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What happens when the secret love child of Marlon Wayans, Fozzy Bear, and R&B’s answer to Cirque du Soleil get together to watch Michael and Janet Jackson’s “Scream” video?

No doubt with the hook up at Kim’s Beauty Supply #2, Lil’ Mama adds Lil Kim’s old wig collection to ever growing arsenal of accessories. With her lip gloss poppin’ as she flosses in the Queen Bee’s Skittles themed hair pieces, it won’t be long before Lil Mama finds Foxy Brown’s Blackberry, and Missy’s bag of Doritos and ascend to top of the female rap hierarchy (not that it requires that great a climb anymore).

I won’t be jiggin’ to “Shawty Get Loose” in the club, but I’m sure this will fair well at all the 8th grade dances looming. Somewhere Michael is smiling as even in Usher’s absence he’s still being swagger jacked. But overall it’s a cool little video, though I do have one comment to make about the snap for the kids moment towards the end: Chris and Young Marlon’s dip at the end. Now maybe he picked this up from one of his dancers, but this is the second video I’ve peeped Breezy voguing. And if you’re confused, I’m not talking about Freak Nasty’s “Da Dip.” Turn on “Get Me Bodied.” Who taught him that?

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Don’t worry: The bolt is coming.

I was told that you should never poke fun at a gospel singer, because they’re singing for God and it’s music to God’s ears. I never believed that nonsense, though. If God knows our hearts, God also knows our vocal chords, which is why Yolanda Adams is a mainstay at the Stellar Awards and Cassie has to do personal favors to talk over beats.

Enter Darryl Smith. Either this is some kind of Kirk Franklin parody, or this dude is on The Devil Is A Liar Records doing Satan’s dirty work, because there is no way you can convince me that this music is about honoring anyone besides the deaf.

With all the evil in the world you would think these folks would give God a break. God is already worried about Bush and Bin Laden, but now God has to take a break to give this dude strep throat.

No, I’m not exaggerating. He truly sounds that bad. I tried to pass this link around to some of my friends so they could chime in on this, but most of them said they have no comment for fear of being booked an AirTran ticket to hell. To the homie that noticed Darryl sounded a lot like Lil Darryl: See you where the block is eternally hot, bunk buddy.

Go to his page and tell me that you think this sounds good. The only DJ that would spin this lives in hell. DJ Thorns on the 1 and 2 circle of hell. That or DJ Khaled. He’ll play anything so long as you let him scream on the beginning and end of a track.

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Mary buying Kendu a Chevrolet has nothing on this. This is one of the best commercials ever made. It may not have the glitz and glamor of Mr. Ray’s Weave in Baltimore, but does Mr. Ray put the yee-hah in your motor and transmission? I rest my case. Bow down to greatness.

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Dear Mike,

I’m the greatest rapper alive, ya dig. Talk to me like you talking to the Dahlia Lama or Papa Smurf. I’m the dream like Malcom Luther the King or whatever the fuck that n*gga name is.

I love what I do. I put my all into it so I ain’t got no choice but to get better, you know. That’s why I’m the best right now. The world needs Wayne, nah mean. But once you get on that plateau, people want to fuck with you, they want to bring you down. And ya mans and them supposed to hold you down when that happens. Like that dude, Scrappy. He knew he was eating off of Scooby, so he held his folk down.

But everybody ain’t like that. I just had to deal with so much bullshit recently. I know you heard about it. It’s like when your friends tell you one thing…that they’re going to be there for you, and then when you need them, nah mean…they flip on you. Like I told them motherfuckers last night — if they ain’t gonna be with me no more, die.

And now they’re trying to say I’m a junkie. Weezy need to go to rehab. Weezy sippin too much drank. Wayne need to leave that dro and them pills alone. A junkie can’t do what the fuck I do. I’m like Batman, Spiderman, He-Man…all them man’s, you know. I’m like Dr. Suess with the goose, I get so high, I sleep on the roof. I am the ultimate high, understand? I am my drug, you understand me?

