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Nothing scares me more than thought of some cop beating my ass then carting me off to jail where some sexually frustrated gorilla-like criminal three-times my size tries to mold me into his own twisted version of Beyonce.

“Do the uh oh” takes on a whole new meaning when a black man has a case pending.

Up until Thursday I’ve never been pulled over by the po-po. Reason being for five years while attending Howard University in Washington, D.C. my only mode of transportation was my left and right foot, respectively. Though it’s happened to my brother and other people I know on a number of occasions, I’ve never had to deal with “driving while black” because I’m forever “walking while broke.”

But, now that I’m home temporarily (and Jesus wept…Buddah probably did, too) I’ve been driving and I’ve finally been pulled over.

This however wasn’t an issue of race; it was an issue of a quota-filler seeking police officer pulling me over for speeding. Five minutes away from home at that!

Yeah, yeah, so it’s really my fault, blah blah blah. I honestly don’t remember speeding since he pulled me over shortly after the light turned green. All I remember is dancing to Tank’s “My Body.” If you haven’t heard it, go listen to that and “Coldest.” Those are my favorite songs to drive to when I’m not jiggin’ and singing-a-long to “Ay Bay Bay.”

Moving on, I see flashing red lights behind me and a man over the speaker saying, “Pull your black ass over, bitch.” Ok, so maybe he said something more along the lines of “Pull your vehicle over to the right!” but at the time, it sounded more like the former. I, petrified, pulled over to the left. Cars were driving to the side of me and well, the po-po was behind me, I didn’t want to move, much less drive in the direction he wanted to beat me in.

I eventually pull over to the right and into a parking lot across the street from a gas station. It was dark and sitting right in front of a toll freeway. I’m thinking, great no witnesses, the third coast Rodney King is born.

So an officer approaches the car and the first thing he says is, “Put your hands on the wheel!” in a bit of a hostile tone. You know the tone. That, “I’ll beat your ass” tone. I’m saying, “Alright, yes sir, this is my first time,” while thinking in my head, “Damn, you’re acting like I got priors and warrants.” He’s a black officer so I’m thinking he really will beat my ass.

He says, “Well it’s a first time for everything.” Obviously. He goes on, “Where were you headed so fast?” I say home. He asks if I even saw him behind me. “No sir.” Of course I didn’t, I was dancing to Tank on repeat, I know you saw me and I bet that’s why I got pulled over.

I sit there and wait while he runs my ID and the license plate numbers. I’m waiting and waiting and waiting. My hands still on the wheel. I’m no fool.

As soon as I take my hands off the wheel he pops up and he’s like, “HANDS ON THE WHEEL! HANDS ON THE WHEEL!” Alright, homie. Be cool. Whatever you say. I don’t want a club wound on my head nor do I want a bullet in my chest.

I guess the neighborhood I was in wasn’t exactly the safest, but yeah, I’m used to that. Judging from the way he acted, I’m guessing so is he. After he hands me back my license and insurance card he hands me a written warning.

He then asks me whose car is this and if it’s an ’07. I guess after making me wait about twenty minutes to see if he wanted to knock me out, he felt small talk was in order.

I look at the written warning and I see that the speed limit is 35, but he neglected to write how fast I was going under “alleged speed.” Whatever, he says he’s not a hard ass, so he won’t give me a ticket. I’m just grateful for that, for him not beating my ass, and for me not having to perform “Deja Vu” behind a cell.

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Meet Mika Brzezinski, my new hero post-Diana Ross jiggin’ to T.I. at the BET Awards. Outside of Anderson Cooper, I haven’t seen any journalist on any of the major cable news networks speak against the incessant coverage of Paris Hilton on-air. However, while Cooper berated Hilton and question the reasoning behind the reporting on her, Brzezinski went further and refused to read a story on Hilton as the lead. I don’t blame her. With a civil war in Iraq, possible terrorist plot in London, genocide in Darfur, a controversial new bill on immigration, and a slew of contaminated products imported from China (including catfish — deep sigh), you would think that news producres would choose to go with something more of depth. But then again, why focus on boring shit like that when a celebutant fresh out of jail has found God…or something. Coverage on Paris should be limited to E!, Entertainment Tonight, and blogs. Or at the very least, not the kicker for every single newscast throughout the day.

