Here For Hip Hop Hannibal’s Harem

It’s nothing like the excellence served on All My Ratchets starring the greatest to ever slur it, Joseline Hernandez, but I’ll be watching the new season of Love & Hip Hop, which I’ll now be referring to as Hip Hop Hannibal’s Harem. Full disclosure: In all likelihood, I was going to watch the shit anyway, though at least now I know I’ll be entertained. Much of that has to do with the joy that is Tahiry, but first, let’s begin with Hannibal himself, Joe Budden.

Don’t let his three days after Thanksgiving dry turkey delivery confuse you, Joe Budden is a walking one-man play. He is an Evil Geppetto of Emotion. He literally creates situations where he gets to play Dr. Phil for his own amusement, God complex. I’m so fascinated.

When he purposely riled up Tahiry mere minutes after she sat down for their lunch with no food, I thought, “Ugh! I know sum’bitches like him!” Folks love to get a rise out of me and I absolutely hate, but stupidly give in every single time. As the homie told me via text last nite, “We have all dated a Joe Budden.”

True, but he speaks like prep school Steebie J and gives way too many Silence of the Lambs teases. I’m intrigued, though I want to warn all of the readers: When someone tries to rile you up via a carefully planned mind fuck, raise your two fingers like Celie did Mister and tell that person, “Don’t you Budden me, bitch.”

I’ll chronicle more of Budden’s Jedi dick tricks in the week’s ahead. Dude is far worse than Steebie, whose issues appear sourced in mommy abandoned issues whereas Mr. Budden is kind of like the villain Tyler Perry wishes he could write convincingly. Not sure if you can get that from this interview, which is cool but continues to leave me wishing I had sprinkle it with horseradish mustard, spinach leaves and cranberries for added flavor and a boost in presentation.

Meanwhile, I would like to declare my love of all things Tahiry. She is beautiful, thick, will curse you out if you get out a line, and based on the way she went for Raqi’s head on the season premiere, apparently can kickbox. Some good man needs to wife her now. Of course, if she wants to be married. Not everyone does, you aspiring Tyreseians.

One thing I’d like to say to those of you who shaded her for being a waitress: Shut up.

Being a pinup opens doors, but not necessarily ones to the bank. Publishing remains in a volatile state as it were. And as you can tell from this interview, if she co-signed for things for Budden and  left with the bill, well, a girl’s gotta keep her credit in the Black if someone’s Black ass acts up. Let that be a lesson to us all: Don’t co-sign anything but the hook in that SWV song.

I hope this show opens up more doors for her. Tahiry is like Joseline after she got her self-worth out of layaway and got Rosetta Stone for Christmas.

Also, thank you for introducing the phrase “tweet the cheeks” into my lexicon, Tahiry, xoxo and shit.

Oh yeah, Olivia is still here, largely for decoration. I don’t care for Erica Mena so in all likelihood I’ll use her airtime to go to the bathroom or check on the wings I’m sure to be cooking in the oven. As for Olivia, she hasn’t let go of her entitlement, and I’m caring less and less. I’ll look out for the single, but the show was never carried by her — even less now with the new folks.

Well, F*ck You, Too, Fantasia

As a practicing gay, you become accustomed to being blamed for the world’s troubles big and small. If your bitter homegirl can’t get a man, it’s because her hairdresser keeps turning all of the available breeders out. Should a sizable earthquake happen, it’s because the homosexuals have gotten way too beside themselves now that a few secularists have decided to co-sign their call for equal rights. The same applies for hurricanes, heavy rains, speeding tickets, and you getting the burnt biscuit with your five-piece spicy strip combo. And according to Fantasia’s Instagram feed, it’s also my fault that she met somebody’s husband at a T-Mobile store, fell in lust and love, had his baby, and proceeded to brag about their relationship as his wife went “What the fuck?” before deciding to take advantage of an old North Caroline law targeting home-wreckers and sue her ass.

