How to Be a Dope Ass Motherfucker: A Guide to Sexy


It has been brought to my attention over the years how incredibly awesome I am. I’ve been asked for “my ways” and for personal instruction on how to execute a dope and funfilled lifestyle in a responsible and charming manner. For many years I was under the impression that this knowledge was something I should keep to myself, that it was a means of earning respect and inducing fear, and in order to remain powerful I must hide and hoard my prosperity. But in the past year I’ve come to learn that what makes the dopest rise is in spreading the wealth, for as you will learn should you (and you should) continue to read, the number One rule to dopeness is:

“Everything You Touch Turns to Dope.”

On that note, I give you Chapter One.


Chapter One: “Everything You Touch Turns to Dope.”

We will first start with the most important rule to dopehood. “Everything You Touch Turns to Dope.” While seemingly concrete and simple in its regulation, the phrase holds much more depth than to the non-dope (which we shall name ignorant slut)’s eye. For what I mean to say is that in order to contain dopeness around you one must embrace it; should a fellow homie (or as you will later hear me refer to as, a D.A.M (dope ass motherfucker, if you didn’t gather that on your own you should just stop reading out of hopelessness) confess details of a urinary accident, resulting in bedwetting and biker-kissing, it is your responsibility to embrace the story and deem it dope, for homies look out for homies; we must shed positive light on every moment, and upon touching said story, it turns to dope. Not only have you instilled dopeness on your homeslice, but you have increased the strength of light which beams from your pores. You are now the god-homie that loved your homie (not in spite of, but) for his once dismal tale.

And still the phrase holds further meaning: To the naturally dope, or Pure Blood Dope (P.B.D.) one is incapable of containing the dopeness; he or she or it has no choice but to enter a room and flood the space with pure, natural, fine ass dope. These social mongers are the kings of social networking and knoodling with the most effortless and respected demeanors; one should not try to create dopeness from nothing, but rather seek dopeness in its most virgin form; touch what you will and in time (where appropriate) dopeness will flourish. And so by simple extension of social activity, we are “touching” those around us, spreading good vibes and desire to become, ohsodope.

Chapter Two: First Series of Primary Rules: “Dope Dos and Dont’s”

Abide by these simple but holy amendments, and fear not of straying to the path of Ignorant Slut.