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After taking ten years to raise the federal minimum wage from $5.15 an hour to a whooping $7.25 over a two-year period, members of the House of Representatives have decided to reward themselves by raising their own wages — again.

Despite becoming even less popular than President Bush – practically making them about as popular as cancer – Democrats and Republicans are calling for an approximate pay raise of $4,400 – increasing their salaries to almost $170,000.

Most members support the pay raise as a means of retaining experienced lawmakers and of making sure that Congress is not simply dominated by wealthy people.

Because if you can’t beat them, join them.

Minority Whip Roy Blunt, R-Mo on the increase:

“Every member has some obligation to the institution for the compensation to, as much as possible, keep pace with inflation.”

They’re obligated to make sure that their own compensation is at pace with inflation, yet it took them ten years to try to do the same with the federal minimum wage.

Many lawmakers maintain homes both in the expensive Washington housing market and back in their districts. On most days, they meet with lobbyists making far more than they do.

I would feel bad for them if they weren’t the ones enabling the lobbyists.

After promising to fight President Bush on his Iraqi policies only to ultimately bitch up and let him have his way as usual, continuing to cut funding for social programs, and doing a whole bunch of nothing outside of this one bare-minumum accomplishment on minimum wage, they decide that they’re due for another raise. If their wages were based on job performance, they’d be on Monster.ccom looking for a new line of work by now.

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There is a serious drug problem in this country, and there is no greater proof of that than Jay-Z’s recent comments to Entertainment Weekly about Rihanna’s latest album, Good Girl Gone Bad.

Def Jam president and CEO Shawn ”Jay-Z” Carter likens the album to Janet Jackson’s 1986 career-defining masterpiece, Control. ”She’s found her voice,” he says. ”That’s the best thing for any label – to have an artist step in and take control of their own career. She’s left the nest.”

No wonder he jumped on the remix to “Rehab.”

I understand that he’s trying to market an album that, much like it’s predecessors, is already underperforming, but really, though, Control?

Try a more honest approach in selling a record. Like: “Please buy it. Please?”

Janet is someone who worked very hard to create her own sound and carve her own niche in the industry outside of her brother’s shadow. In doing so she went on to become an accomplished and innovative entertainer that’s left her mark in the industry – leaving a clear influence on all acts that have followed her.

And then you have Rihanna. All she’s done thus far is take off Beyonce’s old lace front and exchange it for Pat Benatar’s old wig, shed a few pounds to fit in FeFe Dobson’s old clothes, and ask every A-list producer for a second-tier version of their latest hit.

Nodding your head to whatever an A&R rep tells you to do in order to keep your work visa is not the same as taking control of your career.

Comparing Rihanna to Janet is like comparing a tranny’s remixed penis to a real vagina.

Nah, fool.

Spotted @ SOHH.

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Somewhere Jennifer Holliday is beaming with a painful expression that only she would classify as a smile as she was [finally] given the chance to remind audiences that she is the original “Effie White.” Performing alongside the 21st century’s “Effie,” Academy-Award winning actress, Jennifer Hudson, Ms. “And I Am Telling You I’ll Be Damned If You Forget About Me” Holliday was able to place fear in the hearts and minds of a new generation as she ferociously growled with a screaming Hudson on the musical’s most famous anthem, “And I Am Telling You.”

It was an historic albeit a fearful moment in the Dreamgirls saga. There’s something about the way Holliday fixes her face while singing that makes me think, “I see dead people.” It’s not polite to speak ill of your elders, but it’s also impolite to mock stroke victims while singing, J.Holli.

Still sticking with the multi-personality disorder angle for his new album, T.I. introduced his performance of “Big Things Poppin” with a video of himself having a conversation with his ‘spechul frand,’ T.I.P. T.I.P. must be a fan of Gilligan’s Island as he sprinted onto the stage in Thurston Howell III’s hat. As usual, T.I. represented for the thin man (don’t hate) by performing as if he weighed two-hundred and fifty pounds. I don’t think anyone enjoyed the performance more than Diana Ross. The 60-something supreme diva was caught on camera standing up jiggin’ along to T.I.’s — making her my new hero.

