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Forgive me if I’m guilty, but is it wrong to automatically rule out a song called ” Hey Daddy (Daddy’s Home)” when it’s common knowledge that the daddy in question is currently changing the diapers of two little kids?


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In an old white man made a politically incorrect statement on national TV news, Chris Matthews has managed to steer some of the attention away from President Obama with his on-air revelation that for an hour he forgot what box the President would check off on his census forms as he delivered the State of the Union address.

For those of you unfamiliar with the name Chris Matthews here’s a sample offering of the gold he dishes out weekdays on Hardball which airs at 5:00 PM EST on MSNBC (cut the check, MSNBC…a plug is a plug):

Those of us familiar with the show aren’t the least bit surprised that Chris managed to mouth this off with a straight face. These sorts of comments are very typical of him. Chris seems to have an affinity for speaking without being bogged down by the tedious task of thinking first. His heart may have been in the right place, but his tongue obviously opted to go in another direction.

I can imagine how many of you reacted to this clip:

1. First, you take a second to try and make sure your ears aren’t deceiving you and ask yourself, “What did that muthafucka just say?” Then you put that cup down to raise your middle finger.


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I had it all planned out. I was going to write a blog about snobbery. How wrong it is, how even I sometimes slip up and engage in behavior unbecoming of someone who wants everyone on the planet to love me and throw their money behind my work, and why we all need to take a little step back and give people the benefit of the doubt. Or at the very least, try to be more understanding.

And then I read three stories this morning that have me revisiting my argument. Not that it’s changed, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just tempted to start a “Damn You Dumb Asses” t-shirt line.

The first story details how Tisha Campbell’s sister has named her new born baby Nina Minaji Campbell.


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It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that these folks are beefin’ over the recent Supreme Corp. (that’s not a typo) decision that corporations have free speech rights as granted in the First Amendment of the Constitution, and therefore are free to make it rain without restraints on the U.S. electoral system.

Obviously, that Minnesota woman carrying the shovel didn’t appreciate homeboy’s quip that we need to send out a special prayer to Ronald Reagan for leaving us with this staunchly conservative and pro big business court. I might have been tempted to swing batter batter on that ass, too, after a statement like that.

I’m sure if Trick Daddy’d lil’ cousin would have behaved himself better than there would have been no need to pull out the weapon. Lucky for him the subject of Obama’s proposed spending freeze didn’t come up. I imagine the conversation might have shifted quickly to an impromptu NRA rally had that happened.

Or maybe I’m out of my damn mind and just need to accept that this is just another instance of hood shit – only in the presence of white shit on the ground.

But, isn’t my scenario much more fun?

I saw this clip yesterday and just knew I had to use it, but I couldn’t think of a good reason why. Then I woke up this morning and starting pursuing the usual sites and it hit me: “Damn, I sure want to hit a lot of people right now.”

Not with a shovel, though. I can’t afford the court fees right now. Rent is due on the 1st. Ya’ll understand.

I wouldn’t mind smacking some sense into a few people with a fly swatter, though.

Sounding off:

1. The Supreme Court

On what parallel universe is the plight of the corporation comparable to that of the slave? That assassin comparison by Republicans aside, have we not already seen the damage big business does to the electoral process? I already think most voters are uniformed twits (maybe not most, but surely the ones who were ready to riot if the State of the Union preempted the premiere of Lost). Now it’s going to be all the more easier for companies to slap a jingle, jig, and big face on a campaign ad and fuck shit up for the rest of us.

I won’t wish illness on anyone, but I wouldn’t be mad if Samuel Alito, Clarence Thomas, Antonin Scalia all caught a case of the Benjamin Buttons so they can be replaced by someone with some damn sense.

2. Kelly Rowland

I really want to route for this girl, but you’re not going to get far stateside performing like this. Not that I managed to watch the full thing or anything. Even I’m not that big a masochist. Try to give her two minutes of your time and you’ll see what I mean. I’m happy she’s got the “give us free” grin on her face after sending her Mathew on his way, but c’mon nah, Kelly. I’ve never heard that big a crowd so silent.

3. Lil’ Kim

This girl looks like suki yaki hot saki soup…you sock it to me…I’ll sock it to you with Martha Washington’s foundation. Black history month is coming up, people. Someone pull this talented lady to the side, pull out the swatter and smack the black pride into her.


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I’m seriously beginning to question whether my blog readers love me. This song has been out for at least a year and I’m only now just finding out about it? What gives, folks? Is this punishment for not blogging enough?

To make matters worse, this song is obviously from Baldamo. One of my best friends is from Baldamo, but do I get a heads-up? No. I thought you were my dog “doug,” man.

Before I go any further I’ll at least say it’s nice to know there are songs out there that don’t discriminate in who gets to twirk to them. A lot of songs only call for a certain aesthetic to jig along. But with “Hit It To The Beat” you can be any size, any complexion, and not have a lick of rhythm in you yet if you’re willing to bend over, hey, this one’s for you.

People coming together under a shared disinterest in maintaining any sort of decorum in a public setting whenever an an overtly sexual song starts blaring from the speakers: My country ’tis of thee.