  1. Always accept free liquor.
    • Always.
  2. Always accept free food.
  3. Express gratitude for gifts.
    • Never with sexual favors.
  4. When a fellow D.A.M. is crying, be their shoulder.
  5. Pump iron, so that your shoulder is impeccable.
  6. Never, and I repeat Never, wear a sleeveless shirt to the gym.
    • Be Modest.
  7. Gloat, but with sincere pride for your dopeness.
  8. Always have atleast three drinking games at your disposal.
    • Carry a deck of cards.
  9. A D.A.M. always carries gum.
    • A D.A.M. always offers gum, for a D.A.M. is the provider of goods.
      • Goods are never drugs.
  10. A D.A.M. will try everything once.
  11. Stand by your opinions, but do not enforce them on others.
  12. When given the option, wear a costume.
    • Funny trumps slutty. Don’t mess up.
  13. Chasers are for ignorant sluts. Don’t be one.
    • Beer is appropriate.
      • Another shot is appropriate.
        • Drugs are appropriate.
  14. A D.A.M. does not smile in photographs, for there are only action shots.
  15. A D.A.M. partakes in dirty jokes and should have an arsenal of theme specific jokes.
  16. A D.A.M. is never flaky, and follows through with commitments.
    • Maybe is not in our vocabulary.
  17. Never harm an animal. Only eat them.
  18. Always dogs, never cats.
  19. A D.A.M. pretends to be more fit than they are.
    • Waste time at the gym. Stretch.
  20. Your phone is made for communicating, dropping, and losing. Repeat.
  21. Dresses are to be worn twice monthly and at the wrong occasion. Choose wisely.
  22. Never sport a tiara or crown, its borderline douchey.
  23. Artistic outlets should have some form of comedy involved, otherwise it’s art for arts sake.
  24. Tell the truth.
    • Don’t be a jerk, have good judgement.
  25. The opportunity to meet new people shall not be missed.
    • Miss the opportunity to meet anyone wearing Ed Hardy or Von Dutch.
  26. Family time is important. Live at home if you can.
  27. Use snuggies.
  28. Pretend you can play an instrument much better than you can, and convince people you’re extremely talented.
  29. Sleep. Alot.
  30. Own box sets to highly acclaimed television shows like “The Girls Next Door” and “LOST.”
    • Don’t own a working DVD player.
      • Own a working VHS player.
        • Own all three Austin Powers on VHS.
  31. A D.A.M. never cleans his or her or its room. Never.
  32. Celebrate both Jewish and Christian holidays.
  33. A D.A.M. uses only Splenda for sweetener.
    • Equal acceptable at roadside diners.
      • Roadside diners always acceptable.
  34. Adoration shall be expressed, a D.A.M. is a hugger and a lover.
    • Not a slut. Lover
      • But great in bed.
  35. A D.A.M. always answers phone calls.
    • Reasons not to:
      • In the shower
      • Asleep
      • Too drunk
      • All of the above
      • I don’t like you
  36. Facebook stalking shall be perfected and mastered.
    • A D.A.M. owns a fake Facebook. No shame.
  37. Breakfast is never skipped.
    • Nor lunch, nor dinner. Snacks.
  38. A D.A.M. does not judge others for their choices or actions.
  39. Close mindedness is for ignorant sluts.
  40. Erotic illustrations are highly respected.
  41. Erotic pastries and baked goods generate equal if not more respect.
  42. Erotic film ibid.
  43. A D.A.M. will watch sports but does not follow the season.
    • Knowledge of play is a must. If you’re unclear, do not cheer.
  44. Everything is fun. Do not poop on a party.
  45. Money has no value. Buy shit.
  46. If you can jump off of it and survive, do it.
  47. Video montages are for ignorant sluts. Make a movie.
  48. A D.A.M. will always collaborate.
  49. A D.A.M. is intrigued by the unknown/untouched.
  50. A D.A.M. must accept that Rachel Lefron Godbe is the only Dope Ass Motherfucker who will find and wed Zac Efron. Support.

Chapter Three: Secondary Sources: “Dope but Not Sexy, a Learning Experience.”

For many years I struggled to balance my dopeness and sexiness; I was able to capture each essence, but somehow incapable of fusing the two into one ultra-awesome quality. I tried so hard to be like Tyra told me, “the girl all the other girls want to be, and the girl all the guys want.” So wise. But like the esteemed leaders before me, trial and error was my only form of discovery, and error after error I grew closer to my powerful state. I would like to share with you a story of great dopeness, but of harsh and disgraceful unsexiness.

The year was 2009. I was a sophomore in college studying drama at NYU, living in the bustling Union Square at Coral Towers with the lovely Irene as my roomie. The night was a Thursday (I could be wrong, but it feels like a Thursday in my memory), and her boyfriend Yves invited us to a birthday dinner for his friend Kevin. Irene, our apartment mate Jess, and I ventured into Sodo to meet with the boys at an authentic Chinese restaurant.

Let me pause and explain to you my severe disgust with said cuisine. The winter of 2007 I visited my grandparents (Bubbie and Papa) in Florida for my school break. There was a particular Chinese restaurant that my Papa frequented, so we dined there one evening. Little did I know he was planning on ordering an entire fish to himself, head, eyeballs and all still attached. This alone spun me into a nausea spell, but I kept my cool and gazed out the window (without blinking or inhaling once) the entire meal. When we were done (or so I thought) the waiter came to take our plates but Papa stopped him from removing the fish head from the table. He proceeded to pick up the head with his bare hands, put it to his mouth, and devour the fish face like a fucking chicken wing. After crying myself to sleep that night, I vowed never to step foot in such a restaurant again.

