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B.J. Taylor is the first of the group of her racist Klan to speak with the media on last week’s jumping of WSPA-TV reporter Charmayne Brown.

Brown was reporting on the death of 73-year-old Tommy Howell, who was killed by his grandson, Shane Howell. Family members, including B.J. Taylor, Tousha Smith, Billie Joe Taylor, and Trina Vinson began to yell racial slurs at Brown before they attacked her.

Click here for the video.

Tousha, Billie Joe, and Trina are currently hanging out with Jethrow, Ella Mae, and probably some old retired Reagan staff member at a Union jail as they are being held on assault and battery charges. South Carolina has no law allowing a hate crime charge. Imagine that.

Union, South Carolina is the hometown of Susan Smith. If you recall she murdered her two young children and falsely blamed it on a Black man.

While she apologized for being caught attacking a Black person on-camera, B.J. wanted to assure people that the attacks weren’t racially motivated. Right. Nigger just slipped a couple dozen times because bitch, hoe, or asshole weren’t good enough. Billie Jean, Blow Job, whatever her name is conveniently left out the part about other news teams being on the scene. Guess what color they all were?

I was waiting for B.J. to say, “Nah we likes Black people. We have no problem with them. We watch Oprah. We like Snoop. We even listen to Eminem…he’s kind of Black, ain’t he?”

Well, I don’t know about ya’ll, but I’m not going to let these broke bigots bring me down. I’ll leave you with this:

If a bi-racial butterfly and an ewok can come together and create a song, isn’t there hope for us all?

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Clover Hope had the luxury of interviewing hip hop great turned rhyming crack pipe DMX for XXL recently. I imagine speaking with DMX to be a lot like trying to have a conversation with the homeless man that barks at cars who typically drowns in his own drool.

The interview, in a nutshell: DMX doesn’t care about anything, nor is he following anything. Why? Because he’s so focused on smoking crack right now. I can only imagine how fun transcribing that interview must have been.

The most interesting part of the interview is Clover enlightening DMX about this blog’s resident
candidate of choice.

Are you following the presidential race?
Not at all.

You’re not? You know there’s a Black guy running, Barack Obama and then there’s Hillary Clinton.
His name is Barack?!

Barack Obama, yeah.


What the fuck is a Barack?! Barack Obama. Where he from, Africa?

Yeah, his dad is from Kenya.
Barack Obama?

What the fuck?! That ain’t no fuckin’ name, yo. That ain’t that nigga’s name. You can’t be serious. Barack Obama. Get the fuck outta here.

You’re telling me you haven’t heard about him before.
I ain’t really paying much attention.

I mean, it’s pretty big if a Black…
Wow, Barack! The nigga’s name is Barack. Barack? Nigga named Barack Obama. What the fuck, man?! Is he serious? That ain’t his fuckin’ name. Ima tell this nigga when I see him, “Stop that bullshit. Stop that bullshit” [laughs] “That ain’t your fuckin’ name.” Your momma ain’t name you no damn Barack.

Why is he allowed to roam the streets freely? I hope they don’t let that fool onto the set of 106 & Park. I’d hate to see those kids jump him for trying to steal their iPods.

To be fair: He did make some sense about Lil’ Wayne, then that crack itch kicked back in.

Working on life.
Yeah, working on life.

Are you happy right now?
I don’t wanna be happy.

Why not?

’Cause when you happy you get locked in sleep. You get sleepy happy. I always wanna be on point. I always wanna be aware.

Right, ’cause when you’re happy you think you’re safe and you don’t…
Yeah, you get sleepy happy.

Actually, take a big scoop of Crisco, and pour half a bottle of Grey Goose into a pan full of hot grease: That’s DMX’s brain.

He makes me feel so much better about that crack head that lives down the street from me. The one with no teeth that has picnics (a 40, a Big Mac, and laying on the ground = picnic) across the street from the corner store. His name is Major and DMX makes him look like Will Smith.

The next time I hear him say, “Buy me a beer” I think I just might — all because of DMX.