Despite shouts to the contrary, it’s obvious that Fantasia still feels a way about some judging her. Never mind that she publicized the affair and proceeded to further antagonize the public by constantly trying to justify her relationship. Nope, it’s everyone else’s fault that a public person made a private affair public, and as a result, was criticized publicly. And surprise, surprise, since this soulful simpleton wanted to invoke the Bible to pan others’ for their perceived sins as a means to deflect from her own actions, she’s getting judged again, only this time she’s judging back.

As far as the Bible goes, I must’ve missed the part about God hating ganja. Also, as much as I would love to talk context and historical accuracy, re: the six verses that reference the gay in that book, let’s just say if I ever started a book club and thought to invite Fantasia over, she’d have to wait until we got on Patti LaBelle’s cookbook.

I will say this, though: Someone needs to sit her ass down and explain how what anyone else does has no bearing on her actions.

If I’m looking at a picture of Trey Songz from behind, the side, the front, or him just seductively eating some turkey sausage and start singing to myself “Oops, there goes my shirt up over my head. Oh my.” that has nothing to do with her caressing the scrotum of someone else’s husband.

The gays didn’t force you to be Antwaun Cook’s bottom, baybee.

Fantasia needs to come to gripes with what she’s done and move on. Maybe people were a bit too harsh on her — self included. However, get over it or at the very least, blame someone else for your problems in silence. Of the fraction of the fan base Fantasia used to enjoy, a fair share of it consists of gays. We’re the people that will ensure that she can afford white meat forever.

She’s got her nerve riding the rainbow and then taking a piss on it when she’s feeling crabby about her choices.

And since we’re on Jesus, let us pray that he and all his deity-friends work as a cohesive unit to help celebrities learn what “taken out of context” means.

What she argued was: “Y’all judging me, but look up at all the other unholy shit going on? The gays getting married and people are smoking weed legally.” What did we take out of context? If you’re going to two-step out of that shit with the hopes of getting future Pride weekend and Ru-Paul’s Drag Race bookings, start by admitting what you said and apologizing accordingly.

Otherwise, shut up. Her head is as thick as the bottom of half of her because she fails to see that if she had kept things to herself starting two years ago it would’ve only been Aunt Bunny telling her she and her married boyfriend are in the wrong. I hope Fantasia manages to bounce back with her music career and come to a place where she doesn’t need to pop one too many Advil PMs to deal (sincerely), but she needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. After a while, you get sick of artists who need your kind for varying reasons pretend to be down for you only to show you how they truly feel later on.

Bottom line: Illiterates ain’t shit and they ain’t saying nothing, a hunnid motherfuckers can’t tell me nothing. I’ll be in that ass, beez, beez in that ass.

God bless, though.

Let’s Start With A Scene Instead of A Song

I am not exactly a B2K fan so the thought of a B2K reunion doesn’t especially excite me. They don’t have New Edition’s talent, or frankly, New Edition’s anything. B2K certainly doesn’t have the catalog of groups like Jodeci or Boyz II Men either. What they do have is what always kept me open to the idea of at least entertaining them: aesthetic value. Namely Omarion’s assets, J. Boog’s…I don’t know, I saw some flicks of him on Tumblr and there’s definitely a talent there (see: Omarion), and Lil’ Fizz’s everything.

I had the biggest crush on Lil’ Fizz. He talked at the speed of someone moving in a wheelchair with one arm, but dammit if he wasn’t the cutest thing to me in their prime. Judging from this shot, unless that’s some Instagram magic my BlackBerry owning ass (shut the hell up, I’m gonna replace it soon) can’t pick up on, he’s still pretty damn cute. It’s just something about that perpetually blank expression on his face that does something to me. It’s like a sexy warning about the problem with rampant marijuana usage. I even love the fact that he never took off his shirt like his fellow pimped out bandmates. Not even because that left an element of mystery. I think we know what the mystery was: He still act Jack in the Box as opposed to steamed veggies and grilled chicken breast everyday. I can appreciate that. In my mind, if push came to shove (or the bellies rubbed too much) we could always run some miles together.