Fat chance idiot. As soon as we stepped out of the cab in Sodo, my heart sank and my stomach flipped. I looked at the window of the restaurant. It was lined with dead chickens, chopped up pigs, and a tank filled with lobster to which I only could imagine their demise. I looked at Irene and said, “well, looks like I’m eating rice for dinner.” Luckily it was a BYOB restaurant, so I had my coveted two-buck-chuck Rose to cheer me up. We were introduced to all the homies at the table; Kevin, Chris, some chick who left, Irene, Jess, Yves, myself, and one Indian guy, whose name I couldn’t pronounce. There was even a point in the night when we were whispering to eachother to remember his name, Pufket? Fukpet? Yves had no idea, and I’m pretty sure Pukeyfoo could hear us mumbling, because he asked me if I remembered his name and when I responded absolutely not he laughed and gave us the answer, but of course I’m an ass and still can’t remember.

We had brought enough wine to supply each of us with our own bottle, and after the meal we thought it best to continue drinking and head into the heart of sodo to get our fist bump on (though not yet made famous by Jersey Shore, we were well aware of its lame proof capabilities). Before leaving the restaurant (which was lodged in the back of a mini-mall), the boys thought it would be a good idea to hotbox the glass lobby (all the stores were closed and no one was around). After breaking several laws, we chose the 1.5 mile walk over the $5 cab ride to Bleecker Street. Howling and singing Backstreet Boys the whole way there, we made it to the bars.

Irene and Jess were using fake Chinese IDs which were copies of Yves real Chinese license, so all three of them had the same birthday. I was using a high school friend’s paper permit, which is totally legit. We were turned away from the first three or six bars, until finally we found a winner: an underground biker bar the size of my bedroom with a bribe cover of $20. Upon entering the dark cave, I suggested a round of shots. Reney attacked the bar with her virgin eyes and returned to our table with a tray of clear, brownish shots. This was my first taste of whiskey. I remind you now of the ignorant taste buds of a 20 year old, basking only in tequila and vodka in fear of an old man’s liquor. Alas, we took the shots. After dance parties and songs sung, after sitting with a black man in the corner asking him about the worst thing that had ever happened to him (which was his brother being shot, upper!), after losing clothing and common sense, we retired to Yves apartment for slumber.

If only the story ended there, for in every sense of the word the night was ohsodope. Fears were faced, liquors were mixed, laws were broken, and songs were sung. There were firsts (and lasts), risks and responsibility. Twas dope. Until morning. Midway through the night, I woke up in Yves’ bed to Irene and Yves handing me a pair of sweatpants. “Put these on Rach,” Irene whispered. “What? Why…?” “You peed the bed dummy.” “Yeah right, fuck off.” The next morning, I woke up next to Irene, fully clothed (except for the giant pants I was wearing), and the blurry sight of Yves’ friends packing up and leaving. As soon as the room had emptied, I poked Irene. “I didn’t really pee the bed right? You were just kidding?” “No, Rach, you peed the bed.”

Hold the phone. Not only did I pee in my blacked out state (which is harmful enough to my ego), but I did it in my best friend’s BOYFRIEND’s bed. WHILE THEY WERE BOTH IN IT. Mortified, I threw my hands to my mouth and held back shrieks of embarrassment. At that moment, Yves emerged from the bathroom, peered down the room, saw that I’d heard the tragic news, and laughed at my expense. “You really don’t remember that?” Irene giggled. “FUCK NO!” “Well, do you remember making out with the Indian guy?” “PukaNooneyFutt? No fucking way.” “Seriously? What about the bald biker dude?”

Okay, this was just too much information for me to handle. I stood up on the bed, fell back down, twisted the sheets into a spiral, planted my face into a pillow and growled. As dope as this story has become (over time, and after serious therapy), this was so not sexy.

I hope you have learned your lesson at my expense, for it is my duty as #1 D.A.M to experience all that is shameful for the sake of your dopehood. You’re Welcome.

Chapter Four: Activities to Engage In

As a D.A.M. it is your responsibility to be the life of the party. This includes party planning, event gathering, and attendance at hopping social happenings. It is also to be left to your discretion the persona you apply to each outing; it is important to be aware of your surroundings and behave appropriately. A D.A.M. is a chameleon, the transformer of partiers. Thus, I’ve created a brief diagram to help you figure out the appropriate attire, behavior, and beverage for the occasion.