If they ever bring back D.A.R.E., they need to use this Q&A as a pamphlet.

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Talking About Your Sex Tape

We get it. You are into sexual voyeurism with talentless, Black-peen chasing daughters of famous defense attorneys. Who have you slept with lately? Actually, don’t answer that because I don’t care. Sure, there are obliviously people that do. But for those of us that are trying to figure out what reasons are you relevant outside of making internet porn, we’d like to hear something about you that won’t lead to a follow-up at the clinic. Thanks.

Turning Comic Book Series Into Films

Not even Ed Norton can get me to use my outdated student ID to get a discount to pay for this. Wasn’t there already An Incredible Hulk film that crashed and burn a few years ago? Take the hint. As for Ed: Good luck with your Obama documentary. I imagine that doing much better than this movie.


Both campaigns have now agreed to an April 16 Philadelphia debate, hosted by ABC. Obama, however, is insisting on an April 19 CBS debate as well — in North Carolina. It would be hosted by Katie Couric and Bob Schieffer. Clinton hasn’t accepted the second debate, but Obama spokesman Bill Burton says that Obama won’t make one contingent on the other.

How many times are they going to debate their minimal policy differences for two minutes, then go back-and-forth over healthcare for two hours? Will I watch it? Yes, I’ll be suckered into it out of curiosity. Do I expect to hear anything different from the other 20+ debates? Not in the least.

Reciting Poems on Other People’s Tracks

Must Diddy Puff recite monologues on every Bad Boy artists’ track? Instead of reciting sonnets on Danity Kane’s singles, book an appearance on Def Poetry instead. That or take it back to the shorter, simpler “Take that, take that” days.

Recyling Beats

If I hear one more fake “Irreplaceable” track I’m going to dig into some old rich lady’s purse and book me a flight to Norway, break into Stargate’s studio, and delete that beat off of the computer. You must not know ‘bout me.


I really don’t know what to call it, but stop it. Why does he look like he’s about to go climb the Empire State building?

Recycling Ideas

The CW is developing a spin-off of Aaron Spelling’s teen soap Beverly Hills, 90210, reports The Hollywood Reporter. Veronica Mars creator Rob Thomas is in talks to write the spin-off project about the world’s most popular zip code.

Isn’t that what The OC was? How many pale rich kids with problems does the world need? Come up with something new. Then again, I wouldn’t be surprised if millions of people watch this.


I want to see those last two episodes of The Boondocks, dammit. I’m still waiting to find out if Moesha got pregnant. I don’t need another cliffhanger.

Falling In and Out of “Love”

Even your baby mama is tired of it. Go fall in love with the whooper. Judging from your crown, you and Burger King would make a lovely couple.

Getting Arrested For Dumb S*it

In the trunk, police said they found 29 hollow-point bullets wrapped in a sock and $19,500 rolled in small bundles and hidden in a plastic bag filled with “hundreds of Jolly Rancher” candies.

Why did you have so many Jolly ranchers on you anyway? Diabetes is as real as album pushbacks, LaRon.

Starting Clothing Lines

It’s getting to the point now where people famous for not wearing clothes are starting clothing lines.

And now:

We have people that dress like walking night lights starting clothing lines. Does Ross really need anymore forgotten lines?

Reality Shows

We are this close to having an interracial dwarf couple have a dance-off competition with two bi-curious twins. The madness must be stopped.

Passing Her The Mic

She’s still talking. Who keeps letting her out of Shady Pines?

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It must be so hard to direct a rap video. So many videos girls to choose from. So many bottles to pop. So many chains to floss. So many hip hop video themes to recycle. What is a director to do?

This is video for “Lolipop,” the first single from Lil Wayne’s forthcoming album, which is scheduled for release in May. Right. I’ll believe it when I download it walk by it at Target.

The video looks like “If I Ruled The World: The Ign’t Years.” Don’t ask me why, but I was expecting more. Not that Wayne is known for his cinematic masterpieces, but I was under the impression that his being drugged out seven days out of the week might eventually lead to some creative video treatments.

I guess not.

