Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

If I had to surmise my thoughts about 2011 in three words, I’d go with the following: Good riddance, bitch. The year wasn’t a total wash, but I’m ready to move on all the same. But before I do it’s only right that I deliver the second edition of “Resolutions For You, Me & Them.” My first resolution is to actually keep up with this post each year versus every other, but that’s neither here or there.

As you know, there are some who like to remind the rest of us that they don’t bother with resolutions at the start of the New Year. Good for them. Email those fine folks a coupon for a cookie before you pass them the link to this post.


Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

If you watch VH1’s Love & Hip Hop Rap & Relations, you saw Kimbella’s ass greet her old friend, the ground, once again following a track snatching themed brawl with one of her fellow reality personalities on the show. In Kim Vanderhee’s defense, she did precede that fall with a moving tribute to the fighting style (if you can call it that) of Evelyn Lozada. Her adversary this time was Erica Mena, another model who boasted of taking part in New York Fashion Week, hair care campaigns, and you know, other gigs that don’t involve ass cheeks and titty tantalizing. What’s that covering Kimbella’s light? Erica’s shade, of course.

While I’m not exactly Kimbella’s biggest fan given the way she opted to symbolically slap the taste out of Emily’s mouth with her sexual past (that includes Em’s baby daddy), this incident wasn’t her fault. She was being polite to that over eager beaver who came there with the sole intention of picking a fight with her as the cameras rolled. Then Emily had the nerve to call the laws after. To quote the great Pimp C, “You ain’t no pimp, you a fairy.”

If all of that weren’t bad enough, now this model turned aspiring singer is babbling to TMZ about how her appearance on The Real Housewives of Hip Hop has derailed her career. She told the site, “My whole image in my career is now affected by this. I wanted them to pull this clip because I don’t want to show this side of me.”

This is the same person who shook her breasts in the face of another woman during a business meeting. The same person who picked a fight and proceeded to threaten the woman on camera. See a pattern here? I bet the producers of this show did when the first interviewed her in casting. I imagine Erica was proud of her stunt up until she looked at her mentions on Twitter and realized more people prefer her showing her ass in a thong over showing it via a fight with Juelz Santana’s lady. Oh well. Her bad.

You would think she’d know how to act by now. According to my own mentions on Twitter, Erica used to work as an “employee” of Dash on Kourtney & Khloé Take Miami. And my friend Google filled me in on some of her modeling work:

Word to the wise, Erica: Telling Kimbella you’re on a higher level than her because you got to lay on your back for King while Kimbella tooted it up for Black Men is like someone munching on dark meat from Church’s Chicken telling me I’m not worth shit for ordering wings and shrimp fried rice from the hood carryout a few blocks up.

If your aim was to transition into singing you should’ve went on this show acting like the person Olivia refuses to be. You either let the producers gas you up or you should really retrace your K-12 education and figure out where your critical thinking went wrong. Whatever the issue is, it is your own. This show’s ratchet levels were just fine without you. If you want to go, please. In fact, your segment could’ve gone to Somaya Reece, who I noticed is complaining about much of her footage being left on the cutting room floor. I can’t blame her. I would want to have my story of crawling out of the attic chronicled, too. Wepa! Or you know, whatever “gon’ girl” means in Spanish.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

With the start of the 2012 only days away it’s only right that the hefty and impressionable are being bombarded by an onslaught of celebrity-backed weight loss commercials. At the very least, maybe we ought to welcome the new faces to this unstoppable trend (not that some of us haven’t made requests) considering that as far as 2011 goes, I can only remember Jennifer Hudson repeatedly howling at me about it being a brand new day.

And from the looks of all these new campaigns, they’re each seeking to appeal to some different facet of American life.

If you’re a new mom that’s dying to fit into your old jeans and halter so that your gay best friend will finally return your texts about going back to the same sex disco you can get your life to “We Found Love,” this ad featuring Mariah “Dahling” Carey is for you.