I couldn’t tell you what song Ne-Yo performed, because the last song of his that I listened to by choice was “So Sick.” But, since I’ve been advised to throw in a positive spin here and there to balance out the cynicism, I’ll say this: He did Michael Jackson’s old moves with fluency and he didn’t sound off key when he wasn’t singing over a pre-recorded track. Oh, and he gets points for trying to keep the energy up during Fabolous’ underwhelming performance of “Make Me Better.” Master Splinter would be proud (though Usher is probably somewhere laughing). Probably not as proud as The Hershey Company, though, given that Fab was dressed like the wrapping of a caramel-flavored Hershey’s Kisses.

Diddy, still clamoring for hope about that solo career, made the wise choice to lip sync his Prince-inspired single, “Last Night” featuring Keyshia Cole. Keyshia sounded a lot better than she did at church, though she still visibly had the ready-to-stab grimace she’s become famous for. Not so Lil Kim found her way back on to the main stage, giving Foxy Brown even more reasons to cry and lie to DJs.

Beyonce found inspiration in C3PO for the introduction to her performance of “Get Me Bodied.” The most shocking part of her performance was that it was used to introduce group mate and usual understudy, Kelly Rowland.

How great was it to see Kelly finally get her deserved share of the spotlight? Despite her voice sounding like it was possessed by the spirit of Barry White and Grandma Winslow, I think Kelly made up for it by exuding confidence, presence, and much more charisma on stage than she has in past performances.

It was also good to see Destiny’s Child on stage together. Not surprising that they managed to bring along their adopted third-cousin, Solange, on stage with them, but she out-twirked her big sister, so enjoy it while you can, Solange. It’s highly unlikely you’ll be let back on that stage anytime soon. And if you caught the split camera image on the right, you caught Michelle the Gospel Singer pussy-poppin’ her way out of an invitation to the next Stellar Awards. If it’s any consolation, Te-Te, I’ll invite you to the club with me.

I don’t remember much about Robin Thicke’s performance outside of I can now tell that he is in fact the son of that guy from “Growing Pains” by the way he tried to rock his hips, then wave and sip. Negative.

I can’t really mock a tribute performance, but I will say Patti Labelle looked like Glenda the Good Witch as she walked on stage to holler loud enough for everyone – including Gerald Levert – to hear her.

R.I.P. Gerald.

Shout out to the Wizard of the Oz.

So for about a minute and a half 50 just walked around with a big ass grin on his face, forgoing the actual point of him appearing on stage: to perform a song. Around the second verse, I guess he decided, “Hell, I ain’t that high!” and carried on with a performance of his current single, “Amusement Park.” The performance reminded me of the amusement park in Houston that I frequented as a kid: demolished.

R.I.P., Astroworld.

It was good to see Erykah Badu fly back from Pluto to take part in the tribute for Diana Ross. I miss you, Erykah. Fly home more often.

Next in line was Chaka Khan, who looked like she did Diana Ross the small favor of eating Mary Wilson. I don’t remember much of the performance outside of, “Ahhhh!”

Same goes for Stevie, only replace the screams with mumbles. “Zip, zop, do do dop, mumble, mumble, some Diana Ross lyrics, bop a do dop.”

And proof that there is a God, Ciara had a hairstyle that made her look less like a tranny. She can’t sing worth a damn, but who ever expects vocal theatrics from her? Typical performance, but good looks on reminding us all that Lil Jon is still alive. I was certain snap killed him.

Go Big Gul What Chu Gon Do?

The best part of the show for me was the host, Mo’Nique.

I love anyone that will call their 83-year-old grandmother and ask her if she’s been drinking.

If only she taught the girls of “Charm School” how to be that graceful while sweeping the flo’ with it.

As usual, she delivered, hopefully reminding people to never ever invite Damon Wayans to host the show again. Ever.

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Only in America would anyone offer Paris Hilton a million dollars to teach a class about the obvious. According to TMZ, The Learning Annex Real Estate and Wealth Expos is offering Paris the absurd amount of money to teach a one hour class on building your brand in the cities of Seattle, Chicago, New York and Boston.

