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While discussing how wrong and utterly stupid people can be about anything Beyoncé related, my friend La succinctly packaged my grievances by noting, “I hate that every time she does something, it means we all who pay attention and have critical thinking skills have to suffer thru think pieces from who don’t.” She added an “lol,” but my ass ain’t laughing. The thinkpieces haven’t arrived yet, but the thoughtless musings have already started.

For starters, this idea that “7/11″ sounds like something from Unapologetic. Songs like “Pour It Up” are taking cues from Juicy J and “trap,” both of which are heavily (and admittedly by producers) influenced by DJ Screw and UGK. You know, the area where Beyoncé is actually from. As someone who still occasionally writes about music, it irritates the ever living shit out of me how often people who write about music don’t know much about it. This is always true about anything southern Black related.

Even after the now perfect visual, there are some who once again want to echo this sentiment and attribute to the larger point: Beyoncé is copying Rihanna. The people who think this are more than likely the folks who had no idea about the term “ratchet” and Lil’ Boosie until they discovered Twitter. Likewise, these are people who don’t know anything about southern rap outside the shit they discovered in the aughts — so much of which is nothing more than an amalgamation of sounds from the cities of Houston, New Orleans, Dallas, and Miami. This is probably why some felt “Bow Down” was jacking A$AP Rocky, the Harlem native whose entire sound has largely been derived from the Houston rap me and Beyoncé listened to in like elementary and middle school.

Let’s just be clear that a Black girl from Houston, Texas doesn’t need to take cues from a girl born in Barbados, a man from Harlem, among others riding off a Houston influence (Hey, Aubrey Graham) on how to incorporate Screw-influenced music and otherwise hood shit into her act. Especially if said artist is from the Third Ward area of H-Tine, and most of all, has been doing “ratchet” shit before these complaining sum’bitches started dick-riding the term and proceeded to abuse to death.

Since Destiny’s Child started, Beyoncé has worked with local Houston rappers, No Limit rappers, and if you gloss over the Destiny’s Child catalog, has as many birds in her stock as a Popeye’s on MLK. Never forget that Destiny’s Child scored a crossover hit in a song like “Soldier,” which is about their love of a big dick thug. This is a song that came out after they became mainstream staples, mind you.

Beyoncé is also the girl who flipped an old DJ Jubilee sound into an R&B dance track. Perhaps some of you were blinded by the video, which was inspired by The Frug Bob Fosse’s film adaptation of the Broadway musical Sweet Charity, but that’s still New Orleans bounce you are dancing to, beloveds.

I could go on – Beyoncé breaking into the southside flow on “Kitty Kat” – but these motherfuckers don’t pay attention or listen, so why keep bothering? If anything, unlike Rihanna and many other Black acts, Beyoncé is someone whose music remained unapologetically Black more often than not in spite of the shrinking influence of “urban radio” and the pressures to join the EDM, Kid Bopz sounding bullshit one finds on those pop stations.

By the way, I also some tweet that said “7/11″ sounds like The Lonely Island’s idea of a Beyoncé song. That’s some white people shit and I’ll leave it at that. Well, I’ll add a “God bless.” There. Next.

Oh yes, there’s that lingering complaint that Beyoncé has no personality. Early interviews have long suggested otherwise. What Beyoncé did do, though, is pull back on the media in the wake of LeToya and LaTavia’s dismissal. She probably didn’t want to end up being portrayed as Diana Ross given these days the only folks who can get away with such behavior are the Katherine Heigls of the world.

I welcome constructive criticism of Beyoncé. I can think of a few areas worthy of consideration. No, I won’t share ’cause I’m not up for doing the work of lazy thinkers. However, what is and continues to be the main problem about this line of critique about Beyoncé is that it’s brainless and often comes from people who come across butt hurt by her for whatever reason. Shut up, or at least, step it up.

Anyway, all hail the biggest pop star in the world for making a music video on an iPhone 6 for a song with absolutely no structure, but is the bop…which is really the most important anyway.

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Like Anderson Cooper, who is the vanilla spice latte to my caramel macchiato, soy with sugar-free vanilla sweetener, my nerves were also on swole following the manufactured controversy his network has since christened “Beyoncé-gate.” There are only so many varying ways to say to the simpletons and sensationalists “I hate you, Jody,” but thankfully, I have a troubled childhood and a silver medal in shade (we can always be better) that helps in moments such as these.

Please, please get into my latest column for “The Weekly Read” over at entitled “To Those Baffled Over Beyoncé.” Part of this is just your garden variety Beytheists being typical losers, but it’s more so the 24-hour news cycle that’s at fault. Hate it all with me by clicking here, why don’t you?


