Frank Ocean, F**k Ups and Fools

Sadly, whatever locksmith Frank Ocean called to help him find the right key to sing didn’t make it in time for his performance at the 2013 Grammys. It was a missed opportunity for the consistently brilliant singer-songwriter albeit still not-that-great performer to impress those who might not know much about him. Despite that, Frank’s stock will only continue to rise given that unless he starts writing lyrics along the lines of “GLEEP GLORP FLEEBLE FLABLE ZIP ZOP ZAM!!” there will remain a demand for his forward-leaning R&B.

Of course, some immediately started to argue otherwise mere seconds into his less-than impressive presentation. Upon the first botched note before that large audience – ZIP ZOP ZAM!! - his biggest detractors wasted no time pouncing. I could quote the critiques verbatim, but they all boggle down to blah, blah, he’s only poppin’ ’cause of that gay ass letter, he is overrated, back in my day we had real sangers, yadda, yadda, more bullshit.

I’m not going to make any excuses for Frank Ocean’s performance. Visually it was stunning, but the rest was anything but. Either way, it was arguably his most important performance thus far. To see a handsome, Grammy-award winning Black man sing about being in love with another man is something that will stay with those struggling for one reason or another with the realities of their sexual orientation for a very long time. Not to mention those who have overcome such struggles themselves. No offense to those men who rock their stiletto pumps in the club and serve as the human equivalent of Beethoven on basic cable for everyone’s amusement, but Frank Ocean represents something different and largely missing from the public sphere.

Regardless of how he chooses to identify himself, he is the only other famous Black male entertainer who has admitted an attraction to men besides RuPaul. Maybe his nerves got the best of him and his rendition of “Forrest Gump” yesterday. Even so, him standing there and being daring enough to sing that song ought to be appreciated on some level.

If you disagree, fine, but I do wish some folks would learn to limit their criticism to their levels of knowledge on a given subject.

If you have never taken the time to actually listen to Nostalgia, Ultra or channel ORANGE, do humanity a favor and shut the fuck up. Seriously, how can you criticize anything you haven’t bothered to experience yourself? How lazy in thought are you? As talkative as I am, I don’t speak on something I know nothing about because I don’t believe in being an intellectual fuck nigga. If you want to be heard, discuss something else you’ve dissected.

There is way too much access to his music courtesy of the Internet for you not to take in before you begin trolling.

The same goes for any subject, for that matter. Quit it. Now.

Likewise, dead the declarations that Frank Ocean is only successful because of a tumblr post where he acknowledged his first love was a man. Next week marks two years since the release of his mixtape Nostalgia, Ultra. You can read about it here, but since reading has proven to be taxing for so many of you, let me help you even more. Basically, in frustration with his record label not even bothering to give him so much as a recording budget after signing him, Frank recorded and released an album-quality body of work. Almost immediately, word of it spread all across the Internet — netting him the attention of music fans, critics, his more successful peers, and ultimately his actual record label who had staffers trying to sign someone already apart of the fold.

He essentially created his own success – nothing related to a sword fight – which is why channel ORANGE was already a buzzed about album before the “revelation.” Why this readily available information remains unknown to the “gay for pay” theorists is a testament to why some people need their keyboard privileges monitored and/or revoked.

Don’t let the popularity of the word “shade” fool you: Gay Black men are not that beloved.

The next time you try to argue this fuck ass point, ask yourself this: “How many openly gay, bi, or whatever one deems their love of the peen Black men do I actually see on TV? Film? Music? With books?”

Someone had to step up, but there was no guarantee it would immediately garner them anything other than a spectacle. I’m readily available to offer additional feedback on the lingering plight of gay Black men if needed.

Again, Frank Ocean needs to see about a vocal coach, some honey, tea, and a creative director to step his performing cookies up. Yet, when it comes to the “I don’t like the music I never listened to” folks, fall down a well. And if you’d be so kind, take your “Frank only made it as a gay” cousins in crocks of shit with you.

I wish God would grant me the power to shake the stupid out of the whole lot of you. Call it a blessing.

Edit: You can watch video of Frank Ocean rehearing his Grammy performance below. Much better.

Frank Ocean 2013 – Tuesday from Lumentech on Vimeo.