I don’t care what nobody think. But this junkie shit, y’know. If I was a junkie, I wouldn’t be sitting in my muthafuckin’ million-dollar bus in my 15th year at the same muthafuckin’ company and business. 15 man. That’s like 15 – 3 + 8, ain’t I great? Wait that don’t add up, but fuck it, I’m a role model. I try to tell them. So what I do about this shit?

Weezy (Please Say That Baby)


What do your nose and this poster have in common?

On second thought, you’re probably on pill #2 and bottle #3, so you’re not going to get it.

Imagine yourself on top of those. Now fill in the blank for me: ___ on that rock.

I’ll say the baby if you get it right.

I have to give it to you: I never thought you would be the one to blow up out of Cash Money. And while I admire your success, I’m not naïve enough to think that success means you’ll pass the urine test.

Now I think your problems with your friends are real, but you should focus on Wayne right now.

That’s you in just about every interview I see you in. I’ve seen you pour lean in a glass of Hawaiian punch. When you take a piss, I bet it looks like CVS had a spill on aisle four. Though I’m certain you haven’t had a cold in the last five years, that can’t be doing much for your health. Ask DJ Screw and Big Moe about that.

You smoke weed, you pop Xanax, you drink lean, and now I hear you’re blowing Britney up your nose. No wonder you’ll do a song with anyone from Soulja Boy to Boy George. You have a habit to support.

Man, wake up! I’m trying to help you. As I as I saying, you need to get it together.

I’m not sure if you realize it or not, but if you keep on going at the rate you’re going, you’ll be stuffed in a duffle bag. To be honest, I read Dr. Suess when I was a kid, so I don’t really fool with you like that, but I hate the idea of anyone squandering their success over an addiction to Robitussin.

Think of it this way:

Do you want to be the next Hov or the future:

I think the only one who will appreciate you not having any teeth is Baby.

P.S. Man, I’m sorry, I know you’re tired of folks asking, but I have to do it.

Who is the better kisser?

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Short yellow bus hip hop has to stop.

I normally don’t like to post about anything unless I have specific details, but in this case, I’m just going to have to be vague, because I can’t let this one go. I don’t know if this song is local or not, but there is a song where the man repeatedly yells out “yer.” Like, I can’t quote him verbatim, but in the song I hear, “Blah blah blah, bullshit, yadda yadda, something really stupid, Louis Vuitton, money, girl you fine or something, “Yeeeer!” And then you hear it again and again. “Yeeeeeeer!” More and more.”Yeeeeeeeeer!” He says it after every comment about a girl, basically. The hell is yer? That sounds like something I used to hear Marcus the spechul child at day care make whenever he would pour his pork and beans on the table to eat and play with. “My-cawl, look at the floud on the tay-bowl. Yeeeeeeer!”

Now has anyone else heard this song? I don’t know who’s behind it, though the odd noise maker in question mentions something about Vic Damone, if that helps. If someone can take an incoherent noise like “yer” and turn it into a song and get airplay with it, what’s next? Someone stepping outside with their old Talkboy and recording pigeons? I can hear it now: “That ass chirp, chirps. Got the birds going chirp, chirp.”

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With all due respect to Toni Morrison, Bill Clinton is about as black as Ryan Seacrest, and even if he were an octoroon on the low, his antics over the past few weeks prove even he could benefit from a few after school specials on racial tolerance.

If Melissa

As charming and brilliant as Bill Clinton is, he covets honesty almost as much as Britney Spears embraces sanity. He recently told NBC News, “My message has been 99.9% positive.” Perhaps, like me, he needed to hustle his way out of algebra to graduate from college, because he can’t be too good with numbers throwing out distorted stats like that.

Then again, when much of what comes out of your mouth is a distortion, you start to believe your own nonsense. On his attack-dog like stumping for his wife, the reformed chubby chaser said, “I think that when I think she’s being misrepresented, I have a right to try with factual accuracy set the record straight, which is what I’ve tried to do.” And what does Slick Willie think of his critics, like John Kerry, who claim that he’s been misrepresenting facts to demonize Obama plead his wife’s case?

