How many times have you sat down to check your email, text message, or even messages on other sites, like Facebook or MySpace, only to find a pair of boobs, ass cheeks, or even a sausage staring you in the face?

Or taking it a step further, the person in the pic has invited you to a birthday session of sorts; you and them in the nude.

Now,I can only hope the folks that have the nerve to send out these pics look halfway decent when naked, but there are some that make you just blink until your eyes make you look like a crackhead, bloodshot red and bugged out.

But I wanna look a little closer at WHY these people send these type of pics to folks they do not know and expect to get to know.

Social networking sites are all the rage these days, but when did it become the place to try to find your next booty call?

When did it become okay to take naked pictures then send them to people that you think you want to hook up with? What gets me is that same person will send the pics, meet up with the person, find themselves in a jumpoff situation, then wonder why?

Really? If you label yourself as a garden tool, then chances are that's how you'll be treated as such. What person in their right mind would take you home to meet mama and 'nem, if you are so quick to send out pics with the goodies on display? There's no telling just how many people have seen it!

I think it boils down to one thing, well maybe two, low self esteem, and a touch of bitchassness.

What you mean Meik?

Well, maybe these picture sending mofos feel the need to be validated, meaning being told that they are fine, pretty, nice body, ripped, muscular, thick, or whatever adjective they think best describes them.

Low self-esteem is probably what has many mofos posting pictures online calling themselves models on Myspace, Facebook, and other sites. Hmm. Really?! I could have sworn real modeling doesn't entail you taking pics with your cell phone and posting them online, I'm just saying, that just isn't one of the lessons Tyra Banks taught on America’s Next Top Model but hey, I digress because that's a whole 'nother blog topic.

Low self-esteem with a touch of bitchassness will have mofos sending out the pics with a note attached sounding like they have all the sense in the world, but when the recipient clicks on the attachment and finds someone's birthday suit staring back at them, best believe most folks are gonna send it straight to the TRASH. Well, the ones with sense anyway.

Lesson Learned:

Please fam, get some esteem about yourself! If you need to be validated, fine, start by looking in the mirror and admiring yourself and loving yourself, that way you can achieve enough swag to reel someone in WITHOUT having to literally show your ass.

My advice or really the advice I learned from listening to Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean.” Remember to ALWAYS think twice -- especially when you are about to hit send! Not everyone wants to see your cookies, taters, or muffins. If you are truly interested in someone, your conversation should be the first place you start. Try an icebreaker, a hello, let me introduce myself, this is why I'm hitting you up, etc, trust me, you're more likely to get a response

We all love a good summer drink right? Sometimes, just because it has a smooth taste going down, and makes us feel good doesn't mean that it's the best thing for us.

Here's a ‘lil recipe that I want to share:

• Get a glass

• Mix in about 5 oz of Bitchassness (refer to mofochronicles for the definition)

• 2 oz of red-koolaid: (that's the cherry flavor for you uppity folk)

• A half teaspoon of ignate (oh let me clarify again, that's the same as ignorance times five)

• About 2/3 oz of your favorite liquor

• A dash of WTF

• Add ice...and stir..

Voila! There you have it, a tall refreshing glass of what I like to call punk-naide!

I'm convinced this is what people have been sipping on as their beverage of choice this summer.

What makes me come up with this fabulous assumption?

Well let's see here:

It has to be the punk-naide that makes folks do some of the dumbest shit ever.

For example, some folks have the audacity to try to holla at people, find out they are married and then don't give a damn and proceed to pursue them, eventually ending up in a jump-off situation.

(I just really refuse right now to go into a full blown explanation of what a jump-off is, so if you don't know, my best advice is to watch the news, there's plenty of examples.)

I have a friend who told me about how in just one night, he had several women approach him, ask him if he's married, he said yes, and every last one of them said they didn’t care. They just wanted to be the jump-off (ok so I’m paraphrasing). Thank goodness he's that rare find called a "good catch,” and told them heffas to kick rocks.

Or how about that chick that has grandeur illusions that if you become the jump-off then you can eventually make wifey status.

What in the hot hell?! Put that damn cup down and back away slowly!

Can you say get some damn self-esteem and find a man that's single?

I wasn't going to go there — but did we not learn anything from Steve McNair?

Granted, it's a two way street, but come on, married folks wouldn't cheat if they didn't have anyone to cheat with. They would be satisfied with the two hands God gave them and if that don't do it, then the adult store might just have what they need.

I digress.

The damn grass ain't always greener. Haven't you heard of the 80/20 Rule? If not, go rent Why Did I Get Married.

Which brings me to the next batch of mofos that have been sipping on that punk-naide syzurp.

It's not just married folks acting a donkey, it's the people that are in committed long term relationships, boo'd up, engaged, whatever you want to call it.

How many of us have gotten a phone call, text message, email or whatever from someone that you ain't thought about in years and they hit you up wanting to place you in that jump-off spot?

Again, reference the Steve McNair case one more time if you still just don't get it.

How about those infamous "blocked hang-up calls?”

You know what I'm talking bout. The insecure mofo that goes through their significant other's phone to see who they have been texting, or chatting it up. They see a repetitive number, call it (blocking their number, of course) then hang up when the other person answers or they sit there breathing listening to see how many damn times they'll say hello.

