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I have to be honest: I’ve never given a damn about Halloween. I’ve only dressed up it for once in my entire life. I believe I was six-years-old and was dressed as Buster Bunny from Tiny Toon Adventures. Since I had and continue to have big ass teeth, it worked out beautifully. People keep me asking me every year if I’m going to dress up and I offer the same reaction: hell no.

However, in order not to be a Halloween’s answer to Ebenezer Scrooge completely, I’ve decided to bring back “I Know You See It.” I have a knack (or problem, depending on your perspective) of successfully comparing celebrities with random cartoon characters or miscellaneous child-like figures. This is as close to me celebrating today as you’re going to get. So enjoy it.

Kris Humphries: Vigo from Ghostbusters II. A second suggestion comes courtesy of a friend: “He looks like the master’s son on a slave plantation.” Not sure how one dresses up like that, but I can make the connection.

Tamar Braxton: Janice from Dr. Teeth and The Electric Mayhem.

Laura Govan: Pumba from The Lion King, but only if he had anger management issues that caused him to constantly yell out, “Fuck Hakuna Matata” and sing Crime Mob’s “I’ll Beat Yo Azz” instead.

Gloria Govan and Matt Barnes: Those punk ass hyenas that helped Scar take out Simba’s daddy. You could also suggest Gloria dress up like Timon while Matt can be Frankenstein following his successful completion of the Weight Watchers Program. It’s a brand day, y’all.

La Toya Jackson: The arch villain of The ThunderCats. I would pay money to hear Toy-Toy say, “Ancient spirits of evil, transform this decayed form to Mumm-Ra, the ever-living!”

Christina Milian: Gadget Hackwrench from Chip ‘n Dale Rescue Rangers. You might have to squint a little, but trust me, there’s something there.

Keri Hilson: Cruella DeVille. They have similar hair, similar attitudes, and similar fanfare among young children.

Herman Cain: I know everyone has compared him to Uncle Ruckus (including me), but the more I look at this guy (unfortunately) the more he looks like, “What if Col. Sanders had an illegitimate black child?”

Nicki Minaj: Jem. I dare you to tell me that Jem doesn’t look like she’s ready to sing about wishing she could have this moment for life (for life).

Jennifer Williams: The Fox from The Fox and The Hound. Note: I do find her slow-speaking self quite pretty. Still.

Evelyn Lozada:  A successful Taiwanese sex change operation. You don’t need a picture if you’ve ever watched Basketball Wives, boo boo.

Chris Brown: Huey, Dewey, or Louie from Ducktales. Doesn’t matter which one you pick, they each work.

Lindsay Lohan: Lisa Rowe from Girl, Interrupted. You don’t have to squint for this one.

Oh and because I’m not a complete asshole, I have options for myself, too:

Dale from Chip ‘n Dale Rescue Rangers. Any chipmunk or rabbit cartoon character, really. Well, minus the ugly ones. I can’t be that self-deprecating.

I suppose Chris Brown, maybe his skinnier, not as rich, gay, and older first or second cousin. I don’t see it, but others have. Like some little boy who ran behind me yelling “Chris Brown! Chris Brown!” during All-Star Weekend earlier this year. Or the waiter who spotted me a few days after “the incident” and promptly told me (while jumping), “Man, I thought you were Chris Brown! I was gonna put you in a headlock and say, ‘Don’t Touch That Girl!’” Oh and that bus driver, who greeted me with a big ass grin talking about, “CHRIS BROWN!” Negro, just take me home. Bad enough I’m on the fucking bus.

I know someone personally is going to be thinphobic and suggest Skeletor. However, I’m too selfish to take that away from Marc Anthony. Compromise: Can I at least be Skeletor after he left anorexia camp?

Trick or treat, y’all.

Sidenote: Once a friend told me that Jazmine Sullivan sings like she smells (his words, not mine – I love her), so I did a spinoff post at the time suggesting what others might smell like based on their voices.

For example, Ne-Yo sings like someone that wears White Diamonds. Check it out if you’ve enjoyed this post.

We’re done here. Those of you who are dressing up please try to make sure the rest of us can tell. Over the weekend, I spotted someone who looked like his costume was in honor of Master P. A moment later I was told, “No, that’s Saturday.” Try not to confuse others, folks. Happy Halloween and shit.

