SlutWalks Are Great For Snagging Fat White Sluts

Have you ever heard of Slutwalks? You gotta try it out man, especially if you like being around fat white sluts like I do. These dimes won’t admit it, but the truth is that Slutwalks are really just Fat-Acceptance opportunities spectacles disguised as feminist activism. But hey, you know I’m super down with that. They’ll try to say specifically that they’re protesting against this whole notion that provocative dress invites RAPISTS. When they talk, I just nod my head, “okay whatever baby, that makes sense.” Seriously, It isn’t like walking around in the hood with stacks of money hangin’ out your pocket invites muggers, cause that’s way different. 

Believe it or not I’ve attended a few of these Slutwalk marches because I love fat sluts sympathize with the core principle of their movement: Overweight white women shouldn’t feel ashamed of looking and acting like fat sluts, they should flaunt it! They should feel encouraged and empowered to let their beefy muffin-tops and cottage cheese asses sag freely and openly. That’s why they got my fucking support. Amen.

Not too long ago I was in Toronto for a SlutWalk march, and boy was I surprised at the sheer size, density, and thickness of all the fat Slutwalker buffalo-bitches stampeding through the city. I couldn’t wait to join the crowd.


I’m looking smooth like Morpheus from the Matrix. 

Luckily I brought my sunglasses with me, because I recognized many of the BBWs from Craigslist personal ads I had responded to in the past. Many of them were past bangs, and I didn’t want them to recognize me; damn It really is a small world after all. Anyway, as the march went on, the women started chanting and yelling louder and louder. All of the sudden the crowd of thick, sweaty bodies started to clump together all around me, squeezing me in. With all that these thick walls of soft flesh around, my boner got more and more stiff, which subsequently became harder to conceal. One BBW felt the tip of my junk on her trunk and turned around to see what it was, but I played it cool, pretending my hand was in my pocket.

It didn’t help that I kept bumping into her ass with my stiff cock: the jig was up. She gave me a funny look. I tried apologizing to her, “Baby, excuse me” but she snarled at me and turned away, releasing a rancid angry-fart out of spite. My boner got even harder. That’s when I knew I had to improvise a way to prevent another accidental bump with my junk, or else the whole crowd of Slutwalkers would turn on me. So I took the sign I had and held it over my crotch as a barrier. Then I unzipped my pants and let my cock hang loose while I stroked it like a ninja, or just some Secret Negro Agent 007 shit. Ultimately masturbating helped reduce my boner so I could act more normal. Despite having so many fat white bitches up close, squishing me in, I was busting all kinds of nuts with maximum stealth. Dozens in truth. It was a long march.

Lookin' like Morpheus from the Matrix.

She’s not even looking at me, but I’m looking at her.

As the march was coming to a close, I left early and headed for my food truck, then drove it up to the horde of hungry Slutwalkers. A long line of fine looking sluts formed at the side of my truck, with their eyes were lit. All the sudden I went from being a random black dude in a white-feminist-march to feeling like a hiphop star with white groupies. I was killing two birds with one stone. As I say, “Make some dough, bang some dough.” That’s my motto. I even had a special offer for big sluts that signed up for my free dessert membership plan — which was actually just a cleverly disguised sexual-consent form. Shout out to my lawyer!

In conclusion, when it comes to RAPE, BBWs secretly love rapists and stalkers. On top of that, since when does any woman consent with a “yes” for a pussy pounding? She can’t even say “yes” or “no”, just “mmmm mmmm” when she’s got that whole 9 inches of Nigel’s snicker bar rammed down her turkey-necked throat.

“baby my bad, you gonna need some honey lemon tea for that sore throat.”

Follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

When BBWs Act UP

Who you think you is, BITCH!!!???

Who you think you is BITCH!!!??? MY BITCH THATS WHO!!!

Sorry for the hiatus my chub-brothers. Nigel X. Davis is back in the house to rupture volcanic ass and spread the word of Big Game without shame baby. I’m back with a vengeance after the rough shit I had to deal with two fuckin’ weeks ago in my house. This one BBW became so belligerent with her straight up crossin’ the line, Big-Mama-Drama-Queen bullshit, that I had to check her. I had to put the hippo down; you know, sometimes you get these wild bitches that got a potato chip on their shoulders, man they think they are something. They bring the trouble that makes me like, “Hell no bitch, you are finished!” every single time.

