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Ma’am. Why do you insist on hurting me so? Why, dammit? Why?

I know that I should respect Lil’ Kim’s right to resemble Chip ‘n Dale’s arch-rival, but only two days ago did I see the Black woman formally known as Kimberly Jones look like a woman of African descent. Yes, she gave Jackson nose realness all the same, but you know, close enough.

Now she’s already regressing. Kim looks like she’s ready to give me a naughty pedicure in this picture. Where are her friends? Show yourselves so that Black people enthusiasts can shame you.

In the immortal words of Janet Jackson in that awesome ass movie: FIX IT! FIX IT! FIX IT! I wish she had stopped at the operations that gave Diana Ross reason to feel her up. Where did your self-love go, Kim?

Also, you owe Nicki Minaj an apology, Kimmy. How are you going to talk about her fake booty when yours looks like Gerber injected your ass shots? Step in front of her mirror, turn it around, and start thinking of ways to turn that cement into something shapelier. After that, ask yourself what is it inside of you that wanted an butt that says, “Imma make Batman my bitch.”

And for the love of God, stop talking in that damn weird ass voice. Ditto for going on and on about widow. His own wife and last girlfriend have both found new talking points and your star was far brighter than theirs.


Help Me: Lil’ Kim

Lil’ Kim’s Big Secret


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You can speak your words into a fancier accent when it suits you, but bullshit is bullshit no matter how you choose to enunciate it. That’s how I’ve been feeling about Tami Roman’s response to the response of the criticism leveled against her.  She just wouldn’t own up to her actions. Well, she admits she misbehaved a little bit, though she continues to operate from the pretense that she was provoked.

Worse, she had the sheer gall to act like she’s been victimized herself via Twitter. That comes across as laughable as it does annoying. It’s also the reason God created the emphasis on the word girl.

Initially, I was all but ready to pounce like everyone else, but only a few weeks ago did my own Tami Roman come out. To the point where I had to nix any plans to be too critical for fear of coming across as a hypocrite. I will say this, though: She needs to find a camera who refuses to film their sessions. Such a move would get her to ultimately turn off her fancy voice and get to the real source of her issues.

She makes more than $300,000 a year thanks to her Basketball Wives gig. She can afford help. If I could cover the cost of regular therapy, I most definitely would be in there getting my Frasier on. It beats the Budweiser approach to problem solving (i.e. coping).

Okay, who am I kidding? I have a little more to say than just that. Last nite’s episode and this interview made me want to revisit this again.

As I tweeted yesterday, “Tami Roman is like what happens when you never replace the bottle of self-esteem you pawned.” Also: “And y’all will not tell me ouch about that Tami tweet. She has the sweetness of the dude who tried to kill Free Willy for the insurance [money].”


I find it so funny how quick Tami runs behind Evelyn Lozada, the woman who told her that she screwed her then-husband and how she didn’t matter at the time of the adulterous act. On top of that, she chose to make a profit off her humiliation and even after Tami appealed to her (non-existent) better senses, Evelyn maintained the “Fuck you, pay me”  mantra.

Of all the people you work with, Tami, Kesha Nichols and Jennifer Williams are your biggest troubles? Oh and Royce Reed, too, now apparently since she won’t lie to you the way Shaunie and Evilyn do. C’mon nah.

I used to really like Tami, but I don’t get her. For what it’s worth, I don’t think her kids deserve to be slighted for their mama’s issues. I’m even glad Tami is managing to find work despite the dense shit she does on the show. However, at one point do you stop and say to yourself, “I’m 120 in entertainment years, when am I gonna grow up?” And by watching her and Evilyn cut up every week as true assholes in need of anger management, I’m definitely looking at myself thinking, “Dear, God. Don’t ever let me end up this damn miserable.”

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I haven’t watched American Idol since the boy who looked like Apu Nahasapeemapetilon’s gay nephew  with the great hair irked people because his advancement in the singing competition had more to do with his aesthetic attributes than his singing. Didn’t he have a book deal, too? America, what’s wrong with you?

Anyway, I’m not a regular Idol watcher anymore so I had no idea that Jennifer Holliday performed last nite.  I am not a fan of Ms. Holliday per se. I do enjoy watching her sing, though. It’s like, “What if Godzilla could croon?” And doesn’t she kinda look like a Black, cross-dressing version of Gargamel from The Smurfs?