“Did you notice he didn’t specify. They never do. They hurl these charges, but nothing gets specified.” Well, I can think of one thing off the bat: His mischaracterization of Barack Obama’s comments on Ronald Reagan. Saying someone had an idea isn’t the same thing as championing it. There’s your specificity, Bubba.

Now back to the race baiting. While the old 1960s, pro-establishment, let’s repeat the same old trite rhetoric over and over again until we all fall into a coma brigade that’s latched onto the Clinton campaign mouths off to the press that it was Barack Obama’s camp that took the issue of race and pushed it to the forefront of this primary season, anyone able to discern truth from bullshit can see who the true culprit is.

On Saturday, before the results, when the reporter asked Billy Boy what it said about Obama that it took two people to beat him, he responded with, “That’s just bait, too. Jesse Jackson won South Carolina twice, in ’84 and ’88. And he ran a good campaign.”

Translation: Barack Obama is Black, Negro, Colored, African American, and that other word we can’t really say out loud. He’s purposely trying to marginalize Barack Obama as the Black candidate, with the hopes that it will play off the racial prejudices that often not so subtly permeate American culture. You can play all the saxophones in the world, but the second you push the “Southern strategy” to get ahead, you have shown your true colors.

A month ago, Barack was losing to Billary in the polls in South Carolina, but I guess when the results don’t go your way, it’s better to trivialize the results. You know, 500,000 people voting doesn’t really matter when millions vote in a week.

Yes, Jesse Jackson won both caucuses (not primaries as they are now), but as usual, Bill is being misleading. Neither of Jesse’s wins were highly contested contests; the nominations were practically already secured. You can click here to read more.

Clinton’s point no doubt was to remind us for the millionth time that Barack Obama is Black. I’m put off by the fact that instead of debating the issues, Bill and Hillary would much rather play into stereotyping and fact-distorting to get ahead. That style of politics won’t win her a majority and it won’t do any of us any good. Though her campaign says they have “unintentionally” made Barack Obama “the Black candidate,” hopefully that is not the case. Their attempt to take an intelligent, immensely talented orator that speaks of hope over fear and cynicism (no, it’s not always needed) and place him in a racial box is as insulting as it is infuriating. Hopefully people won’t fall for the okie doke, and will judge the man by who he is and what he believes in and vote accordingly.

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While I’m happy to see any person of color in film with a story not centered on a glock or crack pipe, I have to ask just how many more dancing and stepping stories are we going to get? How She Move is the latest movie to serve you on the yard.

Here’s the plot:

A bright young woman from a tough urban neighborhood is on the way to academic achievement at a tony private school. Her sister, an addict, overdoses and dies, which brings Raya back to the old, mean neighborhood, where her Jamaican immigrant parents struggle to eke out a living and keep their surviving daughter out of trouble.

So a chick from the hood attends some saddity private school until her parents squander her tuition money to pay for failed rehab stints for her strung out sister — leaving the child who can past a urine test back at PS #516. Along the way she discovers that you can dance your way out of the hood into the promised land. Sound familiar? I’m sure you all have been eagerly pop locking in anticipation all week for this.

The problem with these types of films – which I discussed with my friend – is that they’re totally unbelievable. As my friend eloquently put it: “I can’t sit through a movie where people get killed at step shows; that’s like some weird stuff! That’s like Mickey and Minnie Mouse running crystal meth at Disneyland.”

Or maybe as ridiculous as the Seven Dwarfs running a hoe house, Big Bird being straight, Nanny running a sweatshop in the Muppet Babies house, or Fraggle Rock being a crack house.

Are dance competitions this intense and violent? I had no idea people could get so mad over who did the snake better to the point where they’re ready to shoot to kill. I would think a thug is too busy doing runs to practice his break dancing so he can win a chance to meet Lil’ Kim.

I get that the films teach you valuable lessons about the importance of teamwork, patience, perseverance, and Wild ‘n’ out Wednesday, but can’t we pop lock and drop this genre already or do we need seven more step into stardom flicks? If so, let me know, because while it may be too late for me to jig to college, I can still grab my digital camera, hit the liquor store, and slide into the club so I can twirk out ideas for a screenplay.

