You Don’t Know If She’s A Hoe

I have a soft spot for Amber Rose. Not because of that one magical moment a year ago when I got to dance on the soft spot of hers that’s made her a household name (well, at your cousins and ‘em’s house). Clearly, that’s a case of the right pitch for the wrong player.

My affinity for Amber can be mainly attributed to the fact that she’s a rather nice girl. I didn’t need to meet her to know that. You can tell in her interviews and tweets. I do sometimes roll my eyes at some of her messages, but to her credit, I do that towards many people. Y’all remember “You’re As Deep As A Wad of Spit, Shut Up,” don’t you?

Her occasional make believe wisdom from a kitchen magnet moments aside, Amber seems cool. That’s why I wish she didn’t catch so much heat from folks. Much of it seems shortsighted. Take for instance criticism over her noting that there are young girls that look up to her.

What I say? Are we really feigning shock over the idea that a young girl would dare look up to Amber Rose as inspiration? If so let’s put things in perspective. Amber Rose is poor girl from the hood that’s fancy (huh) now because a famous man liked her. Y’all shocked she has admirers for that common tale?

If you really think about it, it’s not that different from those corny ass fairy tales, i.e. superficial, patriarchal, materialistic etc. Girls are sold the image of being “saved” at an early age and she’s but yet another instance of “the dream.”

Or as La puts it, “Isn’t this a Sex & The City episode?” You know, with much better production value. And lots of privilege.

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I Hate Drake and That Damn Room

I long for the days when the only person I knew named Marvin was a little green sexually ambiguous (re: gay) alien forever wondering where the kaboom was. Oh and you know, the singer, too, who I know realize is the source of the room (re: old studio). Yeah, may his ghost haunt Drake for this whining that irks the hell out of me.

I was never one of those people who took issue with Drake’s emo rap. Anyone who has heard this man gush over Lil’ Wayne can tell he’s obviously a sensitive soul. Unfortunately, this song could drive Ralph Tresvant into a violent rage. Seriously, guy, who is she? What did she do? More importantly, can you give me her number so I can call her and help smooth this out for you.

I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right for you so you can make it right for my ears.

I say that because I’m tired of these kind of songs. Like, dude, is this why Rihanna dropped you after she topped you? This maudlin ass record makes the tracks from 808s and Heartbreaks seem like they have the energy of the I’m Bout It soundtrack by comparison.

Oddly enough, I do like JoJo’s cover of this song but much of that has to do with my yearning for her to do an R&B album. Everyone else’s cover garners the same response I give Drake’s song: Ick. Yawn. Cringe. Stop.

And yeah, boom, splat, ka-pow, too.

This video has only intensified that sentiment. I literally started frowning less than 30 seconds into this. Herman Munster Jr. seems like an exceptionally nice man. So nice that I don’t believe his abuse of the word bitch. C’mon, guy, stop trying to play that role. We all know you say three Hail Mary’s for each time you say “bitches” on wax as soon as you leave the booth. You ain’t got to lie to kick nor do you have to insert the word that often in a song that I thought was supposed to be all sentimental and shit.

I gather that’s supposed to help roughen up the song, but all it does is make him look like an even bigger sourpuss. I would think that all but makes him appear as sexy as condom chewed up by a chihuahua to many.

Also, how much longer are we to expect Drake to agonize over his fear of fame? I don’t understand why he hasn’t gotten over that yet. Please tell me that this won’t be going on for the rest of his career. If he doesn’t want it he can gladly Fed Ex it on over to me. That way I can book sessions with Trey Songz easier.

Even worse, I realize that this song is going to encourage a bunch of drunk dials in the middle of the night where people pour out their hearts to a bunch of people who don’t give a shit. Yes, that’s particularly healthy.

Look, if someone calls you in the middle night in some pseudo whiney face on some “please, baby, baby, please” shtick, do me a favor and hang up on their asses. When they call back tell them, “I heard Drake in the background. You ain’t slick!”

And then hang up again. I’ll let you decide if you want to answer the sober call.

After The Show It’s The Commentary

Each year the BET Awards roll around and the usual suspects round out the typical responses. The instant rebranding of the ceremony as the EBT awards. The whining about how the show lost its luster several years ago. Or the wild accusation that the telecast represents the downfall of black America.

Much of this criticism to me is the verbal equivalent of perpetual jock itch. Seriously, folks, if the show is that cheap, so unbearable, and damning to your race do yourself a favor and don’t bother watching. Yes, that is a trite solution but no less trite that what the comments it’s in response to.