Get this: I actually like the song. I know, I know. I usually don’t fool with that miniature D.A.R.E. commercial like that, but it’s catchy. Someone must have poured some drank in my juice cup, but what can I say? I’m a sucker for a vocoder.

By the way: R.I.P. Static. He’s featured on both the single and video for “Lolipop” and is behind some of my favorite songs like “Rock The Boat,” “Pony,” “Eyes Better Not Wander,” and “Come Back In One Piece.”

May he rest in peace.

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The more this campaign goes on, the more contempt I have for Hillary Clinton. When her surrogates aren’t suggesting that Barack Obama is a cokehead, her husband is trying to marginalize him as the Black candidate — with his wife dismissing election results where Black people make up a large percentage of the electorate as nothing more than a display of racial pride.

As expected, this race-baiting style of politics that seeks to play off the racial prejudices that linger on in this country in the name of career advancement presses on, despite its growing moments or irony and absurdity. Former Democratic Vice Presidential Candidate and Dorothy Zbornak look-alike, Geraldine Ferraro, has been making waves for her comments about Barack Obama’s front-runner status — arguing that his darker hue is the main factor behind his success.

“If Obama was a white man, he would not be in this position,” she continued. “And if he was a woman (of any color) he would not be in this position. He happens to be very lucky to be who he is. And the country is caught up in the concept.”

Yes, we all know how privileged Black men are in this society. This from the mouth of a person who was nothing more than a token choice based on her estrogen count in a throwaway election against a popular incumbent President twenty fours ago.

Ferraro isn’t doing anything but following Gloria Steinem’s lead in stating that gender is much greater hurdle in this country than race. Steinem has since retracted her statement that gender is the most restricting factor in this country given it was pointed out to her that while Black men were given the right to vote before women, they weren’t exactly greeted with fanfare at the polls.

Dorothy Zbornak: The Remix is sticking to her story:

While I appreciate her honesty about how gender factored into her selection as Mondale’s running mate in ’84, she still sounds like someone who leads a life devoid of reality.

Case in point:

“For one thing, you have the press, which has been uniquely hard on her. It’s been a very sexist media. Some just don’t like her. The others have gotten caught up in the Obama campaign.

Since being criticized for her comments, Ferraro has gone on to say that racism works both ways and that people are now targeting her because she’s white. That pour soul.

To be fair, Hillary Clinton has been a target of sexism. People have questioned her femininity and in the same breath argue that she has to be stronger. Her choices in wardrobe have been debated as has the way she’s chosen to wear her hair. And they are indeed some people who spew venom her way because she is a powerful woman.

But let’s stop pretending.

Hillary Clinton is an ivy league educated upper class white female married to the former President of the United States. If Hillary Clinton ran as Hillary Rodham, would she even be in contention for the Democratic nomination? If she were Hillary Rodham, would she have launched her political career as the junior Senator from New York?

The idea that a wealthy white woman married to the President faces more hurdles than a man of color not born of privilege is laughable and ignores a certain privilege afforded to her.

She has been given a free ride throughout the campaign. Her “vast” experience is as thin as a crackhead in ’88.

While the media has pressed Obama about the Rezko fiasco, little has been said about her husband’s presidential library contributors, and the likely presidential favors that come with them. Unlike every other candidate, she has yet to release her tax returns. Why should she when the media hasn’t pressed her to?

When an Obama adviser branded Hillary a “monster,” the Clinton campaign vehemently called for her removal. However, nothing outside of expressed “regret” as come from the Clinton camp in response to Dorothy Ferraro’s comments. Pennsylvania Governor Ed Rendell’s comments that Pennsylvania voters may not be “ready” to cast their vote for a Black man were glossed over completely.

When she’s not playing victim, she’s usually on the attack, vilifying her opponent to the point where you have to wonder if John McCain managed to wrestle enough pocket change to chip into her fledging campaign.

If the press were being hard on her (or fair), they would chip away at her fabricated experience and point to her actual roles as corporate lawyer, Walmart board member, and the years she spent in the White House keeping the press at bay.