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The devil doth tempt me, y’all. I’ve been asked a few times for my thoughts on my lord and gyrator, Beyoncé the most high (and limber), winning a journalism award from the New York chapter of the National Association of Black Journalists. Some because I’m a stan, others who know that at one point I was president of the Howard University chapter of the organization — all over the fact that I’m a working writer…and journalist, I suppose.

I’ve been distracted in recent days (when am I gon’ get a piece of the pie, I already fried my fish in the kitchen) so it was convenient to avoid discussing it publicly. Now I guess I should.

From my understanding Queen Mother Creole received her award for the cover story she wrote on herself for Essence magazine. I recall reading the story and it was basically about her nine-month vacation. Her seeing the world, her enjoying time off for the first time in her life, and other fancy rich people shit. Frankly, I don’t remember much about the piece itself, but I don’t recall thinking it was written poorly. Yes, I’m aware that if I were actually wowed by the work – which an award would suggest that I should be – I’d remember it a whole lot better.

In any event, we all know that it doesn’t matter either whether the piece was well written or not. What is most important to the awarding party involved is that Beyoncé wrote it. Which is why I told friends privately when I was first asked about it, “I hope they’re successful in meeting her as that was the clear intention.”

Obviously, I think meeting Texas’ greatest trophy is awesome; however, maybe VIP passes for her next tour were the way to go. Not to offend anyone – intentionally anyway – but this is just another instance of stars benefitting from the celebrity culture that us all collectively swinging from their sacs. She literally wrote about her vacation. You know, to avoid having to be bothered with an actual journalist presenting her with questions she likely didn’t want to answer.

As the homie La put it, “Beyoncé got an award for writing about herself. I’ve been doing that for nine months. Where’s my Pulitzer?”

It’s coming, girl. Right after you show the world what the color of your bra strap is during a fight on the Oxygen network. Or after you booze it up on MTV with some Italians. Or after you romance Boris Kodjoe or Lil’ Romeo and find Jesus minutes later on the medium screen.

Congratulations to Beyoncé, though. Seriously. She didn’t ask for the award. The stan section of this journalism community showed up and showed out — meaning she has every right to accept it.

Still, this is kind of like:

Mike Tyson being considered a master of otolaryngology.

Evelyn Lozada hailed as a sex education teacher.

Marlo Hampton credited as a lobbyist for the National Association for the Advancement of Coochie Commerce.

NeNe Leakes predicated to be the next Angela Bassett.

Kim Kardashian deemed an anthropologist.

Any gay man referred to as President of The He-Man Woman Haters Club.

You get it, yes?

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

Part of the piece included jabs like this:

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

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


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


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

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

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

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

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


I’m only getting started, too.


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You’ll have to forgive my ignorance for not knowing that there is a show called Toddlers & Tiaras on television. I’m obviously not a member of the target audience. I realize this clip is about a week old now, but there was no way was I going to turn down doing a post about a little white girl yearning for brown skin. And not just any girl either. This adorable child wants to look like my lord and gyrator, Beyoncé!

Heavens to Murgatroyd! That is amazing. The press always belabors the point that little black girls don’t like themselves and want to look like Malibu Barbie. That’s why we get black women surgically transforming themselves into Mrs. Potato Head and reality stars rocking their homeroom teacher’s eye color (you’re too pretty for that Jennifer Williams!).




It’s about time we get a story claiming the opposite, giving black girls and white girls alike a different perspective. Bless this little girl’s heart. I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if I did I would say that little pageant child has been possessed by Teena Marie. Wait, that’s not how reincarnation works, huh? Well, is Remy Shand still around? If not, well…there you go. If so (damn, I checked and he is), just find somebody for me and fill it in. Thank you.

Anyway, hopefully this little girl finds her rhythm in the coming years. I’m sure if she watches enough Beyoncé DVDs she will. TLC should also do her a solid and link her with Heather Morris. The kid isn’t that bad. Hell, she’s already trying harder than Britney Spears has been lately. There’s hope for that little girl, I just know it.

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There’s always going to be silly criticism about Beyoncé, but sometimes I wish I could borrow her fan to blow some of your asses away.

I have longed accepted that not everyone will like Beyoncé.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I think people like that suffer from some sort of personality disorder. Be that as it may I respect people’s right to deny greatness and available medication from their virtual pharmacist, iTunes.

What I don’t cut for her is the notion of coming for the Queen’s throat over an unfinished demo.

Such is the case for Beyoncé’s new single, “Girls (Who Run The World).”

The version that was leaked yesterday is not the finished product. Not surprisingly, that fun fact hasn’t stopped people from writing soliloquies about how it’s time to lock Beyoncé out of the studio based on what they’ve heard.