Oh and I must say I appreciate the lyric, “‘Take the condom off? @#$%! outta here!”

Good to know in a metropolitan area flooded with mysterious rashes, bumps, urinal burns, and fledgling immune systems there are still people out there aware of sexual health.

That said, I think my left eye just caught chlamydia from watching this.

This video was posted under the heading, “WHERE ARE THE PARENTS?”

To answer their question: Probably at the whole in the wall doing the same damn moves to “Doo Doo Brown.”

I want to join in the chorus that this type of dancing is a bit much, but then I quickly thought about my own dance antics over the years. Would I be a hypocrite if I said this is way too much even though someone once described my dancing as, “Yeah, Mike, you dance like the first of the month and rent is due?”

Maybe so, but in this instance, I’ll be that. What’s going on in this video is way over the top.

I may have swung under rails, broke a couple dozen people off, used a fence inappropriately outside of a club around 5:00 a.m., and dropped it in a kitchen during a house party over the weekend, but I can’t say I’ve ever done anything like this at a club.

These folks are literally fucking on camera inside of a club. And even if I did simulate sex while dancing, it was very likely it was with a women and ya’ll know that doesn’t count. I get the feeling if I were standing inside of this house of hoe shit I’d notice a lot of dents in the wall, a poodle in select spots, and a smell that would probably ruin my after club appetite.

That means unless you’re getting paid for this (not that I condone prostitution, but I understand the recession has brought out the Nevada in people) and are at peace with your local free clinic and/or gynecologist, I can’t and you shouldn’t either.

P.S. If you have the mp3, you should still share it, though. I mean, I still don’t think you should be on all fours having pound puppy sex in public, but I do like club music sometimes.

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Now that it’s been an official year since I’ve moved my jig to LA I can say that the city is uh, you know, like, I don’t know, eh, cool? Yeah, let’s go with cool. Once I’m making enough money to be able to twirk on the rooftop of The London to UGK on my own dime then I’ll try one of the L-words to describe my feelings on the city.

However, one thing I don’t like about California is that it’s as a desperate as the groupie section of VIP at a given club during All-Star Weekend. I’m surprised the state motto hasn’t been changed to, “I’ll suck yo dick…if you can help balance the budget.”

Seriously, I know they say you can’t knock the hustle but I surely can knock some of the ways the state and its citizens try to make some much needed cash. No worries, I’m not about to rant the two tickets I wrongly got and will be contesting (the meter was broke and I didn’t run the light, you liars).

No, instead I’m going to highlight something my sister brought to my attention yesterday.

Say there, Angelenos (thank God for Google and Wikipedia – I didn’t know what to call ya’ll), is there really a tour bus for the gang scene out here?

Indeed there is and for $65 you can tour South Central, visit with Bloods and Crips, and treat yourself to a real LA-gang life experience.

My initial reaction to the idea of paying to take a field trip to the hood was:

Then I wondered just who the hell would pay for this?

Silly me, why even ask when you know: The melanin-challenged and their color-limited friends with thick accents of various European origins.


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I only remember who Kiely Williams is for two reasons. One, she’s a Cheetah Girl and at one time my oldest niece was obsessed with them. To the point where I watched their movies over and over again. And then again and again and again. But, I didn’t complain — at least she didn’t want to watch Maury.

The other reason is that a friend of mine once sent me a video and mp3 of “Neva Get Enuf” to prove Kiely’s other group, 3LW, had a lick of talent and some decent songs. For the record, the song was cool but it reminded me of why I always looked to her and every group that she belonged to as “kiddie.”

Which is why this song has thrown me off.

“Last nite I was drunk, I don’t remember much, but what I do constantly picture is just how gone I was [paraphrasing — she’s mumbling]. But he was tall and was buying, so I gave him a trying and said he was built like a stallion…and that man wasn’t lying.

Last I remember I was face down, ass up, clothes off, broke off. Even though I’m not sure of his name he can get it again if he wanted cause the sex was spectacular.”

And if you listen to the track you’ll note she then she proceeds to moan like Brittany the Chippette during an extasy inspired orgy with Alvin.

You can’t go from Disney to free clinic in this short amount of time. It needs to be gradual. Why? Because there’s no way in hell I’d let me niece listen to this and overtly sexual subject matter alone won’t garner an adult’s attention.

Everything these days is oversexualized. To the point now where X-rated songs can seem more desperate than shocking among listeners. It’s not fair for me to tell Kiely to stay singing to tweens, but it’s not wrong to suggest she brainstorm over the best way to describe activity between her legs.

It’s certainly not the introduction included on the YouTube page for this video:

Kiely Williams Ex Cheetah Girl has now become a Cheetah Woman.She holds nothing back as she now breaking into her own person and showing the world how versatile she can be.This pop,techno song is definitely going to be a club-banger.

