The Week In 10

It’s been a minute, but it’s time to bring The Week in 10 back.

Off we go:


1. Mariah Carey and Nick Cannon announced plans to throw a big bash in celebration of their one year wedding anniversary. For those of you who thought Mariah would run Nick Cannon ragged and force him to file an annulment three weeks after revealing they wed, I bet you’re single (or your invitations didn’t show). So am I, but hey, I’m not hating. The two are also planning to buy a mansion worth $125 million. Must be nice.


2. Ciara decided to give Beyonce a dose of her own medicine by biting her look. Despite her channeling her inner Cici Fierce, all she did was give us another reason to laugh at her wack ass and remind of us why Beyonce is on top and why she needs Justin to score a cheap hit.

She also leaked a clip of her new video, which looks a lot like a fake ass version of “Kitty Kat.” Ciara proves yet again that she just doesn’t get it. She could offer a free coupon for a free trip inside of her with each copy of Fantasy Ride and the shit will still flop.


3. It turns out that two other members of the one hit wonder 90s group, Soul IV Real, were fraud ass frauds, too. Lost boys of B2K, and functioning illiterates of Pretty Ricky, meet your future if you don’t find a financial planner and Dr. Suess.

Via That Bitch.

4. Barack Obama really needs to get rid of his treasury secretary, then answer whether or not being the second largest recipient of campaign contributions from AIG has influenced any of his policies.

5. By banning all Palestinian cultural events that acknowledge Jerusalem’s historical links to Arab culture, Israel has discovered yet another way to point a gun at itself.

6. LeToya Luckett shows how to come across as funny and likable in an interview.

Keri Hilson’s dry, Mya-like way of interviewing, not so much.

7. Some suggests that a recently released excerpted quoted from Queen Latifah suggests that she’s publicly acknowledging her inner Cleo.

8. Bebe Winans is allegedly the Chris Brown of gospel.

9. R.I.P., Natasha Richardson.

10. Author and eternally pregnant Neffe overestimates her stature in the media. She also seems to forget that Keyshia bought her a house, and thus, does help take care of her.

By the way:

“God Blessed her w/ 8 children?”

You mean God and a petri dish. Why do people keep putting them not using birth control and condoms properly on God? God didn’t push you on your back and told you to spread ‘em. He’s got bigger fish to fry: Like preventing elected goons and the executives that bought them their position from oblierating the world’s economy and putting us all in bread lines.

But, of course, she get it from her mama:

This is why crackheads typically aren’t encouraged to drink. But, it should be pointed out that she dances better than her kids.

Until next Monday, ya’ll.

Fool That I Am

To counter some of the inane anthems I’ve posted lately, I wanted to share this. I stumbled along this months ago, and I listen to it often — particularly when I’m feeling a certain kind of way. I tend to move towards the more melancholy tracks from time to time and this is one of my favorites. Etta James’ version is fantastic, but I think Adele does a great job of capturing the mood of the song and adding her own special spin to it.

I really enjoy Adele. Not many people can do convincing covers let alones ones spanning genre’s. She’s done Sam Cooke, Etta James, and of course, Bob Dylan on her album. If you haven’t paid her any mind, you ought to. I love her. Sad to say, unless Amy Wino embraces rehab and a McRib, there’s no telling if we’ll ever get another album out of her. If that day never comes, I think Adele will suit my interests just fine. She’s like Amy only with legal meds.

I can sing-a-long to it, dance to it at the club, but overall I’m pretty bored with contemporary R&B music and really hope the likes of Maxwell, D’Angelo, and Erykah Badu are serious about dropping new albums this year. One fashion of R&B/Soul doesn’t have to replace the other — things just shouldn’t be so lopsided.

When it comes to soul music these days, it’s mainly the ones over the pond staying true toe tradition. Ain’t that peculiar. In any event, enjoy!

Bobby B.


So we’re clear: I’m likely to blog about any and every new ign’t dance that comes out from now until the wheels fall of on this site. Someone referred to me as a ghetto bird for this, but I resent that. I may like dances from people who act as if they should come with a biscuit, but I’m a fucking classy guy.

Many thanks go out to the reader from Dallas who let me know that the dance is ‘Bobby B’ and not ‘Bobby V.’ As soon as I read that I went straight to YouTube and looked for the dance. This is my new favorite song in the entire world — at least until the next one drops in a week or so.

If you can make out the gibberish Dunn Deal would call lyrics, you’re likely to catch a couple of references to the Kang of R&B. Some of you may be new to The Cynical Ones, but let it be known that I love Bobby Brown. “Roni” is one of my favorite songs in the entire world, and “Rock Wit Cha,” “On Our Own,” and “My Prerogative” still earn rotation on my iPod.