Or maybe they would target her claims as a child advocate on the issue of episodes like these:

But there is a little-known episode Clinton doesn’t mention in her standard campaign speech in which those two principles collided. In 1975, a 27-year-old Hillary Rodham, acting as a court-appointed attorney, attacked the credibility of a 12-year-old girl in mounting an aggressive defense for an indigent client accused of rape in Arkansas – using her child development background to help the defendant.

The more she cries victimhood, the more annoyed I become. She is no victim. She and Ferraro are nothing more than walking, antagonizing examples of affirmative actions main beneficiaries.

I applaud her for trying to be a First Lady of substance, but it’s not as if going on trips to Bosnia with Sinbad has brought us one step closer to world peace. When she’s not crying publicly to plea to female voters for their support, she’s releasing campaign ads featuring women of every color to “Do it for Hillary!” Her campaign is largely based on the successes of her husband, and for a long time relied on him to attack Obama. Is that feminism?

Hillary Clinton is to feminism what Soulja Boy is to hip hop. Her career has very little parallels to the female Senators and Governors who have prospered based on their own records versus those of their husbands. And if she were that much of a hardship candidate, she wouldn’t run her campaign with an air of inevitability.

When Obama wins Mississippi and South Carolina, it’s because he’s the Black candidate. When he wins Wyoming, Utah, Iowa, and North Dakota, these states simply don’t matter. But when Hillary Clinton’s campaign launches racsist divide and conquer tactics to win Texas and Ohio, she is the comeback kid.

The world is so cruel to her.

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There’s a reason why Monica’s last album sold less than a Star Jones and Al Reynolds sex tape.

When she originally hit the scene, she was the sassy teen with the grown up voice. While she may have been a little too young for her too grown attitude to some people (but not to me), her early material was arguably a lot more mature than the material she’s released in recent years – which often sounds like it’s tailored for a future soundtrack to the Maury Povich Show.

I support Monica, but I’m really over her hood obsessions. We get it, Mo: You’re trill. You like glocks, you’re from the trap, and you have a thing for dudes that force you to pawn your gold records to bail out of jail.

What ever happened to the Monica that liked to actually sing about something? It seems these days she’s content with sticking to the same old thug love mantra that’s placed a choke hold on contemporary R&B for the past several years.

This time she’s collaborating on a song with her baby daddy, Rocko, on the song “Thugs Need Love Too.”

How many more thugs need love themed songs does the world need? I thought the world accepted that thugs indeed need love, too, back in ’96?

Perhaps she’s just supporting her man, but in general, I’m tired of rapping, two stepping, hustling-referencing Monica. She’s been singing like someone that just hopped out of bucket of chicken for too long now. It’s old, and clearly not good for business. I bought The Makings of Me, but if she’s going to be dedicating her album to loving an ex-soap on a rope enthusiast again, I’m going to skip out on her album and head to Popeyes.

Can we get this Monica back before she ends up selling mixtapes out of her trunk? Please?

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Although I’ve seen the light (or been popped by the whip, take your pick), I would just like to take the time to say that if you ever thought I was ever too hard on Rihanna, you clearly don’t read the British press.

Nick Hasted of the U.K.’s Independent reviewed Rihanna’s recent concert at London’s O2 arena, and pretty much ripped her to shreds.

The sub-heading of his review was “The Clothes Show.”

Highlights include:

But, watching her walk on in a black spandex fetish jacket, bustier, ultra-hot pants and stiletto boots, you have to wonder who has moulded her success. “Where my ladies at?” she asks, before joining her two similarly clad female dancers in wiggling their bottoms, as a prelude to “Break It Off”. It’s like watching the death of feminism to an R&B beat.

Damn, homie.

Worse for Rihanna, when she poses cocked against the mic stand for “Rehab” as if she’s a torch singer, then draws on her West Indian roots for Bob Marley’s “Is This Love”, the skimpy leatherwear looks ludicrous. Whatever late-night rap channels may feel, Half-Dressed Dominatrix is not an all-purpose style for young female singers.