Is the fried catfish, candied yams, macaroni and cheese, roasted red potatoes, a few french fries, and peach cobbler that you washed down with red soda (there’s more coloring than actual strawberries in this product, so give black folks a break) oppressively haunting you in your dreams? If so, Janet Jackson and her whispers of healthy body image have got your back.

I didn’t know this, but apparently Nutrisystem is to weight loss programs what Karrine Steffans is to virginity. C’mon, y’all. Allow Janet to do her part to aid in the resurrection of this brand of fat be gone in peace. Perhaps it will encourage her to do the same with her music career. Yes, I’m still holding out hope for that. I want her to bring back the butterfly.

Are you tired of Jared and his Subway sandwiches? If so, chubby man, start singing “Thank You For Being A Fried” to your new buddy, Charles Barkley. Since he’s probably not going to be the next governor of Alabama, I think Sir Charles lending his name to this promotion is a smart move…and a healthy one given over the years he looks like he ate Hakeem Olajuwon. You don’t normally see men besides Subway’s side piece discussing difficulties with weight loss, so I’m glad Chuck is earning a buck for the cause. As an ex-fat boy in physique and eternal one in my psyche, I know that we can’t end belt buckle abuse if we’re silent, men.

Now if you’re into spooking the weight off, the constantly slimming Jennifer Hudson has the right spot for you. Can I be honest? This scares the hell out of me. I imagine when the advertising folks conceived this ad it sounded a lot less creepy on paper. What focus group lied to them?

And with all due respect to Effie, listening to one Jennifer Hudson scream is bad enough. We didn’t need two of them outshouting each other under the guise of trying to harmonize. I suppose she’s that loud because she needs to remind people that she’s an Academy Award and Grammy winning actress and singer versus what she’s increasingly becoming known for: That big girl who went scrawny on these hoes. Then again, maybe I’m just being harsh (it happens to the best of us). I could see how happy she was at the VH1’s Massacare of the Term Divas Celebrates Soul having her “Deena Jones” moment. Can’t we all take comfort in that?

:::thinks about those performances:::

Actually, no. She’s too damn loud. Notions of new days can be conveyed in our inside voices. You read it here first. Alright, so let’s talk, y’all. Which diet plan are you and/or your mama, sister, cousin, play Uncle, or BFF joining? I’m gonna do my part by limiting my fried fish intake and trying to go back to eating all of that healthy crap that stops me from needing a bra.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

I don’t know a whole lot about Taylor Lautner. I tried watching one of those Twilight movies once, but I fell asleep about 20 minutes after it kicked off. I was full with the spirit of fried fish and bored out of my mind with the few moments of blandness I saw. You understand, right?

While I don’t know much about him as an actor, I am aware of his celebrity. I recall hearing something about Taylor’s diet and how it resulted in his 97 abs or something. If I remember correctly, though, it wasn’t legal to lust after him at the time so I went about my damn business. Since then I’ve seen him in a couple of interviews and realize that he’s been touted as the next Tom Cruise. I can see that albeit not for the reasons many would state on record. You know, allegedly or whatever.

Taylor has a rather, uh, jovial spirit and that tends to get some to wonder about where he chooses to hit his daddy stroke. Or be hit with the stroke, I suppose. That said, many didn’t seem to flinch when that fake People cover featuring him coming out of the closet spread across the Web. Even Russell Simmons fell for it, taking to Twitter to say he’s “proud of Taylor Lautner for his bravery and courage.” After someone alerted him to the truth, he quickly pulled his Rush Card to note: “Let Taylor Lautner be whoever he wants to be.”

That’s curious wording if I’ve ever seen it.

Be that as it may, folks need to stop being such assholes. I’m not a fan of outing people unless the person being outed is in a position of power to do gay people wrong. Say, the Republican dick enthusiasts dissected in the HBO documentary, Outrage. Or Bishop Play Daddy, Eddie Long. Those are people using their positions of power to hurt others while they suppress their natural urges. It’s not the same as actor playing a role on camera. Their jobs are to sell fantasies anyway, for the most part.

