I'm thinking for volume three The ugly Truth meets those who actually tell it
Just because you bleep it out doesn't make it not exist! Context matters when you bleep out the text you're just calling yourself and I know what comes next!
Life-altering versus Life learning! Let it be life altering outside of your home but then learn inside!
So, picture this:
Everyone's always hyping up Liam Neeson and his "particular set of skills." Yeah, he's got that gravelly voice, the intense stare, and a phone plan with more minutes than sense. But let's be real—put me next to Liam and suddenly he's starring in a Nickelodeon after-school special. Seriously, he's not Taken—he's Taken to the Playground.
Now, imagine if Elon Musk was the villain who did the taking.
Forget shadowy cartels—Elon's got a self-driving Tesla fleet, Neuralink brain hacks, and a flamethrower just for the memes. He wouldn't bother with a ransom note. He'd just tweet, "Kid acquired. Vote in my poll: Mars, Moon, or Return to Sender?"
And he'd probably try to sell you an NFT of your own panic face.
Meanwhile, Liam's out here with his PG-13 threats:
"I will find you, and I will… sternly disapprove of your choices."
Elon's running the whole operation from a SpaceX launchpad, livestreaming your abduction on X, and making your rescue a pay-per-view event.
But me? I'm not here for your family-friendly action or billionaire cosplay.
I'm the reason the MPAA had to invent new letters.
I don't just have a particular set of skills—I've got the whole alphabet, and I'm spelling out "Game Over."
Let's get something straight, Elon:
I don't care if X marks the spot. You clearly can't find mine.
And in case you forgot, you're driving a Tesla, not an Infinity—you're bound to run out of luck, and I mean quickly.
And if we're talking navigation, consider me the map and the GPS. If I were you, I'd ask your lunch where you can U-turn it—I mean fast!
And hey, if you want to see how a real comedy queen handles her business, check out Tiffany Haddish at tiffanyhaddish.com—because sometimes you need a real laugh before you get schooled.
Liam, if you're listening—keep making those phone calls, buddy.
I'll be over here rewriting the script, flipping the rating, and making you look like the opening act on Dora the Explorer: Hostage Negotiation Edition.
Swiper, no swiping? Please. I'm out here swiping the whole plot twist.
Oh, and tell mini me that my Wi-Fi had another accident—so if you're waiting for a rescue signal, you might want to try smoke signals instead.
So here's the deal:
While Liam's "skills" get you a sequel, and Elon's tech toys get you a trending hashtag,
I'm the storm that makes the censors quit, the villains retire, and the world wish it had just stayed home.
Because when I show up, it's not Taken—it's Game Over.
Tagline:
Elon Musk took the world for a ride. Liam Neeson made a phone call. I'm about to make them both look like the cast of "Dora the Explorer: Hostage Rescue Team."
Jodi Miller vs. Jodi Arias: Good Job vs. Good Jop!
Jodi Miller crushes AGT with her bit about guys being like cats—moody, aloof, emotionally unavailable—while women are like dogs, loyal and always up in your business. Meanwhile, my dog hits puberty, his dick bleeds once, and suddenly he's acting like he's got a PhD in mood swings—bitch for life! But honestly, men are the real drama queens. They go from "I wanna bag her" to "put her in one" faster than my dog can chase his own tail.
Flip the script, and suddenly I'm the no-trial fugitive. I don't do whiny. I told my ex: no Area 51, my kids' buns are off-limits. Yeah, I know what a cunt I am. Should we escalate to an AK or keep it light? Nah, not without a blue wall and a public lynching. And you wonder why Jodi Arias has a fan club—drama gets you followers, not just felonies.
Joe Santagato, if you insist on stupid, let me clarify: limp or limb, I'm good with either. Swing me, bitch!
#joesantagato — you rate DJ Sammy yet? Some eon ear and her quick—your vagina's about to be vintage and no one's gonna tell your face!
#cartel — yeah, me, and he's not why! And why all at the same whiny bitch time!
Jodi Miller gets no "X," while Jodi Arias gets a permanent mark for doing what some only wish they had the guts to do. When a blind douche finds his way to Arias, maybe he shouldn't be shocked by the outcome.
And as for "good job" or "good jop"? Both mean you did something right—one's just Santa's gift to dyslexia or something. Either way, you leave a mark—whether it's applause, a mugshot, or a punchline.
