Lena Dunham’s Long White Con

I’m high as a kite and I’m at the Dunkin Donuts on 229th and Broadway in the Bronx and I have a moment like Chazz Palmentiri had when he dropped the coffee in the Usual Suspects.

I’ve just been conned.

And a play I should have recognized from the snap got ran on me to perfection.


I’m scratching my head, how’d that happen?

How’d I not seen that?

We’ve all been in the club late night with Lena Dunham.

And if not the actual Lena Dunham, some surrogate.

We’d struck out all night and this was what’s left.

And some nights, we’d done it.

But for OBJ, it was just too early.

Way to early.

But those Lena Dunhams are clever. How else do you think they become popular. They’re not hot and they get dick. On their part, that takes imagination. They come in all colors. I’ve fucked a few.

OBJ probably has too. He just didn’t want this one. Not then, probably not ever unless Lena did something. So she sprung to action. She put him on blast.

He was like, ‘That’s a marshmallow. That’s a child. That’s a dog.’

But he didn’t say these things. Lena, these are your interpretations of his attitude, not his words.

And now you’ve scandalized his name..

Never mind, like I’ve written, this guy  has rejected Rihanna.

Rejecting Rihanna to pick you would be like saying, Let’s see, I can get a young Joe Montana or a current Mark Sanchez… gimme the Sanchez.

Nobody that wants to win would do any stupid shit like that. Unless maybe… they got to know you. That’s the dangerous key. Relationships do exists. Personalities do matter.

And maybe young Beckham, savage Nigger that he is, could use somebody to show him New York, by dragging him around by his dick with their mouth. He’d have the best view.

And that would make those girls that hate you hate you more, whichever ones hate you, all of them that hate you, Lena. You’d be fucking New York’s hottest Black guy.


The Slob of New York.

You’re like the male Oscar Madison, and no, not the Jack Klugman, the Walter Matthau. And OBJ is the Felix you desire.

So you made the only play you could. You put yourself on his radar. You got your name and his name together any way you could. You demanded his Black cock out loud, making it nearly obligatory that you meet again. Some savvy promoter will throw you two together. And now, having literally beefed yourself up into somebody that needs to be dealt with, the stage will be set.

And you’ll go over the top with an apology.

And you’ll try to be cute.

And you’ll try to be funny.

And if your guts don’t give, you’ll invite him somewhere. And he’ll probably say he’ll think about it. And whatever the case, you may even exchange numbers. You may get a hug. You may get a kiss. You may even eventually get dick.

Not to quantify, but you’ll certainly get more than you would have had you remained silent about the non-exchange at the Met Gala.

And maybe the morning after that, the haters would get it. Maybe some of them got it from the door.

Like I said, my coffee’s still at my feet.


About the Author


Dickie Bhee is a self-styled lunatic, a Renaissance showman, a Class A, Grade A buffoon, a nigga that believes in the greatness of Niggerhood a social gadfly and a genuine Man About Town.
Also: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01E7NYMP4

Be the first to comment on "Lena Dunham’s Long White Con"

Leave a comment