Does that mean I think Taylor is straight? I didn’t say all that, but I do think Taylor Daniel Lautner (I just hit Wikipedia, my goodness, what a wonderful full name he has) needs a break. He is 19. I believe I was still trying to force myself to masturbate to the images of women with the same level of interests as I did men back then. Shut up: the oversharing is in proper context. Curious wording or not, Russell is on to something: Let Taylor be who wants to be, especially in his own time.


Now, should Taylor know who he is already and would prefer not to divulge such facts at present moment he is more than welcome to contact me. I don’t mind signing a nondisclosure agreement. And he’s a burgeoning producer, optioning non fiction works for film projects. We are perfect for each other. I’m a little concerned that he was born in 1992, however considering all of the above plus that face, I have two words for him: Hey, boy.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

Intoxicate the videos for “Umbrella” and “Rude Boy,” send them into a seedy club bathroom for a quickie, and bam, you have the visual for Rihanna’s “You Da One.” It’s not that I don’t like the video, only it’s not as memorable as the one who preceded it. That’s a let down after you realize the Los Angeles Times was right to highlight how important Rihanna has become as a visual artist. Then comes this rehash of vanity shots coupled with crotch grabs and ass shots. Two months ago I noted how well Rih-Rih’s gotten by with her flair for public masturbation and this clip all but further confirms that sentiment. That’s fantastic for people who want to fornicate with Rihanna. Hell, I could see Drake wiping tears from his white wine glass after viewing this for the nineteenth time.

Still, we’ve all seen better from her. Hopefully, future videos for “Watch ‘n Learn” and “Cockiness (Love It)” build on the promise of “We Found Love.” Oh and there has to be a video for “Birthday Cake.” I don’t care if the song is only four seconds love. It is the greatest four seconds imaginable. It’s imperative that Rihanna toots that thang and make it roll on camera. Just don’t get accused of plagiarism after. She and big sister Beyoncé gotta watch who they employ and who they draw “inspiration” from.


Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

Say hello to my first quasi-celebrity crush. Actually, that’s probably Will Smith, but Omar is the first person I saw on TV that I recall really doing his part to lend credence to the theory that girls are icky. That makes it more special, right? Why yes, yes it does.

Some of you might remember this image still from his appearance in TLC’s “Creep” video. Others might recognize him as one of Janet Jackson’s dancers. The one Damita Jo was fortunate enough to crotch grab in the “If” video, to be exact. If none of this rings a bell to you, that means you were born in the 1990s and are trying to make me feel like an old man versus the young-ish one that I am. Gon’ somewhere . Ye ain’t ’bout to make me feel bad, pimpin’.

Anyway, during that time both my sister and I had a crush on Omar. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know I was coveting him more than she was, but oh well.  This would be the perfect time to throw out the lyric “I may be young, but I’m ready,” but unfortunately since I was barely alive at the time of my first Omar sighting it would be inappropriate to do so. I guess. Shucks. I’m free to talk about it now, though.

Look at him. Meet my prototype. Is he not the perfect introduction to sin?

Mark my words: One day when I’m a regular on TV and promoting my projects I’m gonna show up in a t-shirt with an image of Omar Lopez from the janet. tour book on it. Don’t tell my mama that. I left that tour book back home and she’d probably drown it in holy water or old bacon grease to spite me. I’m kidding! Maybe. No matter because I’ll also pay tribute to him in the acknowledgements of my very first book: “I love you, Omar Lopez! Thank you  for sending me on my first mental field trip to gayland.” Or something to that effect.

Apparently, these days Omar is a yoga instructor in West Hollywood. Yes, I have thought about grabbing a yoga mat and stretching for serenity in his presence. Sadly, I have yet to go through with it due to fears that such a move would have me teetering on Courtney Love levels of crazy.