DJ Clueless

Even though I enjoy this radio show because it’s the closet thing to filling the void left by “The Wendy Williams Experience,” sometimes I wonder why hasn’t someone fixed the Google over at “The Breakfast Club.” Don’t get me wrong, they often manage to have good interviews, but it’s increasingly due to dumb luck given some of the hosts don’t ever bother to do basic research on their guests. Or maybe their interns are too busy updating their Instagram accounts to do it for them. Whatever it is, someone pray to gossip Jesus so that it’s soon fixed. You know, before Nicki Minaj has to curse them all out again.

That said, this interview with Sidney Starr was hard to watch albeit not completely for the aforementioned grievance. I understand that when it comes to transgendered people, there’s a lot of confusion as to what made them think they needed to have a sex change to “live their best lives” and what exactly happened to the genitals of their past. Straight up, I don’t even completely get it, though I’ve seen enough to know that there are ways to handle your curiosity when opportunity presents itself.

DJ Envy gets an F squared for his efforts because instead of actually trying to learn why Sidney Starr felt like she needed to become a woman as that’s how she feels she was meant to be, he judged her using America’s favorite novel, The Bible.

Again, it’s not that I don’t think Jesus isn’t the homie, but I don’t believe Noah literally cramped the goats Billy along with every other species imaginable all on one point for 40 days as God made the water rock its hips, then wave and sip. Likewise, I have a hard time believing Eve and her gullibility with a speaking serpent is the reason why it’s taken Hillary Clinton forever to become president and why many of my readers have horrific mood swings once a month. I mean, where was the stegosaurus with the cutest southern twang ever to stop this all from happening?

However you feel about the Bible and religion overall, though, it’s some really simple ass logic to conclude that no one has the right to alter their gender make up because “God doesn’t make mistakes.”

Really?

What about autism? Cancer? Incurable diseases that have stripped people of their lives since the dawn of civilization?

Now that logic is cute in a “I Am Not My Hair” sort of way and would’ve gone a long way in helping Lil’ Kim see that she didn’t need to go and alter herself into Miss Swan and La Toya Jackson’s baby, but as the Queen Bee eloquently once stated, “Nigga, please come off that.”

I don’t care what DJ Envy does with his privates, but I get the feeling he’s probably used them to bust one in homage of some cosmetic surgery enhanced woman in some magazine who got additional ass shots and tit lifts courtesy of Adobe, M.D.

So unless people with this faulty logic aren’t lobbying Congress to stone not just plastic surgeons, but any medical professional that seeks to tame the natural order in any capacity, shut the fuck up.

Again, I necessarily get it either and particularly don’t like when gender issues are meshed in with those pertaining to sexuality. Still, when I don’t understand something, I try to listen…with some level of respect. Such is life when you have common decency.

Oh, and as far as Sidney Starr goes: Girl, you cannot sing, but good luck with that. Whew, you senses seemed off beat throughout this entire interview, too. You didn’t use Chris Brown’s nose spray, did you?

If DJ Envy is so God-loving, I sure hope he prays for you — only not for any reason that relates to his own misgivings about the world and all the things God has allowed to happen within it.

Girl, Get Up: Kenya Moore Edition

The more ridiculous Kenya Moore shows herself to be on The Real Housewives of Atlanta, the longer I hold out hope that her antics are a part of some secret documentary project in which the actress exposes reality television and celebrity culture at large. Something thoughtful that points to how increasingly difficult it is for trained actors such as herself to get ahead in a world where any random off the street who can string a snarky sentence together while intoxicated can secure cheap fame long enough to make a full-fledged career out of it. The kind of career someone like Kenya Moore should be enjoying consistently already, but has been harder to both attain and maintain given the state of the industry. Unfortunately, that would be too much like right, which leaves me to believe I’m holding said hope in vain and that Kenya is basically an actress playing a reality star hoping to parlay her newfound stardom into acting roles.

Or I guess a music career. And probably her mug on a grownup Just For Me box. Then a swimsuit line. Followed by a t-shirt line. With hopefully a spinoff. And who knows, maybe whatever else reality stars are doing these days.

I can’t tell if I think what she’s doing is genius, ridiculous, stupid as all hell or some weird fusion of the three. Whatever it is, I can’t stop looking even if it increasingly frustrates me. She does need to get her ass off the ground, though.

Bless her heart as I don’t know her struggle, but girl, what in the hell is this song?