So it was roughly two weeks ago that I invited a big bitch over my house for a nice, home cooked, six course gourmet dinner. I was on my best behavior with candles lit, music turned up, and in my professional chef clothes as I escorted her via wheelchair to my dining room. As I rolled her on up to the table she started looking unhappy. I was like, “baby, is everything all right?” She pointed at the food and rolled her eyes, “that’s not enough!” I was like “Ok baby, I got this, I got this!” And I went back to my kitchen and made her extra food. By the time I came back with more food she had already eaten most of what was on the table, without me. I was stunned, what a rude bitch! But, praise the lord, I kept my mouth shut like a southern gentleman. Soon after she tilted her head back and opened her mouth, then I realized she expected me to feed her. I hesitated at first, but she waved me over and pointed toward the mashed potatoes. “okay…. fine.” I gave in, took out this big spoon and shoveled three bowls into her mouth. Soon I was feeding her everything on the table with my bare hands, and letting her lick my fingers. I tried to get her to lick some food off my dick but she just pushed it away. What nerve! I just shrugged it off as hot foreplay at first, but then I remembered from past experience: she’s just trying to make me her bitch. My inner voice was like “No way hoe! I’m not your black slave” — you know, I prefer it the other way around.

Then it was time for dessert. I decided to continue keeping this smooth. I brought out the cake and she got really excited when she saw it. She was flapping her flabby arms in the air, grinning with a triple chin smile. Eight layers with vanilla ice cream on top: It was a wedding cake just for us. I cut out a piece and popped it in her mouth with the utmost grace of a perfect basketball shot. It landed so perfectly, it was a moment of glory. All of the sudden she spit it out and sneered at me. I couldn’t believe that shit. I was like “WHAT THE HELL BITCH..”  Her: “This is NOT AN ICE CREAM CAKE!!! EW!!! I WANT ICE CREAM CAKE!!!”

I ran back into the kitchen so fast that my toque blanche (chef’s hat) almost fell off. I tossed the first cake out the window and scrambled for supplies to make a new one. I was sweating with fury, forgetting the original reason I had brought her over for dinner: to fuck her fat white ass. I was too busy to think about myself… too busy carefully scooping up and sculpting the vanilla ice cream into a cake, a cake fit for a queen. I patted each layer down with my dick a few times to give it just the right texture, hardening the crust. Despite my blue balls I pushed on, working like a true artisan who mastered his craft. I did it all for her, I went the whole nine yards. I even coated the top layer with jizz and blow-torched it into a creme brulee. I was so proud of that cake when it was finished that I ran out with it, but as soon as I set foot back into the dining room, somehow I tripped into the cake. FFFFFFuck. I fell face first into that cake, with most of the layers all squished up all over the floor. That’s when she stood up from her wheelchair and pounded her fat fist into the table, “GOD DAMN IT, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY CAKE!!!!!!” When she said that I was so I fucking pissed… I grabbed my chef’s hat off my head and threw it on the ground with intense anger. I was so mad, I jumped on it too. I even ripped my apron off. “I ain’t your chef no more, you fat bitch!” Yup, I called her a fat bitch. I had to tell her the truth. When chef Nigel throws his hat down, that’s the signal that I’m about to throw down.

The final straw came when she threaten to sit on me as punishment — now don’t get me wrong, I like gettin’ sat on by a big bitch, but only voluntarily. When she dared to threaten me, I got back up real quick and ran on back into that kitchen. She was half way across the dinning room when I popped back out with my three-foot egg beater. I turned the lights off to set the mood: a beatdown for dessert.

i-beater ass

I whipped that thing out and beat her ass and pussy down to the ground. I took that thing and whisked her pussy up so hard, she gonna need a separate funeral for it. I fucking plunged her head first into what was left of the ice cream cake, making her finish it off the floor while I went ball deep in her. It was gameover. I put her in her place.

Moral of the story: Some fat hoes are straight up belligerent, possessed by the devil. You gotta make’em sweat it out.

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

Silence of the Hams

Recently a very clever brother I know, we’ll call him JW, came up with a very interesting tactic that I decided to borrow (thanks brother). I’m sure he won’t mind since he’s left the game to live an ascetic existence in the Caribbean. Anyway, I’ve already successfully incorporated this method into my own chubby chasing arsenal. Let me break it down for you.