It’s good to see them together again minus that poor little touched boy after those years of presumed bad blood. But yeah, I don’t see it for them with respect to a musical reincarnation. Not that they have announced one. The picture merely spawned speculation. Don’t encourage that, though, y’all.

There’s really no place for them. Well, unless they learned to sing or something. Nasally singing and noisy raps are for texturizer using teenaged Black boys. And judging from my nieces, Mindless Behavior is all the rage and Bow Wow is currently raging because he refuses to accept that the world no longer wants to hear him spit Da Brat’s hot fire.

I do have one idea for these young men. How about the next time they’re together – particularly in a studio – they just turn the camera on and see what happens. For fun, let’s add lots and lots of Ciroc to the set. Peach Ciroc in particular as that’s the one you can drink straight and not taste a single ounce of alcohol. Meanwhile, we’ll have what I’m listening to as I write this – Jodeci’s Diary of a Mad Band – playing in the background.

You know, to set a relaxing mood and such. We should also totally lock the door and have a a sign, “NO GIRLS ALLOWED.” On some He-Man Woman Hater’s shit for that ass. Speaking of ass, I think by now you’ve pretty much figured out what my idea is. I actually am not even a great fan of the adult form of entertainment, but as Tumblr (by way of Fresh) has brought to my attention, it certainly has a redeeming quality if you let go and let gif.

Oh, can you just imagine the kind of gifs this production would generate? Think of the possibilities, boys. Also, cut the check because if I didn’t know any better, I think I just wrote the treatment for my first porno.

Don’t worry about thanking me, just get to work.

Do We Need The Walking Mattresses of Georgia?

Hello, hell. You look a lot harsher than I ever imagined. Don’t get me we wrong: While I think the trailer of this show will prove to be all the rage on You Tube and World Star Hip Hop, I seriously doubt any network will order it to series. Then again, strangers things have happened. As have worse shows. Regardless of whether or not it does make it to the telly, one thing is certain: Similar pilots like will be shot. I find that quite horrific. However, I can’t be too pious about the matter because it’s people like me that are responsible for it happening.

I watch The Real Housewives of Atlanta, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, The Real Housewives of New York, Mob Wives, Basketball Wives, Basketball Wives: Los Angeles, and Love & Hip Hop. I have seen several episodes of The Real Housewives of New Jersey, The Real Housewives of D.C., The Real Housewives of Orange County, and The Bad Girls Club (which is awful). My Catholic guilt gene sometimes makes me feel sorry for things that I shouldn’t, but in this instance, I’m very much culpable. Even still, doesn’t The Mistresses of Atlanta sound trashier by comparison? Granted, mistress is a more appropriate title for many of the woman on the “wives” shows, but something about a show themed around infidelity hoe shit seems so…okay, fine, I’m not going to win this argument so I’ll move along.

From what I read, one of Drake’s ex-girlfriends is featured on The Walking Mattresses of Georgia. Just what the world needed: Another ex of Drake showing her ass on national television, potentially spurring more melodramatic lyrics from Droopy about the perils of fame. At this rate it won’t be long before The Real Cum Stains of Coke Rap is shot. After that, we can anticipate The Jezebels of Jig Music. Then once those two shows become huge successes, we’ll get the spin-off called The Jaws of Rap. No wait, it’ll be called Jocks & Jaws or Hoop Hoes. Whatever, this all makes me wonder whether I should retreat a bit on some of my viewing habits. I’m displeased that I even feel compelled to entertain such a question. I hate this new show already.

Now on a slightly unrelated matter, I’ve noticed quite a few criticism about the current direction of that Negro Telenovela now airing on BET. Many place blame at BET’s unpolished feet for the injection of various aspects of hood shit. Well, y’all need to quit it ’cause that’s not their fault. I have no reason to run to their defense, but those who make those allegations ought to look at their other original comedies and compare and contrast. If BET wanted to King Triton the crew at Sports Goes Soap to “color” up their show, they would have done the same to the other ones.