I feel for those who automatically assume talking about sex makes you a grownup and easily more interesting. I pity those who still believe selling sex automatically breds success. My friend and great writer, Clover Hope, eloquently expressed a sentiment I constantly share (and hope people finally get) in her most recent piece for the Village Voice:

We know that most of America prefers their pop stars provocative. (Pazz & Jop voters, too, though they define “pop star” differently: Their alpha female was Neko Case, who imagined herself as both a tornado and a man-eater, and threatened to “punch you in your face.”) It’s the reason Madonna and Janet and now Lady Gaga found success as sex goddesses constantly offending the status quo. But the constant in those cases is great songs—sexuality is secondary, though it’s made to seem prime.

Based on what I’ve seen Kiely’s a good dancer and would probably make for a good performer (she entertained my niece and her friends for several years anyway). Her voice, while not breathtaking, is no worse than the other crows out there pretending to be songbirds.

But if she thinks selling sex alone will give breathe life into her post-Cheetah Girl career, she’ll be waiting longer than Naturi’s replacement for the next 3LW album.

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Speaking ill of President Obama is a good way to get cursed out by your favorite auntie, but in reviewing his first year in office I believe one can’t help but note some of the obvious disappointments.

So, in a new piece for AOL’s Sphere, I did just that. Moreover, I pointed to how said disappointments affect Obama’s stock with the youth population — who invigorated his campaign and had much to do with his decisive win.

Will young people randomly switch to the GOP in 2012? That’s about as likely as me fathering Bristol Palin’s second child, but will they come out in full force the way we did in 2008 is the question.

Back in February 2008, I wrote an entry entitled “I Hope He Can” in which I broke from cynicism and fell into a bit of the hype. Another, “Seeing Is Believing,” where I recalled my experience at an Obama really points to my obvious enthusiasm about Barack (particularly after reading his first book, Dreams of My Father).

Do I still like him? Yes. Is there reason to criticize him only after a year in office? I think so, which is why I invite you to read “I Hope He Can” and then compare it to the new piece.

Click here to read “Enough Change To Believe?”

There is some things I left out, namely his record on civil liberties. If you’d like to read more about that, check out the ALCU’s assessment of President Obama’s first year in office.

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While Scooby Doo and the Mystery Machine investigate non-existent clues to prove Jay-Z has signed Satan to Roc Nation, there’s a preacher out in the world telling his congregation how to load a gun. If you’re asking yourself what would Jesus do, go with whatever answer that’s closest to not talking about hallow point bullets during service.

This folks is Pastor Tony Smith, no doubt yet another name in the growing list of false idols who will soon meet God’s fists.

I would love to elaborate on more of what the not so good reverend had to say about the importance of knowing how to load a gun during church, but I can’t really make out what he’s saying.

If my screen had a scratch and sniff option for this video I don’t doubt for a second it wouldn’t smell like fatback, scrapple, and 70 years ago.


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I’ve been meaning to blog about Monica’s reality show for some time now.

I watch it week after week more so out of loyalty than for entertainment value. As my friend, La, put it, it’s like watching grass grow (and she’s a fan, too). Not all the time, though, especially not when she’s in the studio.

But that’s neither here or there. I don’t want to spend too much time talking about what went wrong (or didn’t) with the show. Or how her album may or may not do. I think one big confusion about a previous entry (and that may be my own fault) was that I placed the emphasis solely on sales.

No, not even. What I meant was if an artist with nominal talent at best (re: their asses can’t sing) is given a big budget to go work with all of the top producers and still can’t manage to get a big hit and churn a profit (numerous times) then why do they still have a record deal?

That money could be better spent elsewhere – namely on someone who can actually sing. Likewise, the time invested in cultivating these people whose singing voices can best be described with the word “ribbit” could serve greater use over helping someone else. Yeah, like Monica.

Granted, the blame cannot fall completely on the label, but when I hear a song like “Everything to Me” all I can do is get a little Lawry’s that I don’t hear songs like this on the radio anymore.

I’m not one for writing big odes to nostalgia, but dammit, why can’t half these clowns on the radio actually sing anymore? Why can’t they make me feel anything remotely real like they used to?

I know the song is a familiar sample, and for some that means Mo’ loses a few points, but hey, just listen to her. Doesn’t she make you feel something?

I refuse to sound like a simp on my own site, but the song makes me think about someone. Doesn’t matter who, it’s just the point – I can immediately get a feeling about the song and make it relatable. It brings out every good feeling I’ve ever had. I can always relate whatever emotion I’m feeling to a given song (or 12) and Monica’s voice on this song brings out the best of them (say aww and I’ll curse you smooth out).

I love music so much, but one reason why I popped, locked, and dropped the idea of being a music writer many many years ago was that you can see the change in contemporary music and how it was starting to become as pleasing to the ears as a can of dog food is to a human stomach.

Let me stop now before I pull out my cane and start talking about the “good ole days.”

I’ll simply say it’s nice to hear an R&B song from a mainstream artist that isn’t marred with some unrelated 16 bars from a given momentarily hot rapper.

Better yet, it’s better to hear an actual R&B song period. I’ve long grown tired of the trend of the genre-hopping pseudo R&B singer. I get it: You like trying new things. Go back to trying what works.

If you’ve yet to hear the song in full, check it out below:

She could stand to add another minute, but I still adore.

Please say you do, too.

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