Founder, Bill Zanker called Hilton “brilliant.”

What’s so brilliant about the following plan?

1. Be rich already.

2. Have a famous last name.

3. Use your wealth and status to hang with real celebrities, latching on to as many as possible with the hopes of going from “celebutant” to genuine celebrity?

4. Ignore hygiene and forgo the burden that is underwear.

4b. Be photographed several times doing so, but be sure to wax.

5. Become known for your sexual escapades, then play off public curiosity by leaking a sex tape.

5b. Make sure you pretend it wasn’t your idea to do so.

6. Play off on America’s obsession with wealth and exploit it in your favor. Best way of doing so: star in television’s latest and greatest trend – a reality show.

7. Come up with a catch phrase. I don’t know, something hot.

8. Hire the best team possible to turn any and every public scandal into some money-making, celebrity-building opportunity.

9. Exploit an already celebrity-obsessed, distraction-promoting news media by getting them to follow your every move as if you do anything that’s remotely news worthy.

10. Get people to actually credit you as some sort of genius for doing all of this when the reality is, when you’re ultra-thin, blond, and rich, it doesn’t take much to get famous as we live in a society that worships people like you.

Hell, the more I type, the more I’m starting to agree with Zanker. Who else is going to watch her on Larry King tomorrow?

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Start preparing the eulogy for your right to freedom of speech.

Today the Supreme Court ruled against a former Alaskan high school student over a case about a banner that read, “Bong Hits 4 Jesus” — limiting students’ free speech rights in the process.

The student in question is Joseph Frederick, who in 2002, unveiled the 14-foot paper sign on a public sidewalk outside his Juneau, Alaska, high school.

The school’s principal Deborah Morse confiscated it and suspended Frederick.

The justices ruled 6-3 that Frederick’s free speech rights were not violated by his suspension over what the majority’s written opinion called a “sophomoric” banner.

“It was reasonable for (the principal) to conclude that the banner promoted illegal drug use– and that failing to act would send a powerful message to the students in her charge,” Chief Justice John Roberts wrote for the court’s majority.

Roberts was supported by Justices Antonin Scalia, Anthony Kennedy, Clarence Thomas, Stephen Breyer, and Samuel Alito.

Leave it to Scalia, Thomas, and Alito to champion the First Amendment. Not at all surprised that Kenneth Starr argued for the principal. Glad he’s found a new way to be a thorn in someone’s side.

The larger issue at hand is at what discretion should schools be allowed to limit messages they perceive to advocate drug use.

Perception is a powerful thing, isn’t it? Doesn’t matter if Frederick maintains that his banner was merely a joke. What matters is that that they’re so concerned about drug abuse in this country that they’ll punish anyone that dares to reference any type of drug. Let’s limit the rights people died for under the guise of concern for our own personal well being.

Uh huh.

They’re limiting students’ free speech now so they won’t have to worry about them in the future. I mean, we wouldn’t want our students getting any ideas from those misguided, government-protesting youth in England and France, now would we?

This isn’t a far cry from the type of language that can be easily misconstrued as pro-terrorism under the Patriot Act. You know that type of language, right? The kind that can win you the grand prize that is a free trip to lovely little naval base in Cuba…and a even freer daily ass whopping.

Take this all as a sign of what’s to come. Thank you, supporters of George W. Bush.

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If you’re not doing this to your child, Happy Father’s Day! If you’re teaching your child how to make it rain on these hoes before he learns his ABCs: It’s good you’re spending quality time with your child, so I’ll say Happy Father’s Day to you, too. But aye, stop it! Teach him how to 2-step after he reads Dr. Suess. That’s what I do with my niece.

P.S. Happy Father’s Day to a lot of you mamas, too.

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In an interview with Para Todas magazine, Jessica Alba yet again reminds us that her roots to her Latino background are as strong as the one a plastic tree has to the ground.

On her strong family unit:

“I’ve got cousins galore. Mexicans just spread all their seeds. And the women just pop them out.”

I’m certain a huge smile appeared on the faces of each and every one of Jessica Alba’s female relatives the second after they read that.