The answer is yes, she does. Don’t even try to fight it. She looks like she can’t wait to fuck Papa Smurf up.

Shadiness aside, this is a real treat. To be performing alongside someone who looks like she’s going to top her with BBQ sauce and eat her or grab her and scale the Empire State Building (oh, and her voice is still strong to boot), Jessica Sanchez held her own performing with the original Dreamgirl (and don’t you ever forget it…she’ll get you). Gon’, girl.

Get into this monster mash, y’all.

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Was asked to write about the idea that it’s harder for Black celebrities to come out of the closet. Don’t agree with the premise, but did address the question at hand:

In a 2010 interview with Upscale magazine, Queen Latifah made her thoughts on speculation about her sexuality in the media clear: “I don’t feel like I need to explain things to a perfect stranger,” she said. “The people who matter know. And they love me for Dana. I don’t have to tell Joe Blow. Joe, you worry about who you sleeping with.”

She has yet to offer the full explanation many have pleaded with her to provide, though during a performance at a gay pride event in Long Beach, California, the multi-hyphenated entertainer told a crowd “I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time” and added “Y’all my peeps, I love you!”

Some sites have tried to stretch this into a confirmation that she is a lesbian, but it’s more like another nod to a suspicion without offering any real specification. Regardless of how many feel about it, such actions are within Latifah’s rights. She doesn’t owe us anything. She never did.

Still, I understand writers like Tracy Garraud hoping someone of Latifah’s stature would opt for a moresocially responsible openness about her sexuality and offer black lesbians the kind of visibility currently missing from the media. Another missed opportunity came recently with Raven-Symoné, who took to Twitter to respond to a National Enquirer story that she is currently dating America’s Next Top Modelcontestant AzMarie Livingston.

Read more at theGrio.

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You could give me a lifetime supply of damns and I still wouldn’t give one to the cause of hating the reality TV-themed cover of VIBE magazine’s “Sexy Issue.” I knew it was coming so I’m not surprised. To be honest, I am surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

VIBE isn’t really calling them role models, y’all. If you think so, meet me friend: sarcasm. Sarcasm can sometimes be too slick, too salty, and maybe a lil’ too on the nose. But hey, it’s in jest all the same. You don’t have to love sarcasm, but understand that motherfucker, please.

Plus, you could actually read the article and note how each person on the cover says they’re not a role model. Some of them are actually taken a task a bit about their behavior. How often does that happen with a bottle or “bitch” being thrown around?

At its height, VIBE was seen as the kind of publication that addressed the pulse of pop culture. If anything, this is VIBE getting back to that. This is where we are in terms of culture. The dominance of celebrity and how the need to fill airtime due to the surge in cable channels has only intensified the kind of power a “star” yields. This is how it is. How can I bash VIBE for putting the stars of the shows I talk about the most on their cover?

Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m not exactly grinning about the way things are. When I get asked to interview reality stars who can barely form a coherent sentence without breaking a sweat about the books they’re releasing but didn’t write, I get frustrated. Especially when I hear back from different agents saying yeah, I like you and your material, but…which is exactly why I concocted that Rob Kardashian plan.

People with no discernable talent are taking every industry that requires one by storm. You can’t help but feel a way about it even if you salute everyone’s respective hustle. Unfortunately, I sometimes feel guilty about my own role in helping create that reality. Not just covering pop culture here, because I actually try to do commentary and humor. I mean by writing entertainment stories – plenty featuring the stars of all the top reality shows – for work. I do worry if that makes me a part of the problem, though I do know that I consume all sorts of news and write about many topics. It’s your cousins who are one note. But you know, how else will I get Citibank to stop swinging from me?

Again, I get why some are a bit vexed about this cover. VIBE is known as a music magazine. Two of them sing, but you don’t give a damn about that (I am waiting, though, Tamar) and we all know banging a rapper doesn’t count as musical talent (on Billboard). Still, it’s all about perspective. This is a mirror. Suck it up and accept it. Behave accordingly in response if that would make you better. And more importantly: This is a magazine cover, folks. Stop acting like you still read those that often anyway. Well, this cover is clearly intended on rectifying that, ain’t it? Tell me you don’t think it’s gonna work.

Meanwhile, I need to figure out a game plan on being a real writer. I think I’ll start with replacing Dice and Po as La La’s gay homies. We’ll see Rob says.