If anything, BET has become hypersensitive about past criticism and tries too hard to avoid doing anything that might cause the hair on the back of Jesse Jackson’s neck to stand. I hate it, because now I won’t ever find out why Rick Ross was smoking weed on camera (in this instance at least). I don’t give a damn if he’s getting high; just show a sad commercial of a crack head after with a stern warning. It’s probably more entertaining than a lot of these positively bad “positive” shows my remote control refuses to acknowledge.

I still don’t want to see On Call Asses of Atlanta, though. Nu uh. I have my limits. We all should.

Getting Laid

There’s a good an explanation for this lacefront, I swear. Before you dare even think it, no, it’s not mine, and please, I do not cross-dress. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that if you elect to make that one of your favorite pastimes. See what had happened was: I was kind of drinking a lot and doing hoodrat shit with my friends. After we gathered ’round the table to talk 2012 resolutions before a bountiful plate of some bomb ass nachos. Then while we made our way to the host, Mimi’s, bedroom to see its glorious transformation, I spotted the wig. Mimi, being the quintessential bad influence, told me, “Wanna try it on?” I was ambivalent and then she said, “Do it!” So I did.

I immediately thought of Funky Dineva and said, “My hair is layed” like Michael Jackson’s last years.” As soon as I threw that wig on I felt like I had been hit by a smooth criminal, ready to check on Annie’s little young pasty self and see if she was okay. I was named after the King of Pop, after all (my mama since claims that she named me after Saints Michael and Joseph, but my sister broke it down) so there’s nothing wrong with a delayed tribute. Well, besides dancing in the heat to “In The Closet” (for the record, Naomi snatched MJ’s thunder a whole bunch in the clip) on a public sidewalk.

Fresh says I look like Venus and Serena. I imagine if my mama saw this she’d say I looked more like a mortal sin. Or are those terms mutually exclusive? Kidding. Don’t wanna beef with Canada Dry or  Chicago’s Deepest Dish. I might as well be able to make fun of myself. The student loan corporations sure are doing it. Anyway, so feel free to point and laugh…now ’cause this shit will never happen again. Never. That is, unless someone offers me $20 million to do it. Or get me drunk enough. Then again, the economy might force me to go snatch Mimi’s wig from her place and make it do what it do.

I will never put on a bra, though. If I didn’t wear one when I actually needed it, I won’t be doing it now.

Now as I go debate whether or not I’m out of my mind for posting this, get into Funky Dineva, he who rocks that shit much, much better. My favorite clip is below the hood.

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Girl, Fall Through A Well

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.

I Love You, Omar Lopez

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.

Your Something New Is Starting To Sound A Little Old

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.

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You Sent It Now Call Your Local CPS Office

I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t considered launching a new career as a deep fried idiot with asinine yet undeniably ass shaking spurring songs. Seriously, where do you think the name “Young Sinick” comes from? But as increasingly cynical as the radio makes me even I know that you can’t just throw out some bullshit and expect to pop off (at least not without a catchier hook). Or better yet, before you download your illegal copy of Garage Band to start your music career you should have a plan. In some people’s cases, that plan should involve a babysitter and nursery.

Then again, this girl seems more interested in shaming the other safe sex failure who impregnated her versus becoming the next, “Remember her? No? Oh. Damn.” That’s more concerning because it makes the video a glorified PSA for condoms and tragic irony instead of just so stupid song to make fun of. God Bless her and all that, but why is she looking into the camera as if she’s either trying to seduce the viewer with her come hither eyes and heavy belly or let King Triton know that it won’t be long before she controls the ocean? I suppose I’m behaving like a masochist if I ask why doesn’t she know that Uncle Sam handles taxes, not rejected Maury guests?

Naturally, after her remix she goes into a tangent about fucking with her ex’s phone, putting a knife to his throat, and threatening to key his car. She said that as if she was delivering the keynote address to a flock of geese. Imagine if her baby daddy cared enough to forward this to her future probation officer. I find her body roll for twins especially unfortunate given that check is probably going to look like the sum of the cheaper side of the Taco Bell menu. In other words, there will be two babies wondering what in the hell their trife parents got them into. But you know, good luck to her and shit.