I even like singing “Thug Lovin’” whenever I have strep throat. I think it’s great that Bobby Brown has his own little ode now. He deserves it. Usher may have more money, a wife who could double as his bodyguard, and more success, but he doesn’t have his own jig, so who’s really Mr. Entertainment?

One day I hope to have my own little ign’t dance created in my honor. Something that is themed around getting low, raising your drink, and throwing your hood up. Yeah, that would be great.

Though I love this song now and am so glad I found the mp3, I have to admit after a couple of other videos I became a little hesitant to fully embrace the Bobby B.

There are a lot of things wrong with this video. The first would be his head and why it looks like it belongs in another decade. The second would be why his shirt looks like it was designed by McDonalds’ ad department. Then there is the way he’s doing the dance.

It looks like my dougie and a double stanky legg. There’s a little too much going on. I refuse to get a gumby and do the most like homie in the clip. Thankfully, I spotted another one.

Much better. This dance is way better than the previous two I mentioned. The Halle Berry looks a little too project AKA-ish and the Ricky Bobby reminds me of being a crossing guard back in elementary.

Please keep the dances coming, ya’ll. I plan to jig at my wedding, my divorce, and my funeral should I get special permission.

Help Me: Christina Milian

Dear Michael,

Heeeeeeeeeey, Mike.

It’s me. Christina Milian. OMG, so many things are happening. I’m sure you’ve heard by now, but just incase you haven’t I’ve made a new friend. I believe you know him.

Ahh! I know right. It’s crazy. I’m signed to his label, Radio Killa. I really think he can take me to the next level. We have such great chemistry together.

Of course everyone thinks we’re a couple now. It’s so silly. I have no idea why the thought would enter their minds. I guess when two people gel so well together people naturally assume that they’re together.

But I’m so excited to be working with him. He has been killing the game for a while now. Radio Killa! Heeeey! Sorry just felt like saying it again. I’m super excited about the future now.

Have I mentioned that people think we’re dating? And that we’re engaged. It’s so crazy how the blogs are suddenly paying attention to me non-stop about a silly little thing like that.

Is that what gets attention these days? It’s ridiculous. What about talent? What about heart?

Wait what about this picture? Do we look like a couple in it? I mean, not that it matters, because I totally don’t want people giving me attention for this. But let’s just play along and say that we are a couple, how do we look together? And what’s the contact info to Crunk + Disorderly, Bossip, Concrete Loop, and Media Take Out again? I’d love to get their opinions about it.

Oooh, and can you send me Necole Bitchie’s link, too? I mean, gotta get everyone’s opinion? Let’s see, who did I leave out?

After I send this pic and ask each blogger if we look like a couple, I’m totally going to set them straight and inform them that Christina Milian only wants to be known for one thing – my music.

Ugh. Did I mention yet how The-Dream and I hate this picture? The-Dream and I have so many other pictures together that look much better than this shot.

Like that one. The-Dream and I love this pic. We look great together in this picture – kind of like a couple, but really not because you know, I’m not ENGAGED TO THE-DREAM. THE-DREAM AND I ARE JUST FRIENDS.

We make music together. Music that is coming soon. That’s right Christina Milian brought to the world by The-Dream. Radio Killa! Hehehe. Sorry, just had to say it again.

Oh, yeah, I’m writing you for help, right? OK, let’s see, I really want to make it this time. They say the third time is the charm, and three is the square root of the number of chances I’ve been given to blow up so maybe things will finally pay off!

I mean, I’m working with The-Dream now!

That’s just a taste of what’s coming. OMG. Are you ready? Radio Killa!

Bye….gonna go work on material with The-Dream!

Christina Milian (friend of The-Dream)

Dear Christina,

I think you’re a cute girl who can dance her ass off, but musically, I think you should have retired years ago and tried to get a sitcom.

It’s not my place to tell someone to quit, so if you’re a glutton for punishment, by all means, keep on going. Maybe The-Dream can give you a couple of hits…on Billboard, that is.

But, if I’m being honest I believe your time to shine came and went several years ago.

This is when you should have blown up. Then you came with that Disney channel inspired single and Ashanti came and took your spot.

Then you had that chance when “Dip It Low” drop. That was a dope video. You truly are a great dancer. Yet, you blew that one, too.

Oh and when you were given another chance and offered “S.O.S.” you turned it down.

You see how that panned out.

And now you want to try again. Here is the world’s reaction to word of a new Christina Milian album.

It’s been eight years now. You’re kind of like the female Ray-J in that once in a blue moon you may score a hit song, but you’ll never have a hit album. Fortunately, albums are starting to become less and less relevant.

That could give you an opportunity to give people a reason to give a damn, but I doubt it. You may get another hit here and there, but those big solo star dreams evaporated when Ashanti cooed baby 89 times in a single song and dried out completely when Rihanna rolled around in Beyonce’s old tracks.