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Let me start off by saying I resent all who are responsible for this post. Contrary to select person’s suspicions, I don’t hate the man, but I’ve never been that big a fan either. That said, y’all need to cut out the Chris Brown criticism as it relates to him lip syncing. Since he has the charm of a acid-filled cactus, the manner in which Breezy Boy has responded to flack among his peers gives detractors even more reason to loath him.

As in all that “fuck, y’all then” talk. Or him releasing tracks like “Bitch, I’m Paid.” Oh, and of course, that stuff about “the haters” — otherwise known as the simpleton’s most treasured imaginary friend. All of that is repulsive, but that doesn’t mean that muddied underneath all that brattiness is a legitimate reason to say, “That’s not fair.”

The guy is a talented to performer. I don’t even love all of his performers. It’s just something about him aggressive style of dancing. It’s like, “What if The Incredible Hulk had rhythm and a choreographer?” Nevertheless, the guy can dance and he’s like a Barnum and Bailey act while tough twirking. As an entertainer, he entertains. What more can people expect with the kind of production he does?


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It’s the thuggish, ruggish O. It’s the thuggish, ruggish O. It’s the thuggish, ruggish O, O, O, O. Or at least, that’s what Rick Ross would have you believe after signing Omarion, who now calls himself “Maybach O.” God bless that young man and the treasure he sits on, but are we really trying to still make fetch happen with Omarion? I’m not a dream killer, but don’t push me.

There’s something to be said about knowing when your time has passed. In the case of Omarion (yell it out, please), that was about two years ago. I initially wanted to say more than that, but after a Wikipedia search I realized there was that modest hit “I Get It In” with Gucci Mane in 2010. Even still, though that song got some spins, much of that was driven by the beat and the popularity of Gucci.

Is anyone checking for Omarion The Artist anymore? I’d reckon – yes, reckon – that most haven’t since he was talking about his chest suffering from frostbite and had Solange running around in the video about it. Or when he was break dancing in the street to Pharrell beats. Since then, this kid has long been out of whack of musically. Refer (at your own risk) to that awful, disrespectful remake of Jodeci’s “Come and Talk To Me” or the Ollusion cut, “I Think My Girl Is Bi.” For the record, good sir, I think your girl is a stud.

Omarion is not exactly the best singer. His greatest strength is/was his dancing ability. Yet, he hasn’t made any dance cuts lately. As much as I hate the Europop, let’s bar hope in Belgium trend music has taken, I’m confused as to why Omarion never jumped on it. It’s the perfect sound for a person whose voice gives puberty realness, but isn’t afraid to perspire on pop lock. He squandered that and whoever is advising him right now is leading him astray. At this rate he’s the Mya to Chris Brown’s Rih-Rih.

O, how about you get yourself a BET sitcom, continue judging those wonderful Asian dancers and drag queens on MTV (look, I haven’t seen that show in years…no idea what’s going on), and maybe channel whatever energy is left into becoming another Tina Landon. Or I suppose there’s always left cheek, right cheek, left cheek, right cheek if all else fails (I had one suggestion already). ‘Cause this shit right here (this shit right here)…isn’t gonna work. No matter what your new overweight lover homeboy is grunting into your ear.

Or shoot, give Pharrell and Timbaland a call. Beg for it. If that doesn’t work…flat screen. It’s not that I don’t think you’re untalented, Maybach No, but the route in which you’re using those talents won’t make you the solo star you had a chance back in 2005. Don’t you let Bow Wow tell you any different either.

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Nicki Minaj is a fascinating person to watch. Hi, it’s me, Captain Obvious reporting for duty, sirs and ma’ams. Anyway, from the “Chaka Khan, let me rock you” quality to her face to the Krusty The Clown inspired expressions she makes with it: Young Nick is so damn interesting to look at. Even when she’s not doing anything particularly worthwhile, I do enjoying seeing her. That novelty is what helped me finish checking out the non eventful visual for her new single, “Right By My Side.”

I suppose it’s a perfect fit given the banality of the single.”Right By My Side” is one of those generic R&B-pop fusions dominating radio, which means it should perform really well. I guess it doesn’t matter how great the song is because it gets stuck in my head anyhow. I don’t hate it, but I enjoy it best when Nicki’s actually rapping on it.

Speaking of good looking rappers, hello, Nasir. Want to let me sing the hook to “You Owe Me” to you? No? Okay, maybe later.