Yep, just another fine example of fools sipping on that punk-naide.

Or better yet let's address the grown ass men that are over the age of 28 but still think it's cute to put their boys first and run the streets 24/7. Damn the wife, or boo piece, and/or the kids.

Really. Hmm. Partying is so much more important. Who knew?

I mean, I could be completely out of line here, but I thought at some point you just have to grow up and accept some responsibility for your actions.

Clearly I could go on and on for days, but these are just the cream of the crop that seem to have a steady supply of punk-naide in their refrigerator.

Lesson Learned: Instead of pouring out a ‘lil for the dead and gone, dump that entire damn cup of punk-naide out. Refill that glass with some good ole purifying water. That should at least clean up the majority of the punk ass behavior that continues to rear its ugly head. The bonus is, water hydrates the skin and its better for your health.

Dear First Love,

I Remember the Time when I first fell in love.

I was a PYT when I first heard your voice loud and clear through my parents’ stereo — every note, lyric, and even the beat made me want to Rock With You.

You explained to me how love could be as easy as ABC, but unfortunately, that lesson has yet to be learned, but that's another story.

As I sat glued to the television watching you debut the moonwalk across the stage. I discovered that just maybe I could one day be a Dancing Machine, but later realized that just isn't my thing and for that matter neither is singing.

I respected your hustle, because your diligence, creativity, persistence, and phenomenal talent broke down barriers and paved the way for the future. I thank you for that, because who knows where the state of music and music videos would be today.

But boo, you scared the living piss out of me with Thriller. I couldn't even handle being in the dark for weeks without thinking that a mummy was going to bust out of the floor and snatch me up, but that didn't stop me from begging for a red leather jacket with a pair of black loafers and trying to get my Smooth Criminal lean on.

I love that there is no other performer that could bring an entire crowd to tears with just their mere stage presence. That ability alone should be the definition of TRUE SWAGGA.

No matter how big of an international sensation you became, you took the time to try to Heal the World.

When others tried to imitate you, I wanted them to just keep it In the Closet because it just wasn't the same.

While some wondered about your eccentric ways, I knew better. Game recognizes game. You knew just how to strike a chord with your finely tuned public relations team -- but when it got out of hand and the tabloids kept hitting you below the belt, you didn't let that deter you -- instead you retaliated and told them in only a way that you can, Leave Me Alone.

Al Sharpton hit it right on the nose -- you were never what they referred to as a freak, you just learned how to deal with a freakish situation. No one could possibly understand being in the public eye for more than 40 years.

Oooh, there's just something about The Way You Make Me Feel every time I hear one of your songs. I admit, at times this thought ran through my mind, I Wanna be Where You Are and of course I imagined that I was gonna be your Girlfriend chillin up at Neverland Ranch (I'm blatantly ignoring those two boo-boo pieces you married for good reasons).

For a couple of years you were Out of My Life. I began my affair with hip hop, and R&B. None of them could hold a candle to you.

"When you gonna let me sample the goodies?"

You're familiar with the saying "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” — that’s Shakespeare for you non-reading folks.

The Goodies, peach cobbler, cookies, cream puffs or whatever you call the female genitalia — it's still the same — but stepping to a female uttering a sentence is above and beyond disrespectful. ESPECIALLY in the 25 and up crowd.

My response: The bakery is closed.

Whatever happened to the days of getting to know someone and letting things progress naturally until you decide the man is worthy of the peach cobbler? Maybe there's a permanent full moon that's out in 2009 that allows these fools to utter the words—“when you gonna let me hit that, cause I can do this and I'm working with that.”

Blink. Blink.

Are you kidding me?

I'm sorry, but I think the women are going to have to take a hit on this one. It's a vicious cycle:

I blame those chicks out there that find this bullshit cute and see nothing wrong with keeping the bakery open 24/7 letting folks sample the pastries.

Then in turn, those same men think the next chick they meet will have the same philosophy and allow him to come right on in and put his finger and other unmentionables in the pudding.

So no wonder diseases run rampant these days.

I'm trying to wrap my brain around the women that turn these fools down that get the response "oh you must not like sex” or “you must be a lesbian."

Say what?

Just because some of us have self-esteem and value our bakeries then we have the issues?

I'd rather have my sweets in tact and be able to look myself in the mirror the next day in all my prettiness, rather than have to deal with the ish that comes with jumping in the sack with someone I know nothing about.

So excuse us for having standards and not willing to just leave the door unlocked for you to stick the doughnut and leave your glaze all over it only to turn around and do it to someone else tomorrow.

Lesson Learned: Fellas, it's 2009, you’ve got to do better. Many of you wonder why you can't find a good woman. Take a step back, look at how you approach us and think to yourself: would you want your mother, sister, cousin, or even daughter to drop the panties for lame lines like that? No, I think not. You'd want them to keep the bakery locked up tight with the key in a safe until the time is right.

Ladies, we as women deserve to be celebrated rather than treated like an old stale lemon cake. If these men want to satisfy their sweet tooth without handling their biz the correct way, then politely remind them: They have two good hands, use them.