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If Hollywood can remake Sparkle and In Living Color, I can rehash another post. Keeping with the theme of the day, here’s the return of Boo! It’s all things spooky to me or what ought to be spooky to those mentioned below.  Look, I don’t eat candy so let me have this.

1. Ray J’s current thug level.

2. This audience.

3. Wait, actually, this audience.

4. Die hard NBA fans.

5. Anyone who actually believes in the idea of “post-blackness.”

6. Any woman that breaks Drake’s heart.

7. The way Tyra Banks thinks.

8. The contestants of America’s Next Top Model: All Stars subjected to Tyra Banks’ thinking.

9. People who like Lil’ Wayne’s “How To Love.”

10. The fools who falsely believe that they are in the top 1% because they can still afford to supersize their extra value meals.

11. Anyone advising Rick Perry on his presidential campaign. Is this fool drunk?

12. Jurnee Smollett doing a Tyler Perry movie.

13. Reality stars like Catya from The Bad Girls Club, who boast in interviews (while on bail) about ditching a future rap star to do a reality show like The Bad Girls Club as a “career move.” Oh and admit to fucking a rapper raw.

14. People who can’t let go of being a social failure in high school, and thus, use social media as an everyday bitch fest that loosely translates into, “Why don’t you love me?”

15. Those that actually believe that Newt Gingrich is a thinker.

16. LMFAO.

17. LMFAO fans.

18. Adele’s vocal chords if she doesn’t get off that tobacco addiction.

19. Europop.

20. Jackie Christie.

21. The state of black sitcoms.

22. Justin Timberlake the actor.

23. Gloria Govan’s face should Royce Reed get married before her.

24. The workload of Tyrese’s ghostwriter.

25. Single women being subjected to a bunch of dickheads and divorcees making money off made up reasons as to what’s wrong with them.

26. Nicole Scherzinger’s solo career.

27. Jill Scott’s fuck faces. I can’t tell if she’s ready to get some or upset over being served some bad BBQ sauce.

28. Draya Michele’s babysitter.

On Rihanna: “We thought our album needed the best singer in the world on it so we asked her very nervously and she said yes and it was a really great thing for us. We’re very grateful.”

29. Chris Martin.

30. Broke people who not only argue over which stranger is richer, but actually get angry enough to get physical over it.

31. This.

32. Anyone who thinks this is okay.

33. Life without turkey legs.

Many of your fellow actors, like Anthony Mackie and Samuel L. Jackson, were critical of the 2011 Oscars for having no black nominees and only one black presenter. Has it been difficult to be a woman of color in Hollywood?

I don’t live in that reality. That’s not how I was raised, and I choose not to think like the common people, because then you just become a person that’s half-empty. However, I do understand that there is a problem, and little by little, through evolution, we have been addressing it. But the race issue for me is secondary. The biggest battle that I have is being a woman in the world. That takes center stage for me.

34. Zoe Saldana’s views on race.

35. Church queens (fall into a trap door).

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Disclaimer: As the title suggests, the following material may be inappropriate if you are subjected to a hating ass boss and/or co-worker, girlfriend, boyfriend, librarian, or are underage. What age? I’m not sure exactly, but if you suspect that I’d tell you, “You know you’re too damn young to be worried about some strippers, go fucking study,” look away now.

Actually, it’s not the material so much as the various images of strippers that accompany it. Oh, YouTube users: Don’t you realize imagination is increasingly becoming a lost art form? Let us try to preserve what little is left of it. Anyway, click on down if none of the above bothers you.


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So maybe it’s time for me to reevaluate my life goals and the methodology in which I plan to attain them.

It’s becoming increasingly harder not to be at least a teensy bit jaded about celebrity culture’s choke hold on the media. Yesterday, I read that New York Times best-selling author, Snooki, admitted that she has no idea who J.K. Rowling and Maya Angelou are. I still have yet to see a single episode of Jersey Shore (on purpose), but based on what I’ve seen of Snooki in the press that revelation doesn’t surprise me at all. She’s just one of many intellectually challenged personalities turned pretend writers who can claim to be best-selling authors despite needing a ghostwriter to help them finish writing their ABCs.