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Check out the ghost of girl group past back on the scene, ya’ll. Here is LaTavia, or as many people called her, the one with the red hair, greeting an Atlanta club crowd. You have to love anyone that’s straight up enough to tell a crowd, “I was tired of being at home, by myself, in this cold ass weather.” You don’t get that type of honesty from Beyoncebot anymore, now do you? Thank you, Grey Goose.

According to the user who posted the video, LaTavia has an album coming. Are you excited? I always thought LaTavia had a Funky Cold Medina quality to her voice, but hey, if Michelle can release an album, why can’t she? Can’t wait to hear “Bug A Boo (The Bill Collector Remix).” You heard it here first.

Does anyone know her MySpace? I’m thinking about hitting her up for a possible collaboration on my album, I Can’t Sing, But I Still Have Platinum Dreams. If she can go on stage and greet a crowd with, “What the f*ck is going on Atlanta?” then she shouldn’t mind being the hook girl to “Kick That Hoe In The Throat.” I’ll even put a Beyonce blow up doll in the video if need be.

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Plans to launch my rap career are coming along just fine, fine, fine, fine. It looks like I have already found my very own Memphis Bleek. Some of you may be wondering why would I choose an elderly white man to be my hypeman. What you should be asking is why wouldn’t I? With him on board I now have a smoother path towards crossing over, as well as a clever way to work my second single, “Crank That Paycheck.” Who else can crank their paychecks better than the dude from NBC News?

And since he’s already rich, I don’t really have to break the bank (or rob one) to pay him. As my lawyer as already informed me, I can pay him in street cred (thank you, Brittany). Look at David spinning — he’s down. He’s getting it better than Mary. This is exactly why Mary has toned it down a little. They’re not requesting “I Can Love You” on The Today Show, but they will be asking me on to appear on stage so they can watch David jig to “AIM Bitches.”

Mark my words.

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The lost boys of B2K seem adamant about continuing on with As The S-Curl Turns. After watching this, I have a greater appreciation for the literates of the world. This video is living proof of the danger of allowing BET to replace Hooked on Phonics for your children.

Every other word in this video is the n-word. They say it so much to the point one wonders if the K in B2K stands for Klansman. Booger or whatever his name is, seems to at least own up to their lackluster vocabulary, telling his group mate – the one that looks like Huey (Dewey or Louie) from Ducktales – that if he was going to reveal intricate details of Chris Stokes’ touch me, tease me themed kids parties, the least he could do is go to a publicist so he won’t sound illiterate.

Darkwing Duck then responds with, “Ya’ll better be lucky I see past all this human sh*t.” Well look who’s suddenly ‘deep’ after watching Def Poetry and reading a couple MySpace bulletins. Oddly enough, I recall in previous webisodes Donald complained about not being allowed entrance into a party Chris Stokes was hosting. I had no idea getting into VIP was still a major concern in the afterlife. The one with the Boriqua hurr chimes in, though I haven’t a clue as to what he’s talking about. Oh well. It could have been worse: Little Debarge might have tried to freestyle.

Anyway, I can’t keep up with this soap opera. In a lot of ways, I feel bad for them. They seem to have been screwed by Chris Stokes, and even if their reality show gets picked up by a network, I don’t see people rushing to buy a B2K album. No one really rushed to get one when it was four of them. I feel even worse that I’ve met nine-year-olds more articulate than them. Can someone please show them how to get to Sesame Street?

As for Uncle Scrooge’s nephew, after recanting a story that clearly had a lot of truth to it, I really don’t get his purpose. He had the chance to become the face of a problem largely ignored in the Black community, but he opts to flip the script and appear on camera with his head cocked to the side (an obvious move to avoid eye contact) and call himself a liar – ruining his credibility and making it even harder for his friends Ricky and Ronnie to get ahead.

The next time you see this dude begging people to take pictures with him in the mall, bump bump bump some sense into him.

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