The idea behind this: Instead of going to Walmart all the time, why not get these mammoth-walrus sluts to waddle there way to my place? Ahah, light bulbs lit up and then exploded in my head like fireworks when I figured out how to do this shit. It’s simple: just pretend you are some kind of talent scout for a beauty pageant or modeling agency. I started putting out flyers and ads on craigslist for a BBW beauty pageant promoting fat acceptance. Here’s the flyer I used:

The results were off the chain. It was like something out of Hansel and Gretel, and I was the witch with the gingerbread house; but instead it’s made of pizza and cornbread too. In fact, the auditions were held at my house, and I laid out trails of cornbread covered with nutella from the front door to my bedroom. When each BBW entered through the front door for the audition, she knew this is the place to show off her fat acceptance, where she can comfortably embrace her lack of willpower.

When a fattie approaches, I leave my door unlocked and open it just a crack, so it swings open when she knocks. As she enters, the BBW sees the trail of food and hears the voice “Come on in baby. Treat-yo self.” It’s my voice coming from the bedroom, as I lie in wait for the impending ambush. She starts eating the food that leads to my bedroom, as I put on my ski mask and turn up some R&B music. As she follows the trail of food into the hallway, getting closer, the tension thickens.

The sound of her chewing gets louder and louder as she gets closer, and my dick gets harder and harder as I hear her grunting like a hog while she eats. My body starts sweating, as I become more impetuous. Finally (this is where my experience in Mixed Martial Arts comes in handy) I leap out of the bedroom and judo throw her extra-large ass to the ground, then hogtie her up. Now the pipe laying commences. My joint is harder than wood in wintertime when I plunge it into that pussy, balls deep. It goes in so hard sparks fly out because of all the friction. She squeals in pain with the nutella and cornbread still stuck in her mouth, while I’m throwing up her flabs like a pizza chef tosses dough in the air. Finally smoke starts coming out that pussy — time to switch holes! After I break off a nut or two in that ass, I turn up some James Brown and bust a move, woooo. That’s how I celebrate a fine day. After beaten that fat pussy up, time to put some ice cream on that ass to cool it down; open a few windows to let the tension out, and hear the birds sing.

If she is still around, I let her have some cookie dough as a treat. BBWs get hungry after sex. Plus It definitely ain’t rape if she licks cookie dough off my balls.

follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame

The 10 Commandments of Big Game Hustling.

The 10 Commandments of Chubby Chasing.

Sometimes posts get long and the critical information you need — the tips and tactics — get lost in my flamboyant, eloquent fancy writing style. So as a man of God It’s my duty to simplify your spiritual journey to Big Fat Ass ‘n’ Pussy, as well as helping you define your moral compass at the same time. I’m going to whip it out like Moses with his staff, and lay it out for you to see all in a single post. This is not going to be your typical blog roundup post. I’m doing this 10 commandments style, bringing you holy Big Game wisdom to help you with your Big Game Hustle. Amen.

1. Feed your Big Beautiful Women. These women are hungry and they need your help. In the Bible God tells us to feed the hungry, so this is really killing two birds with one stone. You win points with God and you get her excited to come back your place for more food at the same time. Follow this advice and you’ll get two thumbs up from God when you hit that mammoth pussy. After a night of banging out earth-quaking-ass, don’t forget to make her breakfast in bed the morning after.

2. Be Blessed where the Sun don’t Shine. If you manage to get a BBW back to your place with the pretense of getting some food, she’ll be expecting to devour a serious sized summer sausage too. There is a very good reason for this: the physics of penetration. You won’t make a dent in those thick rolling slabs and thunder thighs with a small Asian dick. If you want to be a Big Game Hunter, you gotta use a high caliber bullet. This is where black guys come in 😉

3. Help Guide Fat Women to become BBWs. The journey from fat slut to Big Beautiful Woman is a spiritual one. As an ambassador of fat ass gettin’, it is your job to guide each fattie to BBW-hood, by making lewd comments and suggesting things that accentuate her chubbiness. Tell her it makes your dick hard. Tell her to let the flabs hang out. Tell her that her muffin tops look tasty like real muffins. Tell her you want to jizz in her insulin pump. Play video games with her after you fuck her. It’s a wonderful sedentary activity that will later force her to believe in body-acceptance because video games make you fatter.

4. Fulfill her rape fantasy. Fat women feel an intense urge to be wanted, even though most men are afraid to harpoon big punani. They develop imaginary stalkers and rapists to fill the void; that way they have something to talk about when their thinner friends talk about sex.

5. Become a Better Man by Increasing your Notch Count. God created all men equal. But if there is one thing that separates the men from the boys, it’s a high notch count. In America, with the rising rate of obesity, the only solution is to become a chubby chaser.