That’s too bad as I’ve seen recent pictures of him and he’s still fine. Damn fine, to be specific. Is there no one in this city that can’t push me directly in front of him? Heaven, I need a hug.

Oh well. I suppose I’ll always have “Throb.” And the “Creep” video (although it’s a shame T-Boz is standing in his light so much).

Now do not leave me hanging, readers. Instead of trying to email this post to the police, share some of your childhood crushes with me. Or, turn that video on, bow in the presence of greatness, and proceed to get your ass up and butterflying. For love.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

I stumbled along this picture yesterday and I think my reactions to it perfectly encapsulate my thoughts of 2011.

“What in the fuck is this?”

“How in the hell did this happen?”

“Is this some sort of sick joke?”

“No, really: Am I being punked?”

“Get this shit the fuck out of my face, B.”

Need I say more? But, you know, I’ve enjoyed a lot of the writing I’ve done here and elsewhere this year so let’s accentuate the positive and allow that to be the focus of this entry. I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t update as much this year as I have in the past. Such is life when your student loans skyrocket and subsequently your hustle. Up until a setback at the end of the summer, I was writing 30-40 blogs a week for work (at other outlets), 1-2 essays a week as a columnist, and other various assignments. Plus, I was working on other things related to some long-term goals.


That said, while the quantity of posts on the site subsided a bit I’d like to think the quality was still on point. So here are my favorite posts from The Cynical Ones this year. If you didn’t read them before, gon’ head and do so now. And if you know of someone who has the unfortunate character flaw that is never having read me, email this post to them. Or Tweet. Facebook it. Yell the address to them over the phone. Wait. No one talks on the phone anymore. Instagram, text, or whatever it is you 1% folk do to spread the word nowadays.

Alright, here goes:

So I Finally Met The Queen

No matter how up and down this year has been, I will always remember 2011 as the year I met my lord and gyrator, Beyoncé, and instantly became a better man because of it. Sometimes when I’m really down, I just think about her acknowledging that I’m alive and proceed to close my eyes and hug myself like Ray Charles as a pick me up. Yes, it works. No, I’m not ashamed.

Analog Thoughts For A Digital Girl

If you turn on radio and don’t here Rihanna at least a dozen times, you either live for country music or live in the year 1995. But unfortunately, some people still downplay her success because she hasn’t managed to boast of having a number one album. You know, despite albums going the way of TalkBoys.

The Inmate Wives of Baltimore

If you can bear through a Baltimore accent, this post is for yew.

Not The Marrying Kind

As happy as I am for this country inching closer and closer to marriage equality, I personally, am not that keen on the idea of being legally bound to someone. Yes, even if Trey Songz is proposing in my ear while we’re in bed. Oh, childhood.

Will You Marry Me, Rob Kardashian?

Then again, if I did get married I think it would be in my best interest to marry a Kardashian. Please get into my grand idea for having the writing career I’m destined for, only in this instance I opt for the cheap route of netting it. I dare you to tell me my idea isn’t plausible.

Good Luck With That, Cadillac Kimberly

A YouTube comedian whose popularity is largely centered on bashing reality stars decides to play the role of matron of morality on the Twitter. Hilarity does not ensue.

Well, It’s Official

My private student loan payments soared to mortgage level payments this year, and I, trying to curtail my anxiety over it, wrote about longing for the day when I’m successful enough to pay off my debt in one big swoop – and piss on the desk of Citibank’s CEO. It was all in good fun, but according to one commenter on my site, the post made me a creative person who lacks integrity. Fuck him then and now.

Simpletons & Stilettos

I kick this post off with:

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.

Just go.

Fall Through A Trap Door Already

Why do people – especially women – get into Tyrese, especially when he likes insulting you so?

Uh, I Thought We Discuss This Already

My mother has heard me say, “I like dudes, ma’am,” but she still believes Jesus is on the mainline ready to place me on a cruise ship setting sail to some woman’s cervix.