As for that other song at the end: I was hoping it wasn’t real. Of course it is.

See. I wonder if it’s on iTunes. No, I don’t want you to check for me. Let’s just keep that a mystery while I revel in the genius of songs like, “Damn, Bitch My Feet Hurt” and inventions such as the morning after pill.

Try Again, Tami

I haven’t written about the Baby Mamas of Miami Beach since that one post back in 2010, but let’s just say I got over my initial skepticism of the show’s cast members enough to enjoy it for what it is: a glorious mess.  For the record, I don’t think these women are bringing down my race. Do they make women look bad? Maybe, but so do The Real Housewives of New Jersey, The Real Housewives of New York, and The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.

Every group has an embarrassing faction of itself acting a fool on reality TV — and I tend to watch too many of them do so. Sue me. On second thought, don’t. I’m not trying to end up like Tami Roman.

Speaking of Tami Roman, my post-Real World idea of her was nothing more than that drunk auntie who might be one or two swings away from needing an anger management course and or a 12-step program, but for the most part was okay. After the last episode of Basketball Wives, I’d like to change my description to Tami Roman is nothing more than Deebo with a period. She’s a bully. A loud and aging bully who will likely meet her Craig in a retirement villa. Actually, she’ll probably meet several of them there.

While people cheered Tami on as she mushed Meeka over in some nice Italian man’s club, I started to think how much of a sucker she is. I mean, you huff and you puff yet when you get a clear aim at somebody all you you do is mush them in the face when they turn their head to speak to someone else. Not that I’m advocating violence – I’m not – it’s just that if you’re going to act like you’re so tough, why fight like such a weakling?

Ye ain’t bad, Tami. Ye ain’t nothing. Achahoo…and shit.

Hell, I’m glad Meeka is suing you. Maybe it will teach you some decorum (not much or anything…you are on VH1). I don’t know why those two never got along anyway. They’re both pressed as hell to be popular with the other women on the show. Thirsty ass people ought to share the sippy cup.

Tami’s not ’bout that life, though, and obviously Meeka’s not about getting attacked when she turns to speak to the walking teapot that is Suzie Ketchum.

But we can go back and forth all day about Tami’s sucker moves. Actually, wait, let me get one more thing out: Notice that after Tami sucker mushed Meeka and lunged at her as if she wasn’t about to do anything but wait for security to pull her off, notice that Meeka had Tami’s upgraded weave (better than that stuff she got at the gas station while waiting on her order of Lo mein and for her kids to pump $5 on #10) and the head it was glued to in a headlock.

Yeah, Tami. You’re so bad. Don’t let anybody sit down next to you.

Okay, I’m done now.

I stumbled along this video yesterday and I’d like to make a public service announcement on behave of people who know better: Dumb and/or country ass black people, please stop assuming that turning on your “professional voice” magically hypnotizes folks into believing whatever bullshit you have to say.

In terms of reality TV, this seems to come from the NeNe Leakes guide to ass backwards thinking.

I’ve met plenty of people in my own life who fall in line with this dimwitted logic and I now worry if videos like these will only make more people fall for the trap.

Trying to sound smart while explaining your dumb ass behavior only makes you look worse. So please do us all a favor and cut the shit.

And for the record, Tami, if that suit actually went to trial, this stupid little speech you’re giving in this video   wouldn’t work. That nonsense about “burden of proof” is dense, too. Uh, you hit her. She didn’t provoke you. She turned her head and you mushed her. You also have a history of swinging at people in their seats. Sounding “fancy, huh” won’t negate any of that.

That said, gon’ book some club dates or hit Meeka on Twitter like, “Yeah, girl can you send me a DM ’cause I was trippin’” and save yourself some trouble. We saw you, girl, and you reminding us that you can read isn’t going to change any of that.

This message was brought to you by the Center of Negroes Who Need Y’all [redacted] To Quit.