6. Protect your BBWs from the outside world. Many extremely large women are discriminated against, persecuted and made to feel ashamed of their size. The largest ones are gawked at like they’re side show freaks. This is why it’s important to insulate your big-bitches from the outside world. As soon as you snatch one up, lock her up in your fat love fortress so the outside world doesn’t harm her anymore.

7. Embrace and share the gospel of Fat Acceptance. As men doing God’s work, It is absolutely imperative to show our love for Big Beautiful Women. One way is to stand up and shout it out loud, but the best way is to practice what you preach by bending that big behemoth slut over and letting her feel it too.

8. Be Safe. Wear your hard hat.

9. Become a Walmart Shopper. Walmart is the most successful retailer in America, because it was God’s will. And God wants us to shop there for our groceries 😉

10. Her Stomach is the key to her Heart. Learn how to cook, and how to cook well if you want to break through her big fat resistance to sex. Nothing eliminates last minute resistance like a fatigue inducing insulin rush. Whooooo, who the fuck needs Chloroform when you can use fried-chicken-alfredo-pizza and Faygo soda?

From 1 to 10 – the Fat Rating System.

Time to lay down the pipe where it COUNTS. Where does it count? You need some quality control: a rating system. Now, before anyone gets all butt-hurt, my 1 through 10 rating system for hoes isn’t really 1 through 10. It’s 5 through 10, because all women are beautiful in their own way; and it’s really because it would be cruel to label a woman as anything less than 5 — that damn #5 bitch might kill herself if I do that. We’re measuring slabs and flabs here, big chunky ass butts, thunder thighs and potbelly guts. Trust me, I can smell the thick sweat off a buffalo-slut hundreds of paces away; it’s like a 6th sense that helps in assessing her quantitative or rather qualitative value. I mean, I also got a magic measuring stick in my head to accurately guesstimate her BMI, number of rolls and weight — it’s like I’m spider man with his spidey senses.

First comes first though, I have to give credit where it’s due. Shout out to the most pimped-out motherfucking player of all time, the most qualitatively quantitative man ever, representin’ Sesame Street. My man Count Count. He taught me to count when I was growing up, and how to evaluate things numerically. Slab by slab, I’ll share that knowledge with you. Let’s put his lessons to work.

Count on Count Count.

First we’ve got the 5 and below. Now I told you that I don’t rate bitches anything below a 5, cause that would be mean as hell. We’re trying to make women feel beautiful and love all of God’s creatures, like this bundle of bones:

This bag of bones is in the -5 range. I’ll throw her to my pit bulls, woof woof!

Man, I think her boney ass would stab me. Fuck that shit, bones are for dogs, but I prefer hogs. Next we got us a 6!

A classic 6.5 hoe. She’s done up well, but not enough ass-cushin’ for my chocolate torpedo to explode.

666 is the number of the beast, but she is just one lonely 6. So I guess that’s 1/3rd of the size of the beast then? Oh well Satan, I’d still hit that — slay that bestial pussy in the name of Christ, Amen.

Next we got us something like a 7:

Class 7 cargo right here. I’ll keep her around until I run out of ice cream.

I hate it when my one night stand (typically a 6-7 like above) tries to make me breakfast in the morning, trying to win me over by playing with my emotions and shit. Nice try bitches. This is why I get up earlier and convince her to go to Denny’s for breakfast instead. Then I bounce, leavin’ her moderately-fat-ass at the restaurant with her pancake ice cream special. Good old hump, plump and dump. Bitch ain’t thick enough for me to sport at the hungry hippo ball.

On to an 8:

The freighter has arrived with our 8. She’s here to feed Africa, and I’m African 😉

Oh man… god dayyyyum. Look at those slabs, each crevice or cut in between each slab is like one giant tight pussy for my chocolate stick to cuddle with! Wrap it around me baby, wrap it around and take it down town. Get snuggie with my joint.

Just when you didn’t think it could get better:

Mrs. 9 needs to ride in the back of the truck if you want to bring her home to fuck.

Good thing my joint is so big and hard that it turns into a rigid black crowbar, pryin’ open heavy asses like you’d open a crate at a warehouse, Nigel’s warehouse. Nothing turns me on like sweaty flab so heavy I gotta work my jackhammer-pelvic muscles drillin’ that ass for gravy. Gotta pull that forklift-doggystyle on her.

And finally 10:

Cottage Cheese is good for ya

All I can say is, thank God I live in Louisiana.


follow me on twitter for more big game advice @NigelBigGame