Niggas Is Gay

Word to Fat Joe.


Look, y’all! I made it onto national TV! Let us pray that it happens again and again in the future, and when it does, it’s geared more towards my own projects and passions. Also, let us bow our heads and ask the almighty that I come to realize that while it’s okay to adore Mary J. Blige, one doesn’t have to blink like her on TV. In my defense, I was a live TV virgin.

Alright, I’m spent. Go forth and read and spread around like HPV. Then go get a check up: I read about fellatio causing oral cancer and I’m afraid now. Scary, right? Be careful. See: I helped.

Edit: I can’t believe I left off what I wrote about Amy Winehouse.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

I don’t know much about cocaine. I’ve never seen it despite growing up around unlicensed pharmacists who sold it. I’m almost certain that I am one of maybe seven gay men who have never been offered the drug in the bathroom of a club. Suffice to say I know very little about the relations between fiend and pusher. Maybe I’m thinking too much of people who turn to the selling of illegal substances to make a living, but I expected coke retailers to exercise more restraint than this. You know, since disclosure agreements don’t seem like a realistic option in these sort of instances.

We already know Nippy can sniff all the way back to Spring 1987. Do we really need to know the specifics about what she used to do with her nostrils? I wish I had Dionne Warwick’s email address so I could send this to her and watch her call her goons to handle this failed drug dealer. If you watched Celebrity Apprentice earlier this year you know Dionne is an old school goonnette. I swear, I’d pay good money to see her and Cissy Houston slap the snitch out of this sum’bitch.

Y’all leave Whitney Houston the hell alone. Better yet, y’all leave Whitney Houston fans alone. We’re already traumatized that Whitney went from sounding like an angel to an angel’s colon after food poisoning. It’s simply cruel to be so graphic about how this came to pass.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

Thus far I’ve failed to partake in my traditional holiday customs such as watching A Diva’s Christmas Carol and two-stepping to “Santa Clause Goes Straight To The Ghetto.” However, with the world’s most expensive birthday celebration now only a week away I realize that it would be wrong if I failed to acknowledge the holidays ‘round these parts. So here’s my Christmas list for the stars…and Keri Hilson.

Chris Brown: A journal.

While his tweets tend to make it very easy for bloggers and entertainment writers to find material, I think it would be in Chris Brown’s best interest if he gave his Twitter password to the head of his label and start jotting down his thoughts down on paper. Or maybe share them with a therapist. I heard he had a personal account that’s locked, but nothing is really ever private online. For the love of God, Christopher, stop sharing your emotions on the Internet.

As a bonus gift, I’d like to keep his mama off Twitter forever. Bless her heart and all, but Mom Breezy needs to lay off the caps lock and declarations like: “FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE US HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON.” Two seconds later: “NO! I AIN’T MEAN JESUSSS! I MEANT CHRISTOPHER! REMEMBER WE’RE ALL GODS CHILLIN!”

Yeah, if y’all want that young man to win they both need to cut all that out in 2012.


Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone
Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone

Even though the show was obviously secured through her celebrity, Toni Braxton has very little to do with why I watch Braxton Family Values. Don’t get me wrong. I love me some Toni Braxton and will continue to sing off key to “How Many Ways,” “Love Shoulda Brought You Home,” and “Always” whenever the spirit calls. But as a reality personality Toni is kind of dry. She’s gotten better, though I think the root of the issue has to do with her feigning shyness on camera. As you can tell from this clip, that quality isn’t limited to just her reality show.

Bless her heart for pretending like her inner slut is some imaginary friend who suffered a tragic fate not unlike a victim on Law & Order: SVU, but I’ve seen Toni Braxton’s tits and ass on multiple occasions for at least a decade now. In fact, her fixation with cooing and coochie popping has a lot to do with why her music has suffered over the years. Who exactly is she fooling? Never mind, there’s a bigger problem found in her interview with Chelsea Handler.


Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterShare on Google+Email this to someone