If you fail again, I’m sure you could find another producer to “befriend,” but is it the production value or is it that we just don’t care that much.

Who knows, but good luck with Teddy Graham.

Listening to a Beyonce album and thinking, “Thank God she’s not you!”

Michael

Defeat That Debt

With all due respect to Dr. Phil, when I read his advice to those drowning in debt, I wanted his money back. I thought his shtick was that he’s tough – a real straight shooter who drills the point into the heads of people.

While I do understand the emotional problems associated with some shopaholics, others are simply trifling and need to be called on it.

And before you remind me, yes, I myself deserve a tongue lashing for my own financial pitiful; however, I was only trying to get an education. I didn’t get into debt trying to live suburban dreams with section 8 income.

I only took one class in psychology, and have entertained the idea of stripping for supplemental income, but I’ve caught a few episodes of Suze Orman so I think I can offer some solid advice so here we go:

Actually, if you want to read the rest, can you please go here. Yes, this is my attempt at solicting you to go read my recession blog at The Root. Please do, and then get someone else to do it, too. I like it, so I think you’ll like it, too.

A few people have told me that they have tried to register and leave comments and encountered some trouble. Yeah, they’re working on that. In the meantime, should you feel compelled, please try again. Smile. Thank you.

I Got A Finger For You


Are some Germans naturally predisposed to pissing off every other race and ethnicity on Earth or do they really not get it?

Sprehe, a German food company are the makers of the Obama-fingers. It’s basically chicken strips and some dipping sauce (curry). A spokesperson for the company said:

“We noticed that American products and the American way of eating are trendy at the moment,” Judith Witting, sales manager for Sprehe, told SPIEGEL ONLINE. “Americans are more relaxed. Not like us stiff Germans, like (Chancellor Angela) Merkel.”

Since when is fried chicken trendy eating? If they were basing their products on the trendy eating habits of Americans, they’d be selling Ramen noodles, peanut butter, and fast food off the dollar menu. Pick up a newspaper, Judith and get with it.

Or maybe a history book. It hadn’t dawned on anyone in the company that some people may interpret their Obama fingers as them racially stereotyping President Obama.

Judith said: “It was supposed to be a homage to the American lifestyle and the new US president.”

The connection between this and fried chicken historically being linked to Black folk in the U.S. never came across her mind. Maybe a pink slip should.

I shouldn’t be mad about this. I ought to ignore this for the most part the same way I did the New York Post editorial cartoon. But, I can’t help but think I should dip my middle finger in curry sauce, snap a picture of it, and send it to everyone who works at this company.

There had to at least be one person around who thought: “Sie dumm fuhrt.” That’s German for “you stupid head.” Thank you, Google. Too bad I couldn’t find a translation for “you’s a dumb ass.” Or “Black folk ’bout to cuss ya’ll smooth out.”

It’s bad enough we’ve already made Obama such a commodity to be bought and sold. Between the bootleg t-shirts, handmade dolls, soap-on-ropes, and even thongs I’m getting Obama overkill. He is President of the United States yet the world has turned him into the Beyonce of politics. Any day now someone is going to splice his speeches and put them over soul beats and shill Obama mixtapes. And now, they’ll be able to eat chicken with it as they bob their heads.

The worst part of it all is the chicken looks nasty as hell.

The Name Game

This post continues to be the standard bearer, but the more I hear about these creatively crazy names from family and friends, the more I think I need to start making this a regular feature. I got a text yesterday about a child named Sjondarian Bland.

What is a Sjondarian Bland?

My browser’s spell-check wanted to call him Sanitarian or Secondarily.

The name could be based on generic wine. Perhaps it’s inspired by an STD, or maybe it falls under the standard faux-French fuck up of a name so many Black people like to give their children.

Why do people continue to do this to their kids? The minute a name like that is spotted on a birth certificate is the minute you leave the room and call CPS. Better yet, call CPS in front of the mother. Make them understand how wrong they are.

If your aim is to ruin your child for life for ruining your figure, you can actually still do worse than Sjondarian. Let’s play a game of screw a child. No R. Kelly.

LeBlaknmil
Gonna’reeah
Wii’pop Champane
Jaiizee
Betada-Yontada Say
Birfcontral
Nuvo
Randim
Biore
Twitta

That’s all I got right now. I should probably make a run to Popeyes for inspiration. I’m playing: I really just want some chicken strips and a biscuit with grape jelly and/or honey. But I bet if I go on Tuesday when it’s the two piece special for .89 cents, I’ll get some good names.

I know you want to play along, so come on. :) And if have have some names, please pass them along to me.

By the way, noot to be stereotypical, but Sjondarian is currently in custody. I’m just saying…

I Jig, Not Jerk

I heard about this dance while out at happy hour with a friend on Sunday. Before you even say it: Shocker that a discussion about a dance that looks like this came about in the presence of alcohol.