Dope Activities Diagram

While this is a fairly simple chart that doesn’t include many factors and possibilities (for the elements of a party are unlimited, and I only have so much time in my dope days to appease you), it will give you the tools you need to take on any party situation with confidence and ease, for as a true dopeman once said, “Everything is much simpler than you think it is.”

Chapter Five: Look at Me, I’m Gorgeous

In this chapter I will attempt (and only attempt, for some are just too unfortunate to obtain crooked fingers like mine, and those too perfect and unflawed may never be damaged enough to appear so dope as I) to formulate an image by which you shall create a standard to your appearance.

Let me get one thing straight: To look dope you do not need to be attractive. If anything, being less attractive works to your advantage, because you look like less of a douche.

Now let’s begin. The overall appearance of a D.A.M. should omit any trace of effort (excluding cause). One should appear naturally excellent in both attire and comportment; you should feel at your best sense of self in your chosen skin. I shall now take you through an hour in the life of a D.A.M.’s daily preparation for public viewing; an insider’s look on presentability.

Shower. While the dope lather in the feeling of getting dirty and messy, hygiene is of the utmost importance. Wash your face. Cetaphil preferred, but other oil-free brands are acceptable. Moisturize. Brush your hair, pop zits in the mirror, and pluck your eyebrows. The eyebrows, which we will learn later, are the key to your dope face. Enter your room and free yourself of your towel; accepting your nudey figure is both awakening and refreshing. Prance around your room and feel your mood embrace you. This mood is what will determine the perfect outfit. For this example, let’s say your mood is “Sweet.” There are other moods at your disposal: “Spicy,” “Kooky,” “Classy,” “Foxy,” “Gangsta,” and many more. They are the foundation for the blossoming appearance that is your dopeness.

After finding your mood, look through the pile on your floor for appropriate clothing items. For “Sweet” one would select pastel colors, soft patterns, and flowing garments. Once the outfit has been perfected, its time to move on to hair and maquillage. It is important to create a natural effect on the face: too much makeup is just as bad as a poor spray tan, and a poor spray tan is just as bad as prostitution. Bare Minerals/Essentials is of preference, and mascara and blush/bronzer to taste are a must. The eyebrows are critical: one must channel Megan Fox to achieve ultimate facial dopeness. If you’re a man, you better hope natural selection selected you and that you have an incredible face with divine eyebrows, otherwise your SOL. As for the hair, choose something that accents your outfit; a D.A.M. would, for example, never pair a slicked back pony with a “sweet” mooded getup, nor tousled curls with a “kooky” facade.

Now that you’re dressed and prepped, you’ve got to feel it. Grab your macbook (or boombox/record player/internal radio) and find the appropriate playlist (one catered to the event you’re attending) and simulate a personal dance party for atleast thirteen minutes in your private sanction of choice. I prefer my bathroom, since that’s where the majority of my event-prep takes place, but to each D.A.M. his/her/its own.

The appearance of a D.A.M. is less about the outcome of said preparation, but more to do with owning your look and embracing how incredibly dope you feel so that others have no choice but to find everything about your facade ohsodope. Remember, Everything You Touch Turns to Dope.


Chapter One: Your Mother’s Right, Less IS More

It’s fairly simple. Don’t be an ignorant slut.

Chapter Two: Second Series of Primary Rules “Sexy Dos and Don’ts”

While more female friendly, many are applicable to other gender/s. Abide.