Just so we’re clear, though you can find my name around those online parts it doesn’t sway my opinion one way or the other. Trust me. That said, I didn’t find the show to be bad. Initially I held off on doing a review as I wondered whether or not it more enjoyable to me because I was at the venue.

Then I thought about it. and realized some people just like to complain. Sometimes fair, other times because everyone else is doing it. Most know damn well the VMAs haven’t been consistently good since Lauryn Hill cared what you thought and all the other ones aren’t usually worth mentioning at length. Which leaves us here. So everybody, let’s gather ’round and discuss this, shall we?

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The Trouble With Lupe Is…

When I saw the headline “Lupe Fiasco calls President Obama ‘The Biggest Terrorist,’” I didn’t even bother to give Lupe the benefit of the doubt. He’s made a habit of criticizing President Obama so I naturally assumed the worst. That’s not to say I’m above anyone criticizing the President. I do it whenever I feel compelled to. I’m not one for blind allegiance to anyone much less to a politician. However, it’s been hard for me to take Lupe seriously given all of his political commentary tends to tie into some greater nihilistic point about the American voting system and why he forgoes participation in it.

People who say they don’t vote irk the living hell out of me. Especially when they cite reasons similar to Lupe’s. As in: “The American federal government, the American system, the American foreign policy is something I can’t…’cause when you vote for that person, you vote for that.” This sounds like something you say after you watch Rachel Maddow while high off a weed brownie.

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Taste The Biscuit

I believe I’ve found my favorite new song for at least the next three hours. I don’t know exactly what a Toasters ‘N Moose is, but I find such knowledge irrelevant to the matters at hand. Let’s just say they’re the new Koffee Brown and move on.

Have y’all ever heard a biscuit sang about in a context so perverse? Thank goodness Pissy used to sing about women reminding him of jeeps otherwise I would have been totally unprepared for a song like this. Please get into some of the lyrical gems in this song:

Taste the honey sauce, taste the goodness of the biscuit with the honey sauce.

Don’t get none of that honey sauce on me, I don’t like the way it tastes with my chicken wings.

Taste the butter spread. Taste the goodness of the biscuit with the butter spread.

Don’t get your butter spread all on me. I don’t like the way it mixes with my mac-n-cheese.

When you’re at KFC you got that special sauce to stir my curiosity.

Just give me a five-piece meal. Oh, what a deal. A big ole box that’s all for me.

You know I’ll take cole slaw on the side. I could tell you wanted to try the potato wedges.

Is this how obese sex works?

Why haven’t these two been snatched up for a chicken commercial? To hell with Annie The Chicken Queen and her fake ass Louisiana accent. Have I told y’all that I heard that Annie The Chicken Queen from the boot is really some vegan Buddhist who needed to a gig to get the bill collectors off her back? Popeye’s could’ve at least hired someone who thinks hummus is the name of one of their chicken friers.

Moose would be the perfect replacement. Look at how she starts to move her body two minutes into the video. Clearly red beans and rice have a special place in her heart. If Popeye’s won’t hire her, surely Church’s Chicken will. I heard they sell tacos now. Obviously, they have no shame.

I promise that the next time I’m at a Popeye’s I will start singing and two-stepping to “Taste The Biscuit.” Y’all know they take forever to get your food ready. Might as well get a little exercise in before I piss my body off.

Buy Bleaching Cream

Before you even think it, no, I’m not suggesting we all become big splotches of blackness in an attempt to look as white as humanly possible. However, while I wait for my racial draft dream to finally come to fruition I had to come up with something to say to people I wish weren’t in my box. Which brings me to this clip and the black actors who appear in it. For these idiots co-starring in this insanely racist campaign ad let me just say: The first tube of cream is on me.

For some time now I’ve been telling people that when it comes to Los Angeles, there’s this noticeable pattern of anything perceived as black having a negative connotation. That’s why when I hear sad souls speak of racism as if it only exists in the South and various small towns people have never heard of (or ever care to) I alert them to the fact that it’s everywhere, particularly in cities home to just about everyone.

I assume that the direction of this campaign was to take covert racism, tie it up, and lock it up in a closet before saying, “Bitch, you’re no fun!” And not only is the campaign racist as it plays on fears of black brutes, sexuality, and the like it’s sexist to boot.

The second largest city in the country has a political ad with hillbilly-sounding pseudo thug Negroes holding up toy guns as the female political opponent is depicted on the pole shaking her ass while gang members’ faces scroll on it. In 2011. I’m not exactly surprised, but heavens to murgatroyd all the same.