I know I make it a habit to at least be aware of every new retarded dance that’s out, but I don’t like this one at all.

1. I’m too tall for all of that. I don’t mind getting low, but my body is not a homemade trampoline. Either we’re going to drop it low, pick it real slow, or maybe even drop it, pick it up, then drop it again. But when you’re asking me to drop it, stay there, then move around like I’m going through an invisible obstacle course, we have a problem.

2. There is no jig in this dance. This made me suspicious that the dance is not based in the South. That’s also a problem, because well, our ign’t dances are better than yours. They just are. You know it. I know it. That’s why you always end up doing ours while we refused to chicken noodle soup. We only did the lean back while we waited for the bartender to hurry up with our drink.

3. The beat sucks. Another sign that this didn’t originate in the South. Judging from the comments, this may have come out of the Midwest. I have friends from the Midwest, so I’ll play nice. I will say, though, this is not what’s up. At all.

4. Why is it called the jerk? Isn’t that something our parents or young grandparents used to dance to? If I saw my mama sneaking off to do this, I refuse. Then again, they’re not going to play this in Houston, which means I’ll be spared when I make a trip home.

5. It looks like you have to wear skinny jeans to do this dance. So between joining a yoga class just to get flexible enough to do half those stretches involved in the dance, I have to choke my balls out. Hell nawl, ya’ll.

This is exactly why someone needs to tell me who came up with dance #18 of the Dallas boogie, the Bobby V. A friend told me about on Saturday, but I haven’t been able to find a video on YouTube.

Someone help me out. Look at the title of this entry again. I can’t do this jerk stuff.

Let Them Breathe

It only takes about an hour to surf the web to get the sense that the internets is full of embittered jackasses. What I didn’t know is that I seem to follow all of the same sites that they do.

Over the weekend while in search of stories for the paying gigs I came across an article about a celebrity and in the comments section someone wrote, “Bitch die already!!!!”

Yikes. Really? Is it that tight on you that you wish them dead?

Now, I’ve been tempted to ask a person, “Why aren’t you dead yet once?” however that’s different: He was a relative, and one who brings a lot of misery into people’s lives. My comment is equally in poor taste, but my anger stemmed from something personal. I’m not asking essentially a stranger to drop dead because I can’t stomach the site of them.

And this actually isn’t the first time I’ve seen that. I’ve peeped it online through blogs and message boards for a long time, but for some reason or the other it stuck out to me over the weekend.

When you want to wish a person dead for gracing the cover of a magazine, or starring in a movie that you didn’t put any money in, or releasing the wrong single, you need to call 1-800-MyAss-IsCrazy. I’m not sure if that’s a real number, but if it isn’t, I’ll try to set that up and take phone calls after 9 p.m.

No really, go hug someone or at the very least, turn on CNN or MSNBC (or Fox News, if you must – but I’m judging you) and send that negative energy to the people that might turn America into a Chinese flea market.

I admittedly am not the best person to talk about ways of dealing with stress, but if you’re feeling a certain kind of way, let’s do this together:

Ideally, I wanted to post a clip of Whitley Gilbert saying, “Relax, Relate, Release.”

Yeah, couldn’t find it so this will have to do. I actually liked this song anyway. Enjoy and stop trying to kill folks. 

Kid Fierce


Judging from some of the comments I’ve read in recent months, there are a few readers here who seem to have a problem with ‘the ghey.’ Being the kind gent I am, instead of being mindful of some people’s sensitivities (or prejudices) and avoiding the topic at all cost, I’d rather post pictures like this and cause some to go blind — or at least cockeyed for an hour or so.

Anyhow, Beyonce has finally landed the cover of Vogue. I don’t read Vogue, but I know only the White House and broadcast television best this magazine in the age old American pastime, “Who Wants to Avoid A Negro?” So, two back-to-back Black covers is a big deal, so go you, Beyonce.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, this post isn’t really about her. It’s about the kid who clearly stole her shine in the above shot.

Lil’ homie is giving it, ain’t he? I didn’t even notice Beyonce at first. Folks can keep pretending gay people weren’t invented until 1996, but there’s no way you can convince me that “bitch please, this is my shot” posture isn’t innate. Not every gay is that way, but I don’t expect this kid to get married to a woman and coach his son’s football team — although he may have tackled a Keri Hilson fan recently.

Here’s an excerpt from the article:

As the kids are being put through their paces by a choreographer, Beyoncé makes a surprise entrance in a full-length purple gown. It slowly dawns on them that Beyoncé is standing right in front of them, and their faces are like little contained explosions. One of the only boys, Chris, actually fans his face with his hands as if he is about to faint.

Who wants to guess which kid is Chris?