Another that comes to mind is Tyrese, who can also boast of being a New York Times best-selling author although he has trouble spelling the word author. Of course, all Coca Cola crooner did was follow a formula laid out by Steve Harvey. Basically: Give people advice on subject matter your own life suggests you know little about. Or in the cases of others, project your own insecurities about race, gender, relationships, and self-identity to people who have been beaten over the head with nonsense, and thus, are gullible enough to buy yours.

If you think I sound like rock and sea salt run through my veins, I can’t say that I blame you for concluding so. I will pay each of the aforementioned this compliment: Every one of them had enough sense to capitalize on their fame and broaden their appeal to maximize their earning potential. Still, this is madness especially since now your technically trained writers are beginning to follow their leads.

I read Tracy McMillan’s memoir, I Love You And I’m Leaving You Anyway. I also checked out that Huff Post piece she wrote about why women aren’t married. Something about them being bitches, shallow, and some other stuff that sounds like it came from the varsity cheerleading squad for male chauvinism. Naturally, that means she has a book coming: Why You’re Not Married…Yet: How To Stop Acting Like a Bitch And Start Getting Hitched. A show called Why You’re Not Married is on the horizon, too.

McMillan is a funny writer, but I don’t get the point in telling women to stop being bitches over a problem that can be statistically attributed to several factors. I really fail to understand how a three-time divorcee can pen a book shelling out advice on marriage. Then again, I’ve read people call Tyrese and his employment of various gender stereotypes insightful.

The other day, the homie Bassey Ikpi tweeted to me about my Beyoncé piece for The Root, calling it “thoughtful and measured.” She did note, though, “…so of course it’ll fall on deaf ears.” She’s right. I’m trying to write well-written material that seeks to make people laugh and think. That’s a horrible way to write in 2011. I’m hustling backwards.

I’ve decided to join the trend and consider writing a book about some shit I know not a thing about. I have a working title in mind: Pulsate The Pussy: A Gay Guy’s Guide To Straight Sex. Initially, I considered joining the female bashing trend and was going to pitch an essay called: “Your Life Is Meaningless If You’re 30 and Unmarried. Same For You, Gays. Your Day of Reckoning Is Coming!”

Unfortunately, I don’t hate women so I can’t go that route.  But, I’m comfortable with the idea of pretending to be an expert to pay off my real loans. Doing it by merit takes an extremely long time.

Which leads me to the point of this post: I want to marry Rob Kardashian.

I have entertained the thought before this career epiphany for obvious reasons. What are they? Look at Rob Kardashian from behind. Hello, obvious reasons.

Undoubtedly, this would give me a great boost, but I think this would be beneficial to him, too. Yes, Rob’s doing Dancing with the Stars or whatever, but he’s still in the shadow of his sisters. At the rate he’s going now, he’s never going to get his own spin-off. I mean, he hasn’t been exactly doing anything on the Kardashian shows he’s already featured on. If he and I got married, he can snatch the gay icon crown from Kim and my future mother-in-law could flip that into a show.

I’ve already thought of potential plot lines for our reality series.


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I thought I was well versed with the Christian Right’s stance on gays. We’re degenerate perverts with cooties so massive that God sends the clap back to society at large by way of devastating earthquakes, horrific hurricanes, and vengeful monsters like NeNe Leakes.

What up doe, Pat Robertson?

Also, we’re highly contagious so please stay away from us, breeders. Like if you tolerate us, you’re prone to some gay assaulting your private areas with lust in their eyes and lubricant in their back pockets the moment you least expect it. Should you watch anything in media that’s gay friendly you run the risk of literally turning into a big gay flag. Oh, and Jesus will spit in the holy water used to baptize your child if you’re in favor of gay marriage and letting them adopt children no one else wants.

I’ve heard this sort of bullshit conveyed in varying ways over the years so I just knew I had all of the basics down. However, it has come to my attention that the zealots on the far, far right have gone and upped the ante on their lunacy levels. Apparently, a straight man teeters on turning team same sex depending on how he masturbates. This new information comes courtesy of Pastor Mark Driscolll.


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Last week I read an article on The Root entitled “Beyoncé’s Incredible, Miraculous Pregnancy,” in which the writer basically assailed my lord and gyrator under the false allegation that she was shoving her pregnancy down everyone’s throat and that she needed to quit acting as if she’s the only person in history to be with child.