I suppose this is one of many looming nightmare ads we can expect next year thanks to the Supreme Court’s ruling that has since given corporations free reign to spend as they please. I already despised this court before so there’s no sense in pressing the point further. But, I would like to send every bad thought imaginable to Ren and Stimpy hollering, “GIVE ME YO CASH, BITCH, SO WE CAN BUY MORE HEAT!”

I’m assuming they found those two bums at some car wash and offered them some black and milds and a $100 to participate in their own races further degradation. I understand that it’s a lingering recession going on, but damn, do people not have any pride? This ignorant sum’bitches do know MadTV no longer airs, right? Wait, I’m trying to make sense of lack of self-esteem and stupidity. Let me not bother. Just join me in prayer that Chip and Dale wake up purple on election day, please.

I Need Answers

1. Why does every artist fan group feel as if it needs a nickname?

2. When will people realize that knowing more than seven words and having an Internet connection doesn’t make you a philosopher?

3. Can someone tell these press outlets that there really is no longer a point to continue lying to us that Britney Spears is “dancing more” and/or “performing harder than she ever has before?”

4. When will rappers stop creating hooks that sound like they want to make a cameo on Glee?

5. Can you believe more than one network turned down the brilliance that is Braxton Family Values?

6. Was Songs in A Minor so good that it required a 10^th anniversary special edition release?

7. 1. Wyd? 2. idk u? 3. pyt 4. swv. 5. I’ll ttyl. 6. k.

How fucking lazy does one have to be to type like this?

8. Though this sight make might the owner of Kim’s Beauty Supply soil his pants, do you think this image would give Smokey the Bear a stroke?

9. Regardless of the state of her uterus, did anyone actually expect Lauryn Hill to drop an album anytime soon?

10. Did Evelyn Lozada smash their men, too?

11. How much longer do I have to hear about Anthony Weiner’s Oscar Meyer?

12. Can someone let the writers and producers of Single Ladies know that we no longer say phrases like, “Kicked him to the curb?”

13. Even if I were the only person who watched it, can Centric please bring back Model City?

14. Isn’t Rihanna the perfect example of how a celebrity should use Twitter?

15. How many singles is Lloyd going to release before his album comes out?

16. And who might this African queen be?

17. When did we all get so caught up on the business end of music as if we actually make any money off these ringtone sales?

18. Do the gay men and women helping perpetuate the gay and female stereotypes about Dwyane Wade, LeBron James, and Chris Bosh really how sad that makes them look?

19. How can anyone be surprised that Kim Kardashian found an athlete to marry?

20. Why is the Ultimate Warrior shading Hulk Hogan like he snuck into his tights and didn’t keep his promise to call the next day?

Elsewhere

Hey, y’all. I have a few new pieces for you to check out. The first is about the KKK trying to rebrand itself. Another is based on Creflo Dollar’s criticism of fleeing members of Bishop Eddie Long’s church. And then there’s one folks still suffering from Lauryn Hill Denial Disorder (but pay homage) and Howard Cain, who’s just suffering.

I especially like the first two mentioned. Speaking of, tomorrow morning between 8-9 PST I’m scheduled to be on MSNBC to speak about my article on the Klan. And tomorrow the Root podcast I participated in should be up. There I discussed my piece on Creflo Dollar and Eddie Long. Both are a first for me. Smile.

I will update with a link to the podcast once I know it’s up. And of course, updates here are coming soon. Smile one more time?

Edit: So here’s the clip of me:

Oh yeah, I have to follow up about something. I actually make a decent living, my point was that my private student loan payments are so extremely indecent and I wish they’d play a little nicer. How am I supposed to tip strippers and go go boys support the arts? I’m doing better because I’m working harder, but you know, I still plan to do this. Anyone with loan payments know what I mean. Thank you all!

Edit: Here’s the link to The Confab, the weekly podcast from The Root.

Shut Up, Steffans

Karrine Steffans has a new book coming out in two months. It’s a book themed on a subject that’s a noted area of expertise: blow jobs. Excuse me, the title of her book is SatisFaction: Erotic Fantasies for the Advanced & Adventurous Couple. So: bougie blow jobs.

I’ve already made my disdain for Karrine quite clear, but it’s not because she’s uses what she got to get what she wants. I don’t know mind her being a literary example of Ronnie from The Players’ Club top hoe quote. If anything, I wish she’d stick to that script. It comes across as far more credible than anything else she’s tried on us. She can’t, though. Maybe it’s because she’s that in dire need of attention or perhaps she just felt like flipping on the Web cam instead of the cap on her bottle of happy pills the day she filmed this. Whatever her reason is for the back, back, forth and forth stance on selling sex, I find it incredibly annoying.