I swear Kenya made a check list of everything she needed to do before she got in front of Bravo’s hired camera crew. I need a relationship and an engagement so I can be like Kim Zolciak. Then I need to have a beef so I can serve NeNe Baloo sprinkles. And oh baby, will I have me a catch phrase that’ll trend on the Twitter.

Ergo, “Gone With The Wind Fabulous.”

Read the rest of this entry »

I’m Watching Shawty Lo’s Show and It’s All Your Fault

Oxygen has heard about your upstanding friends’ protest targeting its future hit, All My Babies’ Mamas, and is now congregating in the middle of the network’s floor that houses publicity to declare, “The butterfly, uh uh, that’s old. Let me see you tootsie roll.” in celebration of all the free press their act has generated. Unfortunately for them, the network is not budging.

On the backlash a leaked version of the pilot generated, Oxygen Media tells RadarOnline.com:

“Oxygen’s one-hour special in development is not meant to be a stereotypical representation of everyday life for any one demographic or cross section of society. It is a look at one unique family and their complicated, intertwined life. Oxygen Media’s diverse team of creative executives will continue developing the show with this point of view.”

Translation: Oh, girl. This was only intended to be a one-off special, not an attempt to snatch away the EBONY and ESSENCE covers the First Family gets.

When I first heard of this show, I thought nothing more of it than a twangier, melanin-enhanced version of Sister Wives. Or well, a spinoff of any Maury segment that airs five days a week in multiple countries across the world. Even though I could understand why many would be disgusted by Shawty Lo, his disdain for condoms, and potential interest in young women who may or may not be legally attainable when he consummated their hood love, I was taken aback by the knee-jerk reaction to immediately act as if the show was going to doom the Black race.

As if there aren’t more meaningful ways to target some of the issues the show highlights; as if there aren’t enough counter images available — on more popular platforms to boot.

I wrote about this in an essay last week over at NewsOne. JETMag.com picked it up, but I do invite more to check it out.

One addendum to the piece: People can protest whatever they want, whenever the mood suits them. Such is their right. My issues, though, with these, and other petitions I’ve talked about in the past, are two-fold. The first being I sometimes wonder whether some of these protests ignore the reality that depending on your perspective, there might be more counter images to whatever these people perceive as “negative” in a given show readily available than they realize — which ultimately makes me wonder whether we give basic cable too much power.

The other aspect is what frustrates me most — that being the overall tone in these sorts of complains. I know not everyone shares the sentiment. In fact, some people I greatly admire are pushing the Shawty Lo protest. Even so, the petitioner many are quoting to publicize the protest describes All My Babies’ Mamas as a “minstrel show.” As I note in the essay, by definition reality programming wouldn’t exactly fall under the scope of a minstrel. Minstrel is one of those terms many in the masses here and are quick to spit back out regardless of the term’s history and context.

Read the rest of this entry »

Do Your Thang…Again

Of all the music I used to boost from my older sister, Xscape is one of the acts that I would listen to, but in hindsight didn’t appreciate enough when they were actively releasing music. I knew their songs and liked enough of them, but in year’s past when the conversation of the best of the 1990s would come up, Xscape wasn’t one of the groups that I’d immediately point to. Forgive me, for I have sinned. As a longtime lover of the girl group, I have to right this wrong because now that I’m older I see how much Xscape’s catalog has aged better than many of their peers at the time.

I own all of TLC’s albums, but what always bothered me about them collectively was that after a while it seemed like they kept singing about the same limp dick man who not only couldn’t fuck, but then had the nerve to cheat, too. It was just like, “Okay, girl, then dump his ass already and go back to recording songs like ‘Let’s Do It Again.’” By the time 3D was released and TLC dropped “Girl Talk,” I couldn’t do it anymore. Seriously, y’all are like 30 still sounding like my old high school classmates giggling about sucking football player dick over cheese-drenched chicken strips and french fries during A lunch.

And as much as I adore En Vogue and their vocal talents, I can only now listen to about two songs from Born To Sing and maybe half of Funky Divas. I’d love for them to finally get their act together and record new music — proving that they, like SWV, can continue making music as strong now as it was as their debut 20 years ago. But apparently Solomon split the baby in half yet neglected to tell them it’s not 1992 anymore so enough people don’t give a damn, so oh well.