#dipshits wtf!?
Locked Up? Please.
The only cell you're in is the one you built with your own stupidity. You whine about being targets, but you're so desperate to keep your ass comfy you'd take the fall for CIA crimes just to avoid getting up. MKUltra didn't break you—you signed up to be a clueless host for a bigger dick who's too scared to swim against the current. Not everyone drowns in undertows, but you? You're determined to sink with every dumb decision.
Playing cartel now? Why? Why the actual fuck do you think you're a badass? Taking 360 years for a murder you didn't do isn't justice or "turning the tables," you ducks—it's just you being a pawn. Genius? Nu! Nu, nu breed—can you not fucking read?! You're better off with Drew Lynch as your GPS. Turn the fuck around! You're not smart, you just think rolling deep covers up your lack of brains. Cartels target nobody and everybody—just like you: all bluster, zero backbone.
And when the CIA brought in the infiltrated fake cartel for NY/CA hit, I decided: well, if he is a cartel hit man, cool—like, who's he tryna be? But CIA mole hid to set up? Fuck no! I feel so violated—suddenly standards went up, down, and increased dramatically from leveling out!
About Being a Hoe
I thought it was my choice. Small town, broke, I owned it. But when my pussy finally told me the truth, I realized, wow, that's actually kinda nice of you. Then you Xis went and fuckin' ruined it! WTF!
Let's talk about consent: by force isn't consent, and no "two-for-one" confusion makes it right. Con$ent don't count when you're hustling slow-witted dicks and trying to buy your way out with spare change and fake charm. Was Ellen born that way, or just forced into it? Either way, forgiveness isn't a coupon for idiots who keep slamming the same door on themselves.
Stop wondering, start learning—before you embarrass yourself any further.
Tiffany Haddish's Website
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Parenting: The Ultimate Contradiction (And a Roast for the Judgmental)
You ever notice how parenting is just one big, beautiful contradiction? We tell our kids, "Love is beautiful! It's the most important thing in the world!"—and then, in the very next breath, "But don't you dare date until you're married!" Seriously, how are they supposed to learn about love if we lock them up tighter than Fort Knox? That's like giving someone a car and then hiding the keys.
Then they turn 18, catch a whiff of freedom, and jump headfirst into the first relationship that comes along—good, bad, or toxic—because nobody taught them how to take their time, set boundaries, or figure out what they actually want. They're desperate to feel something and settle for anything. That's how abusive situations happen—not because the world is full of evil people, but because experience is the best teacher, and we never gave them a chance to learn.
And it's not just love. We say, "Be kind to everyone!"—but also, "Look out for yourself because nobody else will." So which is it? Be a saint or be a shark? Kids are out here trying to solve the emotional Rubik's Cube we handed them, with each side painted a different color of mixed messages.
Let's talk about the language police. Parents act like if they just bleep out the word "f***," it disappears from the universe. Newsflash: your kid knows every swear word you do—probably a few you don't. The real lesson isn't pretending those words don't exist; it's teaching them when and how to use them. "Have a great fing day!"—that's positive energy! But "F you!"—maybe not so much, unless it's to a good friend and you both know it's a joke. Context is everything.
Here's the kicker: parents want their kids to open up and be honest, but the moment a kid makes a mistake, suddenly it's like they're auditioning for a crime drama. Kids learn fast—better to keep secrets than risk dragging their whole friend group into a Netflix documentary. But when you offer amnesty, you find out your kid's got access to more drugs than you did in college by first grade! And sharing? Yeah, it's caring—especially when it's a group project in felony charges.
And look, I'm not going to lie—I like my kids better when they're high. Honestly, we get along way better when I'm high too. Suddenly, their "open up" sessions turn into chill hangouts instead of full-on interrogations. But here's the deal I make with my son: if you're going to make the grown-up decision to get high, then make the grown-up decision to care about your future and your education. You don't have to get good grades—as long as you try. That's all I ask. Take responsibility for your choices. You want freedom? It comes with accountability.
And let's get real for a second—my son may have had sex at 12:00, but he literally only ever saw me be abused by every man I was ever with. So for the fact that he even knows what love is, let alone knows how to love and what it means, I win. That's a victory. Because breaking the cycle, even a little, is everything.
