As much as I’ve always seemed to hate Kim, I would have never denied that she’s a bad bitch.
Big ass, nice tits, cute in the face, I couldn’t, in good conscience, give her any less than an 8 overall.
The problem that I associate with Kim has always been far more based on the American public’s response to her.
Like I’ve written before, no Negro chick would be allowed to “fail up” from a Ray J sextape scandal as she has. We see what happened to Montana Fishburne.
Life handed Kim lemons, she made orange soda with them and if there was a moment when the tide turned on my opinion of her it was when Kanye (her husband) dropped The Life of Pablo, for my money, his best album and also when she rode like a rider in his defense against that terrible ogre Taylor Swift.
As far as the other Kardashian hoes, starting with mom Kris, you know that pussy’s good. It’s been visited more times than grandma in the hospital.
Kourtney, another cutie, seems to be the only one who, through mating at least, seems even remotely interested in making overtures towards the clan’s alleged whiteness.
Kylie, like Kim, is a straight coalburner.
Who knows (or cares) what’s up with Kendall.
And then we’ve (unfortunately) got Khloe.
Khloe was the ugly fat one when she was a kid.
Those scars don’t heal. She’s also allegedly a product of an affair between hot-pussy Kris and God-knows-who.
OJ Simpson, perhaps?
And like the otherwise unremarkable progeny of a rich, famous, or successful clan, Khloe seems to realize that earned or not, deserved or not, since simply being a member of her own family is gonna grant her unlimited male, almost exclusively Negro attention, she might as well play it for all it’s worth.
Her, ahem, marriage to two-time NBA champion Lamar Odom left that nigga so fucked up that he tried to commit suicide-by-whore in a cat-house.
In the meantime, she was fucking rapper French Montana who’s trademark “haaaaaaaaaannn” vocal effect seems to be either the product of Laverne Defazio unable to understand a question, or a strenuous effort to clear a nasal passage.
Khloe also dated James Harden, Houston Rockets “star” and I use that term loosely, a man who never met a shot he wouldn’t take or would even halfheartedly try to block.
Khloe allegedly broke up with Mr. Harden because he was cheating on her. She, who it bares mentioning again, was and is still married.
Now it seems that Khloe’s moved on to Tristan Thompson, recent NBA champion member of the Cleveland Cavaliers.
Now as we all know, you put a pussy and a blonde wig on a warthog and niggas will try to convince us that all the snorting is really an accent and the bitch is from Brazil.
But in the Kardashian case, it could be as simple as brand recognition.
I remember sometime, a million years ago, I was wearing an nondescript long gray knit and talking to a friend who, about 20 minutes into the conversation noticed the horseman at the bottom of my shirt.
“Oh, that shit’s Polo?” he asked, seeing it with new eyes. “It’s dope!”
Then again, I’ll never forget a conversation I had with my late paternal grandmother, a lifelong pusher of El Dorados and Sedan DeVilles, about the Cadillac Cimarron.
“You like ’em, Mama Rae?” I asked.
“No,” she said curtly.
“Well, they are Cadillacs”, I insisted.
“No they’re not,” was her and our absolutely final word on the subject.