Speaking of En Vogue, didn’t some folks try to portray Xscape as En Vogue if En Vogue got hit with a bag of nickels or something? Way harsh, Tai, and totally not true for all parties involved. Yes, this is such a shallow side note, but I really needed to get that out.

Anyway, Off The Hook and Traces of My Lipstick remain gems. Why not give us an SWV-like reunion and a few spot dates since Dawn is too busy telling Terri Ellis that she ain’t ever been shit (paraphrasing)? I know since half the members can’t stand each other this probably will never happen. What a pity, though. Tiny’s voice is impeccable and I miss hearing it. Also, Kandi sounded less petrified singing with the group versus her solo work. I like Kandi, but I bet a few of you know what I mean.

She’s got the Marsha Ambrosius, a term I coined to describe haunted house vibrato. Plus after her solo deal fell through, LaTocha Scott was never given a proper platform to show off all that weight loss. I don’t remember much about her sister, but you know, bring her back, too.

I should note that I forgot the group did indeed try to reunite once, minus Kandi a couple of years ago. I’m assuming that stranger in the photo is that The Real Housewives of Jesus cast member who recently said she used to be in Xscape before marrying a worker bee of the Lord. She can stay with the tabernacle while the real members of Xscape do their thing.

Can you imagine? They could get a subplot on a future season of The Real Housewives of Atlanta. I can already see NeNe Baloo saying, “I liked SWV and The Pointer Sisters much more than Xscape!” while rocking some extra long finger nails to their rehearsal. Then someone has to hold Tocha back from turning the show into Love & Hip Hop Upside Your Head.

So yeah, can y’all consider doing a lil’ something for  me, please? Tiny proved that her jig is intact, so now I need to hear those voices. I’d love to hear your cover of “All This Love,” plus “In The Rain,” “Softest Place on Earth,” “Who Can I Run To?” & “Can’t Hang.”

Pretty please?

Is It A Crime?

I’m a bit backlogged on posts here. Such is life when you write as much as ass is passed around at a Young Money after party. However, I still have a few things to say about the artist formally known as Elmo — well, uh, one aspect of his life anyway.

After Kevin Clash’s accuser reportedly retracted claims that the now former voice of Elmo allegedly tickled him in the wrong spot when he was still a minor, he pretty much ruined the argument I was making in a piece for Ebony.com. The essay was centered on why the press ought to watch how quick they are to soil the reputation of someone without all of the facts available. I didn’t defend or condemn Clash, or his accuser, Sheldon Stephens. I just felt as though in the 24-hour news cycle, we’re collectively so quick to run with a story without worrying over the consequences. Those knee jerk reactions can be dangerous is all.

I believe that remains a valid point, only Clash’s ass sure isn’t the best person to use as an example.

So since that issue is dead, there is another matter that I need you guys’ help on: Am I allowed to say how attractive the first accuser is?

Sorry if the answer is “Boy, stop,” but Stephen is kinda cute. Like, here’s my number, call me, maybe cute. I mean, I’m not the one who allegedly committed a crime and since he’s 24 now so if he want it, he can get it, call me, call me for that good. Yes, I just wanted to quote Just Brittany. I don’t co-sign R. Kelly’s alleged style of loving. Ick. I’m not here for that second hand B. Scott looking second accuser either (no shade to B. at all, he just looked like the Joseline to B’s Rihanna) and all his stunts, shows, and odd press conferences.

Are y’all judging me? On a scale from 1 to Jackie Christie, how inappropriate am I being right now?

Read the rest of this entry »

Maia Campbell And Mama Odie

It should be surprising to no one that the person behind a site called The Cynical Ones isn’t going out of their way to wobble on over to the hear the wisdom of someone who reminds me of that mean, older lady on the block who takes discipline way too seriously and acts like a sprinkle of Tony Chachere’s can treat knife wounds.

That’s not to say that Iyanla and her Oda Mae Brown meets Mama Odie hustle can’t serve any purpose. I guess it’s effective in the case of someone like Evelyn Lozada, who essentially needed some sassier woman to offer her the verbal equivalent of cutting a switch from a tree and taking her to task. So yeah it can work if you’re into that sort of thing.

However, that style of self-help shouldn’t be used in the case of someone with legitimate mental health issues. As soon as I heard about Maia Campbell signing up for an episode of Iyanla, Fix My Life, I asked on Twitter, “Isn’t Maia Campbell bipolar? As it relates to fixing her life shouldn’t she lean more Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman less Mama Odie?” I was half-joking then, but after watching clips from Maia’s appearance now I’m just bothered.