On Mexican pride:

“My grandfather was the only Mexican at his college, the only Hispanic person at work and the only one at the all-white country club. He tried to forget his Mexican roots, because he never wanted his kids to be made to feel different in America. He and my grandmother didn’t speak Spanish to their children. Now, as a third-generation American, I feel as if I have finally cut loose.”

Instead of having pride about opening doors, it seems as if the only lesson learned and passed on was to pretend to act as if they were never opened to begin with. How unfortunate it is to feel like cutting loose of your culture is something to be proud of.

Team Assimilate:

“My whole life, when I was growing up, not one race has ever accepted me, … So I never felt connected or attached to any race specifically. I had a very American upbringing, I feel American, and I don’t speak Spanish. So, to say that I’m a Latin actress, OK, but it’s not fitting; it would be insincere.”

I applaud her for not trying to fake it, and appearing on Univision and Telemundo with a Spanish translator like some of her peers, but at the same time, her sentiments are disturbing. Maybe it hasn’t dawned on her, but she seems to now carry her grandfather’s issues with self-hatred , so she’s partly responsible for never feeling accepted. If you’re goal was to “cut loose” a part of your identity, you probably didn’t make much of an effort to belong to begin with.

On poor strategy:

“My grandfather was the only one in our family to go to college. He made a choice not to speak Spanish in the house. He didn’t want his kids to be different.”

Decades later and I’m sitting here wishing those four years of Spanish in high school produced more than, “Me llamo Miguel.”

In some respects, I can understand why she feels as if she can’t relate, given the way she was raised. On the other hand, she sounds as if she’s purposely trying to ignore her history and culture. Like her grandfather, she seems embarass by it.

Then there’s that whole little tidbit that no matter how many blond wigs and blue contacts she dons for her film roles, she doesn’t look white at all. That Alba surname sure isn’t helping her cause either.

I always feel for those who are taught to conform and deny themselves.

Since elementary, there’s always been this joke about me being half Asian because my eyes appear slanted to some people. A couple of months ago one of my friends introduced me as Jackie (Chan), and told her I was half Asian. She said, “Wow. Are you really?” I let her know that my friend only had jokes. But she said, “Oh well you should still tell people that, because you really do look it. I tell people that I’m half Asian when I’m not. It makes me sound exotic.”

I looked at her like she was the fool and politely said, “Nah. I’m good. I’m happy with being just Black.”

If only others could follow and be happy with who they are.

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Much praise goes out to the BBC for leaking what is possibly the most hilarious (in the saddest of ways) stories about our U.S. military in quite some time.

According to the article, in 1994, the U.S. Defense Department considered a number of proposals from the U.S. Air Force involving the use of various non-lethal chemicals intended to disrupt enemy discipline and moral.

One of these chemicals included what is known as the “love bomb,” an aphrodisiac chemical that would provoke “widespread homosexual behavior among troops,” causing what the military called a “distasteful but completely non-lethal blow to morale.”

The Air Force sought Pentagon funding for research that they referred to as “harassing, annoying, and bad-guy identifying chemicals.”

It’s official: You lose your damn mind if you stay in the air too long. This definitely doesn’t help that stereotype about pilots being drunks.

I’m not an advocate for chemical and biological warfare, but I will say that some people are a lot more serious about it than others. A magic homosexuality-inducing potion vs. anthrax. Which one do you think is going to be more effective?

It all sounds like some really bad cartoon episode plot. Maybe the military can also come up with a way to get the Cobra clan from G.I. Joe to join in the fight?

Or maybe they’ll play the extended mix to “Get Me Bodied” for an even bigger distraction after this gay spray kicks in.

Right about now I’m more inclined to trust someone who used to be really good at playing “Duckhunt” to protect me than any idiot at the Pentagon that proposed and supported this plan.

I’m not even sure how would they know if they soldiers actually did “turn gay?” Don’t ask, don’t tell, remember!

By the way, geniuses running the Pentagon: By using a chemical to “make people gay,” you’re indirectly confirming that being a homosexual is not a choice versus something chemical or genetic, though only a while ago were some of your higher ranked officials calling it a mental condition.

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