I don’t really care if some folks don’t like it ‘cause everyone else will.

What does irritate me a bit, though, is one aspect of the criticism largely centered on the idea that her single and its lyrics aren’t “deep enough.”

If you’re looking for the meaning of life from Beyoncé I need for you to go and let your forehead kiss the sidewalk.


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If you’ve read this blog for a while then you know Beyoncé is my beloved Lord and gyrator.

You also know that I’ve long felt like I was the only one I knew who hadn’t met the Queen. I would run into the other members of Destiny’s Child through work or just being out, but every time I was supposed to meet Beyoncé it fell through. My unlucky streak ended on Saturday after I finally – finally, finally, finally, finally – met her.

I have been smiling ever since.

I met her at the 2 Kings party. Basically, I was a plus one and despite one self-important jackass, hating ass fire marshals, and my own impatience I got to meet her.

Have I mentioned that I’m still smiling about it?

So we’re in the party, it’s packed as hell and we’re making our way through and my friends, “Michael, Beyoncé is coming this way.”

I didn’t see her at first, but I damn sure moved hoes out of my way.

Then my friend pointed at her giant bodyguard and she walked by.




A friend of mine asked, “Did you act like a stan or did you act like a normal person?”

This is a ridiculous question. Of course I acted like a stan. If you don’t act like a stan when you meet Beyoncé then something is wrong with you. Fuck I look like.

For clarity, this friend isn’t particularly fond of Beyoncé.

I know, I know: I don’t get people like that either.

I told him that he has a disability. All people who don’t like Beyoncé do. I used to think it was simply just a character flaw, but no, it’s far worse.

It’s not the kind of disability that gets the a guaranteed parking spot either. No, their asses gotta park way in the back and do a walk of shame on behalf of their taste levels. That kind of disability.

I pray for you lost souls who suffer from this minuscule epidemic (most people are up on game), but keep that mess away from me. I ain’t ’bout that life.

Okay, now back to the Queen.

First, I looked at her and did a bow. I couldn’t do a complete drop and bow because it was too many people. I did the best I could to pay homage to royalty. I think she appreciated it.

So, I tapped her and said, “I’m from Houston.” Then she looked at me and smiled, “You from Houston?” I went, “Yeah and actually my brother went to Johnston with Solange. Same year.”  She touched me after and was like that’s cool.

She was not being fake either. Her smile and the way her voice raised was genuine.

Beyoncé smiled at me. Beyoncé touched me.

Do I sound like I’m ready to go, “Selenas! Selenas!” at any minute?

Who gives a fuck. This is Beyoncé. I’m allowed.

Especially after I asked for a hug and she gave me one.

Beyoncé hugged me.

Hold on, let me repeat that a couple of times just so I can let that settle in.

Beyoncé hugged me.

The Beyoncé.

The queen.

Hugged me.

Breathe. I’m smiling even harder just thinking about.

Then she went on her way as I proceeded to fall into a state of euphoria.

I’m not really the starstruck type. At all. I’m kind of trained not to be. But, I’ve been in love with Beyoncé since she was doing the south side in the “No, No, No” video.

I totally shouldn’t do that given the kind of work I do, but what the fuck ever. Y’all read that miserable student loan post a few weeks back. I deserved this.

For the record, Beyoncé is even more beautiful in person. Goodness. I’m smiling again. Big teeth game proper.

Someone said the nicest thing to me via DM on Twitter: “I love it! Now that you have been touched by Beyoncé, everything you touch will turn to gold. NY Times bestseller…”

That is so true. I feel like a better person already. Yes, because Beyoncé touched me.

One more thing: While I was there someone recognized me from my site. She was super duper sweet. If you’re reading this don’t curse me out. I forgot you name, but I remember you were from Houston, you’ve been in LA for a year, and you were very kind towards me and my work and I’m so grateful for it.

Over the last year there have been people in different places who have recognized me from this site. I have an idea of how many people read the site, but never who exactly is reading — you know? When people stop me to say they enjoy my work or think I’m talented and have a future it is really encouraging. Sometimes it can get really rough, but I feel like I’m getting closer.

I know my updates have become a lil’ more infrequent, but that’s due to me working on things. Yes, I want a New York Times best-seller — among other things. I never like saying that publicly, but you know. Working on trying to take it to the next level.

This makes me only want to push myself even more. That way, I can keep meeting Beyoncé and then get to the point where we can sit in the bed eating Popeye’s chicken while talking about boys and scripts and stuff.

Don’t shade my dream. It can happen.

Alright, story time is over. I’m about to go do a celebratory dip it, pop it, twirk it, stop it. And smile some more.

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