Here Iyanla is telling Maia to “own her stuff,” but when you’re bipolar you might not necessarily be able to own “your stuff” without proper diagnosis and subsequent treatment. As in, Iyanla, Maia isn’t just some drugged up celebrity who can’t own up to her transgressions; this is a person who may not conceivably be able to understand her actions to the degree in which you feel she ought to. Therefore, she needn’t be chided on camera. Maia may have signed up for this own her own accord, but that’s because she used to be fame and continues to covet it. That’s not Iyanla or her producers’ fault and they’re not necessarily wrong for booking her, but this feels exploitative all the same. Iyanla just doesn’t seem qualified to handle that severe a mental health issue.

And for the record, it makes me cringe to hear Iyanla assail someone for not owning up to their mistakes.

A few months ago I asked on the site, “Why would I want Iyanla Vanzant to fix my life when Oprah had to fix hers twice?” To put it more pointedly, I watched Iyanla’s on air reunion with Oprah and I was mystified by how she refused to acknowledge her actions in her downfall. She babbled a bunch of pseudo psychological nonsense as Oprah repeatedly dragged her by the unshaped up hairs on her head back to reality. That’s what I meant behind that quip: Who is she to be getting people together when she’s on OWN largely due to being a means to an end i.e. Oprah building her network off the backs of Black women?

Earlier today I saw someone tweet the following quote from Iyanla: “I went to law school not to study law, but to train my mind.”

Ma’am, what? That sounds like some bullshit you say in a dark room full of 20-somethings into snapping their fingers at the slightest instance of something seemingly profound (overeager beavers, let it happen naturally). That’s that shit I don’t like and why I’d rather rock with someone with depth and a medical degree. Hell, I’d rather take a teaspoon of ‘Tussin for my mental health treatment than turn to her.

I wish the best for Maia, but I sure hope someone close to her finds her a real therapist because based on the clips I’ve seen, Mama Odie ought to be selling Maia seem incense or a brown sugar scented candle and nothing else.

Hated It?

Yesterday I tweeted: “Yo, Bravo. Can we diversify your selection of Black gay men? It’s all mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the bitchiest queen of them all?” I wasn’t referring to Frick and Fabulous, though. I was commenting on the haughty Black queen on The Real Housewives of Miami who was shoved into the pool at a charity event by a drag queen out of character – and didn’t even bother to lay on a figure on her wigless head in retaliation. Even so, it’s related to Miss Lawrence and Derek J. all the same.

I don’t have a problem with either per se as both can be entertaining. I’ve seen Derek J out before. He’s quite nice in all his “Even if this outfit fits me tighter than the first time, I’m going to wear it anyway” glory. But as you can tell from the tweet, I sometimes struggle with the one note depiction of gay Black men.

This special, which I’ve yet to see in full, gives me “Men On Film” come to life. That sketch used to scare the hell out of me as a child. I knew even if in jest, there was contempt towards gay men underneath the humor. Yet, I can somewhat appreciate how each are able to own who they are regardless of how it appears to other and just…be.

Besides, as much as gay Black culture is seeping its way into pop culture at large now more than ever, at least we see faces behind it. For once.

More, more, more: “Closet Freak” review

I’ve come to realize that unless someone is completely outlandish – say, the one who needed a lifeguard and better reflexes – there’s no point in condemning folks for that. If they get more camera time without the sidekick connotation, complaints will come. Such reality made me recall a piece I wrote in response to some essay entitled “Are Gay Men the New ‘Mammies’ of Reality Television?” that was published earlier in the year.

It never went up, but I want to share it here.

Read the rest of this entry »

Capability Won’t Stop Nicki Minaj From Crooning

As much as we all rightly criticize singers who have no business opening their mouths to blow into any instrument besides a..uh, never mind, I’ve got to say, there’s something super ballsy about trying to sing onstage knowing damn well you’re unqualified to do so.

Nicki Minaj’s “Save Me” was one of the better tracks from Pink Friday. No matter what some of your cousins think, Nicki is pretty versatile and very much capable of creating solid R&B and/or pop tracks. When I first got the album I wore “Save Me” out only to later forget its existence until seven minutes ago. What can I say? I prefer Nicki when she’s reading someone for filth or putting her pussy on someone’s sideburns and chipped tooth.