Part of the piece included jabs like this:

I’m happy for you, Bey, but the joy growing inside your womb is not the blueprint, and it is not biblical. It isn’t the Visitation; nor is it the dawn of a new epoch in the human calendar. It’s a baby.

Not to mention a subheading called “A Mom-To-Be Who Knows Her Place.”


Now you know I had to write a response to that. In my latest essay for The Root, “It’s Not Beyoncé, It’s You” I hit back at all of the author’s off base accusations and remind her and others that it’s none of our places to tell a woman to tame her excitement about becoming a mother. You can click here to check it out.


Feel free to hit like, tweet, and email the piece around. You an also hit your sexy and slow stanky legs, too. And remember: Watch you what you say about the Queen. The hive ain’t having it.

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As much as I like Amber Rose, I’m a bit confused. While I’m not exactly an expert on Westerns, my Pa-Pa surely was and every now and again I would catch my mama watching, too. I myself have seen a few episodes of Walker, Texas Ranger. I am not sure that even counts, but for the record, the theme song to that show knocks. To this day. Yeah, I don’t know much about the genre. Be that as it may, I’m pretty sure no woman with a blond fade could just walk into some tavern with a deep Philly accent asking some old country man where her homegirl’s at.

The same can be said of the other clips I’ve seen of Teyana Taylor, Claudia Jordan, and Rocsi, who also star in the movie. I missed the first Gang of Roses on purpose, so perhaps I’m missing the dots that connect this story that make it plausible. Like maybe the Wild Wild West had a hood version across the railroad tracks where women of various ethnicities and dialects were allowed to roam free on their horses and buggies.

I’m also a bit miffed at the title of this clip: “AMBER ROSE/ SURPRIZING peformance in Gang of Roses 2!!!!”

What was “SURPRIZING” about this performance exactly? That she didn’t start laughing at her surroundings?

In theory, I kind of dig the idea of blacks doing spins on Westerns. We ought to be diversifying. As if Tom Cruise is really the last damn samurai. Problem is, this flick just doesn’t seem like it makes much sense. Thus far this looks akin to Herman Cain playing Nitta Sayuri in Memoirs of a Geisha. I won’t discount it completely, though. I mean, if anyone of you wants to buy this for me on discount (and believe me, this will end up in the discount bin at Walmart) and send it off, I’ll give it a formal review later. If not, I’ll just assume the villain of this film looks like T-Pain, talks like Trick Daddy, and rides a horse with platinum hoofs.

Let’s end on a positive note: At least Amber Rose is making some money. That and only one fight broke out on set between Teyana Taylor and the director (allegedly). Maybe they can do a spin-off based on that: When Harlem Hits Haw upside the head (allegedly).

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My initial reaction to Rihanna’s latest tribute to Europop, “We Found Love,” seemed to be a lot different than everyone else’s. It’s not that I feel that it isn’t a good video. Rihanna’s videos are always appeasing to the eyes whether they’re glorified extended cosmetic ads or something like this, which shows Rih-Rih pushing herself far more creatively than in previous videos that I can recall. As a whole “We Found Love” is very well done. Still, I am a bit irritated by it.

What spawned those feelings was the initial sight of pills flying all over the screen. Worse were the shots of her and what looks like Chris Brown as a gay man (or a better looking Arnez from One on One) freebasing on camera. Yes, I get it. The song has about 13 lyrics and seven of them are “we found love in a hopeless place.” Obviously, that hopeless place wasn’t a TGI Friday’s. So don’t worry, I understand the point of the video highlighting volatile relationships, how destructive they can be, and how co-dependency can often be misconstrued for love or soil love or whatever had her looking crazy as hell in the video.

My concern is Rihanna’s 14-year-old fans, a loyal bunch constantly ready to threaten to steal your nana’s insulin should you shade their supreme being, will miss much of that. As the day passed I was ready to let that fear go and just salute Rihanna for a well-made video.

Then I saw this:


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I wanted to call this post “Conspiracy Cunts,” but I figured that might not be the best thing to have on my Twitter feed and Google index. I blame the Puritans. That’s still pretty much how I feel about this ridiculous story about Beyoncé faking her pregnancy all the same.