  1. Never mimic anything you see on the Jersey Shore.
    • Save fist bumping.
  2. Be tan, not orange.
  3. Thongs are not to be seen or heard.
  4. Do not discuss your sex life with anyone but Jesus.
    • Have a sex life with anyone but Jesus.
  5. Smile.
  6. Do not pose for pictures the way you think a model would.
    • Pose the way Obama would.
  7. Have a good sense of humor.
    • Don’t break out dick jokes until atleast week two.
      • Don’t break out vagina jokes until atleast week three.
        • Don’t break out rape jokes. Do not listen to your inner D.A.M. voice.
  8. Get dirty, only when offered. With dirt.
  9. Get Pedicures.
  10. Do not rely on your looks. Ever.
  11. Keep a little mystery without coming across as full retard.
  12. Be willing to learn.
  13. Flirt shamelessly, but never use sex as a topic of discussion.
  14. Use sex as a topic of discussion.
  15. Have a hobby.
    • Not gravedigging
    • Not bulimia
    • Not prostitution
    • Not prostate cancer
    • Not dehydrating fruit
  16. Shower
  17. Accept that being cute is just as dope if not more so than being sexy.
  18. Eat.
    • Do not eat %100 of the day everyday. You will be fat, and then you won’t fit into your little black dress.
  19. Own a little black dress.
  20. Never talk about how awesome you are. Ever.
  21. Do not be bald.
  22. Smell good.
  23. Do not let a member of the opposite sex “Smang It.”
  24. Do one domestic thing a day. ONE.
  26. Don’t be afraid to get ugly.
    • Save farting.
    • Save burping.
      • For a while atleast.
  27. Learn to chug for god’s sake.
    • Do not preface chugging with any sort of sexual reference.
  28. Learn to play an instrument, well enough to be sexy, poorly enough to need some guidance…
  29. Do not throw out random facts to flaunt your intelligence.
    • Be intelligent.
  30. Wear flattering clothing.
    • Neon when appropriate.
    • Sleek and form fitting only when covering the majority of your skin.
    • Logos are only acceptable from the following companies:
      • None.
    • Costumes always acceptable.
      • Never pre-made slutty costumes.
        • Handmade slutty semi-acceptable, if a joke or pun is involved.
          • Example: Your costume is A Slutty Costume.
    • Consider designer jeans.
      • De-consider diamond bejeweled designer jeans.
    • Refrain from tube tops and gold stilettos. This applies to all genders.
    • NO MESH. NO NO NO.
    • Use common sense, dipshit.
  31. Don’t mooch.
  32. Share.
  33. Have impeccable breath.
  34. Have impeccable cologne/perfume.
  35. Accept that not everyone will find you sexy. Then they will.
  36. Be a good kisser.
    • No, you can’t learn.
      • If you aren’t then you should just shoot yourself.
  37. Don’t have a lot of sex.
  38. Have a lot of sex.
  39. Be a conundrum.
  40. Don’t underestimate the power of weirdness. Embrace.
  41. Don’t have STDs.
  42. Be playful.
  43. Be adventurous.
  44. Drive a truck.
  45. Don’t freak out when you get in car accidents.
    • Or lose something.
      • Or forget something.
        • Or remember something.
          • Stay calm you ignorant slut.
  47. Smoke cigarettes.
    • Or don’t. But pick one.
  48. Own up to your mistakes.
  49. Don’t make any mistakes.
  50. Be spontaneous.

Chapter Two: Sexy vs Ignorant Slut: More Visuals

Its obvious that sexy does not come as naturally to me as dopeness (though sexy is a direct result of dopeness, I’m P.B.D and sexy stems directly from a life of dopehood, so while I was not born sexy I still posses the tools to be sexy, I have to work just a little more diligently to hone the craft). So if you’re like me and you’re P.B.D. this pyramid will come in handy. It’s a simple visual aid to which you can use as a reference when wondering how much is too much. When it comes to sexy it is less about the “do” and “don’t do” and more about taking the dos and don’ts right up to the pinnacle of their extremity, then bowing down and leaving your partner wanting more. I call this “Teasing the Tip.”

Here is the visual, notice how the tip of the pyramid is where you rarely want to approach, but under the right circumstances and in the correct context, almost touching the tip can be quite enticing. And now for your viewing pleasure.

Sexy vs Ignorant Slut Pyramid

If you’re unsure as to which end of the pyramid is Sexy and which is Ignorant Slut then you’re a dead hooker.

Chapter Three: Poor Decisions: Not Sexy

Like I mentioned before, it is the duty of the highly dope to reflect on their errors for the greater good of the potentially dope and sexy. It is with regret and sorrow that I tell you this broken but worthy tale. You might wonder why I’ve chosen another dope but not sexy story instead of a sexy but not dope story, but I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself.