Still, I’m happy to see she’s included it into her set list on her European tour. And not just including it, she is “singing” her heart out. Bless that heart, though, ’cause she sounds like a Chippette with a cold. On a Nyquil high to boot. In spite of all that, I enjoyed this.

I wish I had her courage, or if you’re a knit-picker, delusion.

Before puberty became a dream-slashing punk ass bitch, I could actually sing. I would write fake ass Babyface songs in my room then sing them to people I felt comfortable enough sharing them with. All were encouraging. Then puberty happened and I started to sound like a damn fool whenever I tried to sing something. I may have mentioned it once, thrice, a thousand times on here before, but whatever, it takes some longer than others to recover from their losses.

I could’ve been Jerome! I already had the curly hair, y’all. I would’ve saved Puffy a run to the beauty supply store. Life can be so unfair.

Every now and then I may sing something out loud and sound decent enough for Simon Cowell to tell me, “That wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever heard in my life, but you should probably run back to your computer ’cause ain’t shit popping for you here.” Technically, that remains enough to make it in today’s market, but it’s just not enough to get me to spam Frank Ocean on Twitter for a better life.

Nicki doesn’t a give damn, though. Just look at her on stage. You can tell she loves the song and you can’t tell Nicki in this moment that she isn’t Anita Baker. Then again, if I walked around on stage looking like Krusty the Clown’s mistress I’d carry on as if I had nothing else to lose, too.

Either way, I’m envious.

Lay Down, Lohan

White people of the world, it’s time for y’all to windmill the hell out of the dip shits of your race speaking out of term. I do my part ’round here and elsewhere across the Internet. I’m tagging y’all in.

Now as someone regularly writing about this year’s election cycle I’m quite aware that some fools of the world – say, a Rush Limbaugh here or your garden variety birther there – are too old and too stubborn to see the light and allow it to shine into their thick skulls. Fine. Let their malnourished brain cells die and go to dimwitted hell for all I care.

However, you still have an opportunity to save the minds of young celebrities like Lindsay Lohan. When I read this tweet of her complaining about the punishment she received for her lengthy run of screw ups as opposed to allegations surrounding fellow fuck up Amanda Bynes, I started singing, “I say somebody want they wig split, they wig split.”

That’s not Chris Brown, that’s Mia X and Fiend. 

So let ‘em have it.

I used to think some people were being a bit too hard on her. She is a symptom of white privilege, not the cause. She can’t help it if her low melanin levels coupled with her celebrity kept her from hugging the jail cell the crimes she committed called for.

And you know what? I enjoyed her in Mean Girls. Her pop song wasn’t horrible either. You can call me a modest fan.

Yeah, forget all that right about now.

The nerve of her to actually complain about someone else getting preferential treatment? Evidently it’s not just Mitt Romney who wants to grab national headlines for living in the land of delusion.

Lindsay Lohan has long proven herself to be a white version of Felicia from Friday, so I’m really not up for entertaining whining about how someone else deserves punishment. This is a woman who has been charged several times for various crimes and violated her probation on numerous occasions. Worse, after all that Lindsay reportedly almost went back to jail from theft after previously facing similar charges. She only got off because the dude she yanked jewelry from (allegedly) had a crush on her.

I let that little tweet to President Obama asking for famous rich people tax cuts slide, but this…no.

She is blithely unaware of the privilege she yields. Wait, she isn’t. She follows the “When in doubt, blame the Blacks” mantra — at least in 2007 and a month ago.

Like, Lindsay, good day. Wait, no. Have a horrible, no good, very bad day. You earned it.

I am getting so sick and tired of hearing privileged people try to vilify others while being ignorant about their realities.

Get her, my white brethren.

Book Lindsay a trip to Springfield, set her in front of Montgomery Burns and let him pop the switch that sends her through his trap door. Stat. Once y’all find her, sit her down and give her double dose of reality. At least she’d have a useful high for a change.

Oh, and maybe remind her that Amanda Bynes has only been charged for crimes. She has yet to face a lengthy trial and subsequent plea/conviction, no? Impatient ass generation.

Can’t even wait for a judge to rule before crying out onto the world, “WHY AIN’T SHE MY JAIL PEN PAL YET? HUH? HUH? HUH?”

Gon’ somewhere.