Well, he sort of has a point, no?

The final irony in Rihanna’s dominatrix look is that this slight Bajan girl, barely out of her teens, seems naturally pliant and nice. It is as if her lithe, dancer’s body has been dressed by older, male hands, to suit their own fantasies. Amy Winehouse’s wild, wilful self-destruction suddenly looks almost healthy.

As a writer, I have to appreciate the brilliance of that last sentence.

Rihanna’s two backing singers, meanwhile, wear more tasteful cocktail dresses, and carry the songs. Her rougher voice cuts across them almost randomly, and is only strong when buffed by effects. Look at the video screens, and you can admire Rihanna’s looks, and diamond-encrusted mic. Look at the stage, and her real performance has no charisma, no defining persona. She could be a mannequin, or a hopeful rap video extra.

Ouch. Note that I only called her a pop star in a can, not a lifeless doll.

“Shut Up and Drive” sees Formula 1 flags and pit-babe outfits. It seems amazing that the young crowd are sitting still for this misbegotten mess, until I realise that they have seen it on American television. From American Idol to Oscar night, Rihanna is offering the kind of tackiness that still passes as mainstream showbiz in the US; which, for many, pop is now reduced to.

I kind of resent this. I mean, it’s not like Spice World was a cinematic masterpiece.

She returns for the encore lounging on a zebra-striped chaise longue, and lets the crowd sing much of “Umbrella”, an R&B power ballad as old-fashioned as everything else tonight. It’s like punk, disco, and the 21st century never happened.

I’m glad she has solid security now.

Ok, his sarcasm aside, while I have warmed up to Rihanna, I think the writer does make some valid points. One thing I always took issue with her was that I didn’t feel like her image was the “real Rihanna” as she claimed. Her new “bad girl” image seemed contrived – no doubt the brainchild of some male A&R rep with a thing for S&M.

There could very well be some 19-year-old’s in touch with their inner nympho, but didn’t the whips and chains seem like a bit much too soon?

She’s still the fliest, but style aside, what do you make of the writer’s comments on her voice and stage act?

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It seems like Puffy finally decided to dig into his pockets to pull out just enough lint to throw Danity Kane a bone and give them a video. Better late than never when you’re signed to Bad Boy, I suppose.

I actually heard this song on the radio (on the hip hop station that plays screw in the middle of the afternoon, no less) — I like it. What? Were expecting me to bash it? I like these chicks. They really work hard to be stars (take note, Kelly Rowland), and they sing really well. The only thing I have to say about the song doesn’t relate to them: Does Diddy Puff ever shut up? This man makes sure he hiccups on every single track that’s released, doesn’t he? Can they live?

As for the video: Three seconds into the video I got the urge to ‘spice up my life.’ I gather the director sought inspiration from Barbie or maybe:

Totally outrageous. The video is cool, a little dated, but I wish them well. They’re so nice. No need to bash them when they’re are so many no-talent illiterates in the world of music who are more worthy targets. Besides, they’re a girl group that actually passes the mic. When’s the last time you’ve seen a girl group where the lead singer isn’t boss hogging the mic.

I actually feel bad for them. I imagine the bonus you’re given once you sign to Bad Boy is similar to a pawn shop loan: you think you’re in the money, but all you’ve really done is sign your credit score away. Sometimes I wonder if a Bad Boy contract comes with a Section 8 application. I’d rather divide my $10 and mail them to the members of Danity Kane individually. No telling what baby mama payment, or wave juice Puffy will spend their residuals on.

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It’s hard to be sympathetic towards someone who talks as if he sucks his own dick –especially if you refuse to sip the Vicks and fully get behind the hype. Although he’s become somewhat of a regular target on this blog, the more I look at Lil’ Wayne, the more I want to pity him rather than mock him. He probably could give a less ___ about my pity, and would likely point to his wallet to smack some reality into me. But that would be the same response I regularly hear from all the 20-something (or younger) club goers strung out on pills, powder, or both that swear that they’re on cloud nine and that the drugs they’re on are just pushing them a little higher than they already feel.