Oh and Kanye East is present, too, sangin’ in the background. Christopher looked ready to wrap the shoot up so he can munch on his order of Buffalo Wild Wings getting cold in his trailer. I understand: I have done that “I enjoy you, but I really want my hot wings right now” smirk with many.

Dull as this video may be, the visuals for “Beez In The Trap” and “Stupid Hoe” suggests that much like anything involving her right now, Nicki is a lot better than people give her credit for. She’s simply not as great when subdued. When she’s quirky she’s awesome. Perhaps she should pretend to be a gay man trapped inside of a woman’s body more often.

You know, since she’s no longer admitting to be a half-gay anymore. Now that I think about it, although I do like seeing Nas and Nicki together, wouldn’t it have been intriguing to see the person who exploited society’s fetishizing of bisexuality tackle that from a different standpoint? Especially now that Jay-Z and Ice Cube are lending their support to gay marriage (never forget Fat Joe’s fantastic words last year about homosexuality in general, though)?

I guess  I’ll wait on Azealia Banks…when she turns 25 or something. To that end, I don’t have much else to say about this video. Well, besides the note that I’m increasingly realizing that Nicki’s body is kinda like “What if Betty Boop got butt shots and ate cornbread?” From this day forth, if you see me refer to someone as “Boop-Oop-A-Doop booty,” you know who I’m referring to.

It is written.

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Unless this dreamer has Wayne Szalinski’s toy chest hiding somewhere, dude in the clip is wee bit too thrilled about living in a room that makes both Chateau Sheree and that old woman’s shoe look like real estate marvels. I adore New York City. Oh yes I do. Even if the city gets Satan’s right sac hot in the summer, old man winter cold as early as October, and known as Master Splinter’s playground all year round. I love it all the same for varying reasons. However, I don’t love it enough to pay a mortgage in rent (if you’re living in the South) to reside in a space that’s about 1/4 the size of a mid-atlantic home’s garage (and that’s being very, very generous).

I recognize that it beats the alternative: homelessness. Still, there’s something quite annoying about this trend of folks showing off their tiny living quarters as if they’re in a race to win the title of shittiest home. It gives attention whoring teases in addition to a sort of posturing from the featured. As in, “Suck it, mom and dad. I don’t need my trust fund. Look how I’m living.” Insert hipster love of all things ironic and pseudo rebellious here. If I had Scrooge McDuck for a mommy or daddy, I’d be calling for a deluxe apartment in the sky something that wouldn’t give claustrophobics an instant palpitations.

Maybe it’s a difference in background, but from where I come from (no Tami Roman) people who aren’t in the best shape aren’t this willing to “show off.” Why so happy to live so hollow? Wait, let me rephrase before I get some inspirational quote about being grateful for whatever you have taken from the strip of paper tucked inside of the dessert that came with your order of moo goo gai pan.

What I mean is: What is up with these New Yorkers trying to out ant hill each other?

Okay, a YouTube clip going viral is cute and all, but if I lived in an area that tiny I’d be working on an escape plan from top to bottom.

Top: Hugging myself while humming Negro spirituals up top.

Bottom: Doing squats while contemplating living up to Ronnie hoe quotes below.

Pun not intended.

I read that that this guy is paying $800 a month to live there. There has to be a room – a real one – he could rent in Harlem or some borough. But you know, as he said, we’re humans…we adapt. I guess. Personally, I can’t live in a space where one overheated Lean Pocket might be my cause of death. Conversely, it’s gotta be convenient to know a q-tip can double as a mop where you stay.

Just not sure how “look at me, look at me” I’d be about it if that were my reality.

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If this blog were my child and you the reader were my baby mama, you would be contemplating whether or not to have me locked up for not keeping up with payments. Baby, baby please forgive thee. Trying times…and shit. That said, I’ve been writing a few things elsewhere per usual. This space will be getting updated – today with lots of to boot, hopefully – but in the meantime here’s a few of my recent essays.

A couple for, naturally. Plenty, plenty of marriage equality. On select Blacks with misguided priorities and certain conservative columnists revisiting past mistakes.

I also took a look at Azealia Banks’ behavior and the despicable attempts at slut-shaming Rihanna.

Elsewhere, I’ve recently talked about mainstream outlets exploiting Black women for hits (with Blacks aiding them along the way), and yes, more on President Obama making history.

Happy reading? Yes, happy reading. Okay, let me work on giving you something to read here.

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