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There comes a point when people have to drop their pseudo calls for “positivity” that are really nothing more than ways of deflecting accountability and own up to and subsequently correct their transgressions.

That point should come about a millisecond after you’re accused of throwing a chair at a window in the building of a television network in Times Square because you were mad a journalist did their job.

For a while, I wondered if much of what I wrote about Chris Brown following “the incident” was a bit too harsh. Maybe so, but I don’t think it was in vain.

I will say that Chris has a point that it’s unfair how much Charlie Sheen has gotten away with over the years. But in my latest piece for The Root, I write why it doesn’t matter.

Click here to check it out. Oh and click ‘Like’ on Facebook and all that great stuff, good people.

Y’all, I want him to win, but he’s gotta learn to relax, relate…release.

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As I come up for air I bear good news: I’ve found an R&B song to write about without complaining. Of course, such a task isn’t as difficult for me to do as some of you might believe. However, with all of the bullshit covers, oversexualized drivel, and confusing R&B singers out there it’s hard to not call out awful once you hear it.

You know, given this blog is called “The Cynical Ones” and not the “I’m gonna pretend this bullshit is good when it damn sure isn’t one.”

But this time, I just want to focus on someone who recorded a song that didn’t make me want to lead a séance to find Ursula and ask for a favor.

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This is the face of a man with a plan. Well, a man with a plan that’s come across an increasing number of forces trying to disrupt it. Be it financial institutions I hope eventually fall to their knees in a slow and agonizing death or people so pathetic that they’re unworthy of my piss.

So yeah, things have been frustrating yet my excitement and hope for the future are still very much in tact.

What has me so giddy? Alright, I’ll tell you a little bit about it but you have to promise to keep what you read on a public forum as secretive as you can. Wait, unless you’re telling someone who could be of assistance in achieving set plan. If that’s the case, tell everybody…even the mayor. Deal?

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When I first heard of Dionne Warwick, I didn’t know her as a celebrated singer of some decade(s) I wasn’t alive to see. Like most mid-late 80s babies, I knew Dionne as that nice older lady with the cigarette inspired speaking voice who had all the psychic friends. After it was explained to me that Dionne was actually a singer and Whitney Houston’s auntie, I felt so bad for her.

You know, poor old woman. I assumed she spent all of her money on those spiffy specs of hers that she had to do these 1-900 commercials in order to keep the lights on. That made me sad. Sad because I genuinely thought she was like some sweet older lady.

Mother Winslow, on key if you will.

I would be like, “Mama, call Miss Dionne’s friends. She needs our help.” I’m sure my mama was tempted to slap me with a .45, but she didn’t. She kindly explained more about her and that’s how I realized she was famous singer.

I still looked to her as the nice lady with the make believe psychic homies, though.

Unfortunately, my childlike image of Auntie Dionne has been destroyed thanks to reality television.

Oh my gosh, y’all. This woman is a mean old…

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As most of you regular readers know, despite being a long time fan of Lil’ Kim, these days Kimberly Jones is not my favorite person anymore (here here explain a few reasons why).

However, after listening to Lil’ Kim’s rendition of Keri Hilson’s “Pretty Girl Rock,” I have a question for those who still claim to be down with the QB: Do y’all really like her?

I mean, enough to tell her the truth: She can’t sing worth a damn. Not a diddly damn, actually. As in Kim is so bad that I’m starting to look back on long-term ear infection and thinking, “Gee, that wasn’t so bad afterall.”

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I’m beginning to long for the days when people were more in tuned with their insecurities.

See what I mean?

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Disclaimer: This post contains all sorts of crassness, though it’s totally not because of me. Well, I follow their lead, but trust me it’s in its proper context.

Care to carry on with the entry? You know what to do.

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I swear, if you made me a sandwich comprised of tuna fish left outside for three days topped with rabbit toe nails smashed in between two muddied pieces of bread I would still have the urge to vomit less than I do after watching this video.

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