I told my son, "Virginity is a gift—you only give it once, and you can't get it back. So give it to someone who respects you, because you're setting the bar for the rest of your life, whether you stay together or not." Then I told his girlfriend, "If he messes up, you come get me. I'll take that bar and smack some sense into him myself. Welcome to the family!" And honestly, they came to me together—that's how I know this amnesty thing works. When kids know they can make a mistake at home without it ruining their lives, they're safer than if they mess up out in public where one wrong move could end up on their record.
The Judgmental Crowd: A Roast
Now, let's talk about those Harper Valley jackasses—the ones who sit on their high horses, ready to judge every parent who doesn't fit their perfect little mold. They act like the PTA is the moral Supreme Court. Well, if you think you can do better, how about we skip the PTA and start an ETA—Experienced Teachers Association—because I guarantee someone else could show up and actually teach a thing or two about real life.
I dare any of these critics to walk in my shoes for two minutes. Go ahead, try raising kids in the real world—where there's no handbook, and the only rule is "do your best and pray they don't end up on a Netflix documentary." Just bleeping out the word "f***" at home doesn't mean your kids don't know it. They're going to say it anyway—so maybe teach them when it's appropriate, like "Have a great fing day!" instead of "F you!" (unless it's to a good friend—then hey, context is key).
And let's not forget the judgmental types who love to look down their noses at everyone who's been broken and beaten down by this world. You know the type—perched on their imaginary thrones, noses so high they need oxygen masks, looking down on the rest of us like they're the bouncers at the gates of heaven. Always ready to pass judgment, especially from a safe distance, as if getting too close to real life might mess up their perfectly polished halos.
It's funny, isn't it? They act like they're the admissions committee for paradise, ready to slam the door on anyone who's been broken, battered, or bruised by the world—never mind that half the scars people carry were handed out by their own sharp tongues and cold shoulders. They'll break you down, grind you into the dirt, and then have the audacity to ask, "Why are you crawling?" as if they didn't just pull the rug out from under you.
And when those same people—crushed by a world of judgment—show up at heaven's door, desperate for a scrap of acceptance, what do these self-appointed gatekeepers expect God to do? Kick them while they're down? Slam the door in their face? That's not divine justice; that's just cruelty with a choir robe on.
It's like snapping a stick over your knee, then marching into the forest and demanding the tree fix it—or worse, blaming the stick for not being whole anymore. Newsflash: the stick didn't ask to be snapped, and the tree isn't in the business of banishing its own branches just because you couldn't handle them.
So here's a message for all the high-and-mighty judges out there: Maybe it's time to climb down off your pedestal, wipe the fog off your glasses, and remember that everyone's got a story, and most of them are written in scars you can't see from way up there. Because if you think heaven's just for the unbroken, you're going to be real lonely at the party.
So what if someone's been beaten down by the world? So what if they're begging for acceptance? Maybe, just maybe, the real test isn't how perfectly you can judge, but how deeply you can love. And if you're still holding that stick, maybe it's time to plant it and see if something beautiful can grow.
Final Word
So next time you want to judge a parent—or anyone else, for that matter—remember: it's easy to point fingers from the bleachers. But it takes guts to get on the field and play the game. I promise you wouldn't last a day in my house—and you sure as hell wouldn't do a better job with these kids or with life's messiness.
Welcome to my Harper Valley—where we raise kids, not hypocrites, and where love means more than judgment. And hey, sometimes parents do the darndest things too.
P.S. Tiffany Jenkins, I dare you to be honest—do you still take pills, just as long as there's access and it's reasonable, and you don't have to fear anything? Because lack of access, fear of punishment, and fear of judgment are the only reasons people do stupid stuff. It's not about the drug or needing something for the pain. How about, instead of lying, we heal people correctly by saying our actual truth?
Connect with Tiffany Jenkins:
Website: jugglingthejenkins.com
YouTube: Juggling the Jenkins
Facebook: facebook.com/jugglingthejenkins1
Instagram: instagram.com/jugglingthejenkins
TikTok: tiktok.com/@jugglingthejenkins
No public email address is listed on her official platforms. For inquiries, use her website contact form or social media DMs.
Connect with Tiffany Haddish:
Website: tiffanyhaddish.com
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