She’s already lied to Oprah (to her face!) while wearing hair that looked as if it were scalped off some dead woman’s poodle. She’s gonna get hers for that alone, so why not just own what you perpetuate in the meantime? Oh, because she’s getting older. Yeah, she is and I guess after her marriage failed (shocker) she realizes she wants to change some of her ways.

That is, if you actually believe her. I don’t. I guess since I used to believe in Santa Claus for like four years, I might as well play along with Santa Slut, too. Alright, let’s play. This one last time.

The habitual liar says, “I’m a writer, I write shit.”

And then says this about the book that made her a New York Times best-selling author: “It was all fabricated. I didn’t even name my books.”

As for all that media attention: “I don’t wanna be on TV. I want to be anonymous.”

Because: “Authors are supposed to anonymous.”

On the life of a writer: “We’re supposed to be sitting down, getting drunk, smoking opiates and writing some amazing shit. That’s what we all do.”

Wait, I can’t do this. She makes it so hard to play along.

Speak for yourself, oral slurpee.

Call me cynical, but people who stand in their bra and panties with a camera capturing her best side declaring that they don’t want to be famous coincidentally around the time of their next book release are hard to believe. Interestingly enough, had she not done all that promotional blitz and built her narrative around celebrity ejaculation around her truth-allergic mouth for the first book she’d probably not be all that successful a writer. Many folks have sex stories, but not everyone has them tied to a deposit slip. Even fewer of them have that slip signed by a superstar. Or whatever you call the rappers of yesterdecade who used to fawn over her tyrant tongue.

Fortunately for her, she lives in Los Angeles where delusional behavior and delusions of grandeur are considered positive personality traits (to other delusional people who think far too highly of themselves). But to those of us not sippin’ the Kool-Aid snorting the cool coke, she just sounds out of her mind. Then again, that could be her way of finally telling the truth.

Spotted at Miss Jia

Where Da Melph At?

The things people send me.

Anyone from Louisiana or in my case, Houston, has heard bounce music. I especially love bounce musi from the early to mid 1990s. You know, the really ignorant stuff I should be embarrassed to sing-a-long to but get over it less than a minute later. Among those song is “Punk Under Pressure” by Katey Red. Now, when I heard this song years ago I had no idea that Ms. Katey Red was born with a penis. You know, given most bounce artists didn’t have a video budget or at least the kind of pull to get their videos on any major music channel. I had no idea what she looked like so I had no clue. I don’t particularly care about Katey Red’s genitals one way or another so long as she keeps me entertained.

And trust me, this video entertains the hell out of me. When I finally did start going to go gay clubs – particularly the ones in Houston during breaks from Howard – I heard the latest from Ms. Red and her homegirl boy, Big Freedia. As danceable as it is, I’m not the wobbling kind. I usually just stand there and appreciate observe. No offense to wobblers who read. Some of the people I love most can bounce that ass like a tectonic plate in heat. In fact, one has told me stories about him dancing on stage with Katey Red’s full encouragement as she looked on nearby. That story will be told elsewhere, though.

I gather because these folks are shooting for crossover success (well, as much as a transgendered woman with a regional sound can), we see girls wobbling in the video versus the typical dudes (whom I’ve often seen do it much better with my own eyes, but I digress). Oh well. They shall overcome…at some gay club on a street in New Orleans I’d likely be afraid to be at (the black gay spots tend to be in the worst areas, which I usually get over but New Orleans is a different animal).

In the meantime, I’m just gonna laugh my ass off at this entire video.

I see in the comments section on YouTube some people are rambling on that Dr. King didn’t die so dancers FAT, NAE, REEDY, KEEDY, TRELL, and KEE bend over and bust it open. Yeah, I’ve seen college educated people with professional careers do the same dance moves. I understand that the abundance of this sort of imagery versus a more balanced look at us is a serious problem, but uh, I like bounce music so whatever. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I am not about to get all heavy about a song called “Where Da Melph At?” by a transgendered rapper from New Orleans named Katey Red. Laugh or not. Toot it up or don’t. But, do peep Katey dressed like she’s showing off her Easter clothes collection. Also make note of the fan. She’s just her wig blowing in the wind, baybee.

Oh for those of you who aren’t familiar with bounce or “sissy bounce” as Katey and Big Freedia call it (and I abhor), feel free to check out the New York Times magazine’s wonderfully informative piece by clicking here.