The summer of 2009 was a summer of love. But only for me. It was the summer of unrequited love. Needless to say I put myself out there much more than I actually put out; it never came to that because it turned out I was a man repellant. But one man sticks out in my mind above all. For not only was I a repellant, but I lacked the skills and radar to detect how unsexy he was.

I’ll call him Whit, because that was his name and I know he’s not reading this. I met Whit on (Not sexy). We engaged in many e-mails prior to meeting, and I can tell you the nature of our e-mails was of the utmost maturity and profound topic. My second, maybe third, probably first e-mail to Whit was a rap of my morning routine. A rhyming, lyrical, Snoop Dog worthy rap complete with specific times, breakfast ingredients, and alarm snooze behavior. We engaged in love e-mails and floral text messages, for a week or so, and finally we met on a romantic coffee date at the Starbucks in the U-Village

Our first encounter was so enthralling. We discussed horoscopes (our own). That’s all, just horoscopes. But he was so adventurous! He had a broken wrist from a biking accident and even a missing tooth as a souvenir! I, being blind to sexy in my youth, thought how perfect it would be to invite him to Wild Waves with me that coming Saturday (it was Friday) since I had a prepaid extra ticket. Why did I have prepaid tickets to Wild Waves, one might ask? How did I suddenly become so awesome in this abysmal story? Well, lonely not-yet-dope-and-sexy reader, it’s because they were on the condition that I–wait for it–babysat two thirteen year old girls while I went. What’s more, on the ride down to the Enchanted Parkway (in my Blue 1993 Le Sable, with two thirteen year old broads in the back), Whit and I found the one thing that truly connected us: we both knew all the lyrics to Baby Got Back, and when it came on the radio we sang in perfect harmony to Sir Mix Alot’s genius song.

The multitude of errorage is unforgivable. What’s unfortunate is that my actions were not completely unsexy; Rapping? Sexy. Coffee? Sexy. Astrology? Sexy. Water activities? Sexy. Fondness of children? Sexy. Sir Mix Alot? SEXY. My error was contextual; for I chose to execute my dopeness in the wrong place at the wrong time. My usage was off; I approached the dope but did not master it in its entirety, which is not only its behavior but its surroundings. And only once you have mastered the dope can you truly find sexy, for it is the gateway to all things awesome. A perfect segue into our final part.


What Came First: A Philosophy

A common tiff among philosophers and even scientists is in determining the origin of the two most profound and respected qualities known to man: Dopeness and Sexy. Some claim they are figments of our imagination; false labels for misbehavior in order to qualify them as appropriate societal conduct. Others believe they are one and the same, that they are alter egos; two parts of one holy trait. I believe most theories hold true; but I am fond of one in particular: My Own.

It is my belief that each and every person is capable of being a D.A.M. It is a matter of discipline, acceptance, and willingness to fail; one must be blind to foolishness and overall well-being, and money may never set limits or restrict us from finding dopehood. Additionally, I believe some people are born this way, that P.B.D. is not as rare as we once thought, but that many who were born pure blooded have simply yet to discover their abilities.

And from such dopeness is born sexy; a quality that oozes and reeks of natural scent but is unidentifiable in the sexiest of creatures. If you achieve total dopeness, you have no choice but to seep sexy. This is my theory; that if one is to control and lose control of all their senses, live and breathe the ways of a D.A.M., then not only will Everything You Touch Turn to Dope, but you will expel sexy from your core. For sexy is not sexy at all; it is something much deeper and harder to touch, and it has nothing to do with sex at all.

To create fusion, one must cease effort to fuse.


I hope you have found this handbook useful. While this is only a portion of the plethora of information I could provide, I repeat that I have only so much time to spare. It has been pleasurable for me to release my ways to the public, I only hope you regard the tools with such high esteem as Oprah. It is a daily challenge to be ohsodope, and I only wish the best for you on your quest for dopehood.

Sincerely Yours, I Touch You.