The Maury Povich Show has turned into the Who’s Your Baby’s Daddy Show. If you don’t know your baby’s father, go visit Maury. He’ll give everybody a DNA test to find that man. This one pitiful woman was making her fifth appearance on the show looking for her baby’s daddy. Maury had tested fourteen men and none of them were the father. I think it’s so irresponsible to not be able to pinpoint who fathered your child. I mean, it should be simple. “Let’s see, who did I fuck in May?” Fourteen dudes, fourteen possibles. What was she doing, fucking in her sleep? “Maury, I’m a sleep fucker. I can’t count the number of mornings I woke up with my panties off and my legs over my head.” That’s just nasty.

  Baby Love

  My ex-husband was quite a few years younger than me. I figured if you can’t find a good man, raise one. Although I believed the age discrepancy wasn’t that big of a deal, we w
ere at totally different stages in our lives. He would come home with good news like, so-and-so got married or so-and-so just had their first baby. I would come home with news like, so-and-so has cancer or so-and-so just passed away from a heart attack. After a few years in the relationship, he admitted that there were times when he woke up next to me thinking I was dead.

  One time, I woke up to him giving me CPR.

  Him: One and two and three and four and…

  Me: I’m not dead, dummy!

  Him: My bad, baby, you just had one of those faraway looks on your face. And you looked so peaceful.

  One time I came home drunk, slurring my speech, making no sense, and bumping into things as most drunks do. I heard him tell his friends he thought I was showing early stages of Alzheimer’s disease.

  When we’d go on vacation, he’d want to ride jet skis; I’d want to get a nap by the pool. I guess when you reach a certain age you don’t even entertain the idea of doing something that if it goes wrong it could be life threatening. You figure if you’ve made it this far, you gotta save what life you got left.

  Strip Classes

  All these women are taking stripper classes in hopes their men will stop going to strip clubs. First of all, you can’t compete with those strippers. Stripping is a lifestyle. You gotta have the stripper clothes, the stripper perfume, the stripper language, and most of all, the stripper mentality. In other words, the ability to lie like a dog for a measly buck. A stripper will tell your man anything for a dollar. “Oow, I thought you were Brad Pitt.”

  These stripper classes are very popular. Women are getting poles installed in their bedrooms or basements. Your man will play along and I’m sure he appreciates your efforts. Hell, he might even put a dollar bill in the crack of your ass, but that’s not keeping him out of the clubs. It’s not the same thing. Hey, I’ll go to my nephew’s Little League game, cheer him on, buy him a Happy Meal after the game. But I’m still going to watch the Yankees. You can’t beat the pros. The main thing that women don’t get, men like going to strip clubs because you’re not there!