Towards the end of this segment, MTV switches its focus from Wayne’s community activities to his now infamous lean habit. But, if you keep up with his press (or some of his songs), you know Wayne’s affinity for drugs doesn’t begin and end with codeine. He takes uppers; he takes downers; his nostrils are starting to bear resemblance to a certain red and white can.

It’s a shame that someone that’s gone from the bottom on totem pole at Cash Money to the last man standing might jeopardize his place in history because he can’t kick a habit.

It’s even worse that a man praised for breaking the mold in hip hop might end up as nothing more than another act to commit one of music’s biggest clichés.

In most of the interviews I’ve seen of him over the last year, he often speaks in incoherent ramblings where he slurs his words, sounding as if he needs a pillow and/or detox.

There he is, standing there with a Styrofoam cup in hand, drinking his future away as he openly boasts of a habit that’s already killed a huge portion of Houston’s rap community.

“It’s not bad, it’s really for people with colds…like a really bad cold. It’s like Robitussin to the 30th power.”

Forget the itch: Lil’ Wayne’s got the seven year sniffles.

As for people who dare suggest that Wayne let go of certain bad habits, Wayne Winehouse shares his wisdom on the matter:

Do your history, do your research,” he vented. “It ain’t that easy — feels like death in your stomach when you stop doing that sh–. You gotta learn how to stop, you gotta go through detox. You gotta do all kinds of stuff. Like I said, I’m a selfish-ass n—a. I feel like everything I do is successful and productive. It’s gonna be hard to tell me I’m slipping. It’s hard to sit and tell a n—a ‘Stop.’ ‘F—, how can we tell this n—a to stop when every f—ing thing he do is successful?

What I think Wayne and others like him fail to own up to is that happy people aren’t high all the time. They’re not on Xanax, they’re not writing odes to extasy, and they’re not dropping hints on wax that they’re miserable, hence the foray into mood-altering substances. We all have our vices, and sometimes those vices make it difficult for anyone to step in and tell someone else how they should live. But what’s the point in keeping silent if you know one’s man’s vice is another man’s death wish?

Over the weekend, I went into the restroom of a club and noticed a group of people doing lines of coke inside of a stall. It wasn’t a surprise, given that a bunch of people outside of the bathroom were already into their weekend ritual of pill popping their away into outer space. I knew one of the people coming out of the stall. I noticed a while ago that he always wore shades – no doubt trying to hide the obvious.

He, like other addicts, be it drugs, alcohol, or their own hype, could come up with a bevy of reasons as to why their lives are so great, and how happy they are. Most of these reasons are rooted in materialism and delusions of grandeur. As for their unacknowledged addiction goes, it’s only “to get them through the weekend” or assist them in their momentary “escape.” And if you question whether this will hurt them in the long run, they, like Wayne, will point out how well they’re doing in an effort to justify their resistance to changing.

Stepping back onto the dance floor, it wasn’t long before Wayne started playing. As the most popular and visible emcee in the game, it’s no surprise that he typically draws the biggest reaction out of people. With rhymes reeking of self-indulgence and self-congratulatory sentiments, it’s the perfect soundtrack for people trying to convince themselves into thinking they’re on top of the world versus being willing prisoners of their own drug-supported guises.

Wish I can give you this feeling that I feel like buying
And if my dealer don’t have no more, then I feel like dying

It seems that behind all his defensive talk on camera, deep down he knows the deal. I wonder if/when he’ll ever do something about it.

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So Chris Brown took to Youtube to accuse MediaFakeOut of distorting the pictures of the dance off he had in Germany. If he in fact was just dancing in those pictures, he’s a far better actor than This Christmas let on. He also took the time to deny reports of an “engagement ring” given to Rihanna. Personally I’m still skeptical that R&B’s top gymnast and my new favorite nympho are an item. If anyone’s dating each other, it’s their publicists. Anyway, just wanted to post this to be fair.

One last thing: Is it me or does Chris Brown make Beyonce sound like Barack Obama?

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