I noticed on the very night Beyoncé casually announced being with child that the headmistress of online sensationalism quickly barked that it was all a farce. That was to be expected if you’ve ever read the blog. Unfortunately, I gave other people the benefit of the doubt. I never learn, damn closet idealism.

There are people who actually believe Beyoncé is fronting about her growing fetus. And not just fronting: She’s cut her fancy pillow up into the shape of a prosthetic belly, which folds in front of foreign journalists. This video is tagged as “Best Proof Ever Beyonce is faking her pregnancy!! But Why? What u think?”

I think an insanely sad number of people are fucking morons.


I’m only getting started, too.


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What is so sexy about a slinky? Forgive me, I haven’t touched one since 1988 and therefore am unaware of its aphrodisiac appeal. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the video. Who can hate a body of work that can take Reynolds Wrap (I’m assuming the recyclable kind because it’s on trend) and make it into something so pretty and sparky? Plus, Kelly even managed to hit up a local zoo and borrow Barbar to help her break it down.

Somebody’s appreciating that boost in the budget post “Motivation” peak on the charts. I see you, Kelly, and I’m sure one of the production assistants smelt your success. By the loads.

Alas, there are some things not to like about the “Lay It On Me” video. The first would be Kelly Rowland’s hair. I’m no owner of a Kim’s Beauty Supply, but I know wack weave when I see it. Kelly Rowland has an amazing body thanks to her trainer and surgeon. If you’re going snatch hair from the scalp of an unsuspecting Indian woman, the least you could do is mold it into something that better accentuates all of the other positives that Kelly’s got going for her.

The second problem I have stems with brand of jig used. Granted, I will probably do one of those little moves she does if this song comes on in the club (or my iPod shuffle puts it on in my car while I’m sitting in traffic, which is far more likely considering…). However,  it’s a move I would have done on instinct anyway. It’s all basically a two-step and quick grind. Like, somebody’s current aunty could’ve helped craft that dance break. I read someone describe her dancing as “bish looks like she’s parking a car.” I have to agree: Kelly does have a parallel parking thrust going in throughout the video.

The biggest problem I have with the video is that it’s arriving so late the term “colored people time” would cut you for blatant disrespect. When I first heard “Lay It On Me,” I thought it sounded like that Keri Hilson song that pretends to be that Rihanna song. Or the Nicole Scherzinger that doing a similar impersonation. It’s since grown on me, though, which leaves me boggled as to why this video didn’t drop in the summer. It’s such a summery song. I suppose we ought to just celebrate Kelly even getting a second video.

I’m going to give Kelly Rowland some big ole praise for something: It seems like she’s finally getting it. Usually, I’m annoyed with people who fall back on sex because they haven’t a clue as to what else to do with their music and image. In Kelly’s case, I think it’s the smartest thing she could have ever done. I realize some people love Kelly doing rave music or what have you, but haven’t you been keeping up with the news? The Euro ain’t what it used to be. Neither is the dollar, but c’mon nah, if branching out no longer produces the same kind of check what is the point? She can watch American gay men dance to this song high as easy as she could some Europeans with the stuff David Guetta gives her.

Kelly has come home…and proceeded to toot it up. Anyone that has heard Kelly Rowland on Avant’s “Separated (Remix)” or “Bad Habit” or “Game Over” knows that she is great for straight R&B records. And sex music. I’m talking “Motivation,” “The Show” with Tank” and that new joint, “Slow Motion,” with Travis Porter. That works for her and “Lay It On Me” is still in the same family. I don’t mind Kelly doing uptempos. In fact, I encourage it. Who remembers Kelly boppin’ out Beyoncé to “Soldier” and twirking her life away on the dance breaks to “Lose My Breath?”

If she can’t be as much of a leader as some of the other girls in pop, she can at least work a format known to produce success. To quote the brilliant, Fresh, “Go and Sell That Ass, Girl.” I don’t object largely because Kelly seems to be able to do this without looking desperate like some of the other lessers. See this post for point of reference. So while the video isn’t perfect and it’s late like hell, Kelly gets a gold star as it is decent in the end. Well, she deserves a silver one, but the sight of Big Sean gave her an upgrade. Same for her Harem of Homeboys that she keeps around.

Next time, though, Kelly, try to angle Big Sean in a way that makes me think of Hammertime.

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