Twirkin’ In Your Thirties

As many of you readers know by now, Tamar Braxton is the hot sauce to my catfish fresh out the fryer. And as previously noted, my adoration for Ms. Dotcom started before Braxton Family Values. I’ve been patiently waiting for Tamar’s talent to get the p-pop it deserves so I’m quite excited to hear any news about what’s to come. Folks need to know Tamar is as good a singer as she is a reality personality.

A couple weeks ago a few of my friends, unfamiliar to Tamar Braxton’s solo album released in 2000 (for shame), watched the video for her debut solo single, “Get None.” In short: If songs were birds the track would go great with Christian Fried Chicken’s polynesian sauce. Despite that fun quality, most of them were less than enthused with what they saw. I, naturally, sang along to the song word for word (what lyrics I could recall anyway). Based on this clip, I gather we’re going to get a somewhat more mature version (relatively speaking, surely) of that. That somewhat concerns me because I feel like some people are going to say, “Tamar is too old for that.” The right side of me says to that idea, “Shut up. I’m only a few birthdays away from entering the third decade of life.”

And hopefully once I do, I’ll still want to be sweating in the club on occasion if the spirit beat calls upon thee. If Jay-Z can be played in the club at 100-years-old (dog years), I’m into the prospect of Tamar dippin, poppin’, twirkin’ and stoppin’ in her mid-thirties. Yes, a Beyoncé reference was necessary. Tamar would totally want it that way. Anywho, while I’m glad J.Lo continues to break people off in her forties on stage, she never released the video for “Good Hit” so lately we’ve only been getting shake something pop anthems of the Cher’s “Believe” variety. We need the urban black equivalent.

So bring it, Sister Braxton. I believe in you and your abilities to get the club going while you keep your edges tight. Give me something to aspire to. Lord knows when I’m her age I want to continue being the cool uncle, not the uncle who only does the stanky legg while he waits for his cranberry juice to kick in so he might finally relinquish fluids. Boom.

Oh, as for those of you who continue to deny my girl’s abilities, or maybe just don’t know about them, park yourself under the hood and check out my favorite Tamar Braxton song, “Words.”

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Dance Like A Stripper

Disclaimer: As the title suggests, the following material may be inappropriate if you are subjected to a hating ass boss and/or co-worker, girlfriend, boyfriend, librarian, or are underage. What age? I’m not sure exactly, but if you suspect that I’d tell you, “You know you’re too damn young to be worried about some strippers, go fucking study,” look away now.

Actually, it’s not the material so much as the various images of strippers that accompany it. Oh, YouTube users: Don’t you realize imagination is increasingly becoming a lost art form? Let us try to preserve what little is left of it. Anyway, click on down if none of the above bothers you.

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Try Again, Cali

For years now, I’ve shaded the state of California for lifting their dances from rappers in Dallas, Texas. And before you dare try it, see Lil’ Will’s Dougie and a dance called the rack daddy. Yeah, I thought so.

So yes, a few rappers out in sunny Cali have a problem with taking things that don’t belong to them. It’s shame, too, considering their rich history of originality.  However, I have to give it to California rappers: One of them has tried to come up with their own thing.

As soon as I giveth, I must now taketh away: This is the worst dance I’ve seen since that shit Missy tried to get us to do in the “Get Ur Freak On” video. I wish CaliKiddRome all the luck in the world with his rap career, but this dance isn’t the move. In fact, this dance looks a lot like that same move Chilli is always doing on stage whenever TLC performs.

I mean, technically it has all of the components of a mindless dance that would get kids and people like who me who should know better to embrace it. The song attached to it  offers a simple yet familiar beat. The song’s lyrical content is so dense that no one ever really remembers any of the lines until the song is playing (and even then it’s just the hook). Everything is there except the dance itself. The nonsense they’re doing in this clip makes you long for the sophistication of dances like “Laffy Taffy.”

By the way, I’d like to know what is Kel Mitchell doing in the video? Keenan is on Saturday Night Live and this is all you’ve got to do, man? Maybe they saw him drunk at a local taqueria and said to him, “Hey, wanna be in a video?” That’s the only way his cameo will make sense to me.

As for the other trendy folks who take part in the presentation of “G Swagg,” I’d like to note that I’ve actually seen fake Chad Hugo and the Justin Bieber impersonator out before. They were trying to have a House Party-like dance off at some random “fashion show” (that I went to see a friend…and an open bar). Had they not move like Kid ‘n Play high off too much medication for treatment of arthritis leg pain maybe more people would’ve joined in on the “fun.” All they did was sober me up.

I’m pretty sure California is much better than this. So with that said, I encourage the resident regional rappers to dust themselves off and try again. The G-Swagg isn’t going to happen. Trust me. No one outside of CaliKiddRome’s cousins are going to do this. He’ll probably have to pay his cousins in Fun Dip packets to do this on stage with him, too.

And Cali locals reading this blog, don’t take it as shade to you personally. You all still have the better weather and red velvet everything. Still, if you’re going to try and do a dance tune in the style of the South, you’ve got to do much better than this. Or hell, you know what? Go steal something else. Now I understand. Just pay homage this time.

He Wants That Old Thing Back

It’s 4:45 a.m. and I have just discovered my new hero. Lately a wave of sadness has overcome me. It’s all rooted in my twirk. I have prided myself on my ability to dip it low, pick it up slow, roll it all around and make my back go. Pop, pop, pop, pop that thang, if you will. However, in recent weeks something has been amiss.

About a month ago I was doing my usual pre-writing all night ritual: Turning on some music and dancing really hard and ignorant to it in an effort to get my mind right. I was listening to Rihanna’s “What’s My Name?” and as I was body rolling I noticed an unnatural stiffness going on. The same for my drop. I tried to shake it off – literally – and still…nothing.

My heart began to ache. The pain only intensified as the struggle continued on at other places and times where I like to dance. You know, the gym, the side walk, the grocery store aisles. Oh and of course restaurants while breaking into random song and rap lyrics (however, make a note that I do not like karaoke). Other people noticed my growing problem and were equally taken aback.

If I’m not dancing then who am I? My best friend won’t be able to call me “Twirky” anymore. I’ll lose my “jelly knees” description. It all sounds so…wrong.

I mean, I still get it in. I’m actually in my chair body rolling to Jodeci’s “Pump It Back” as I type this. In a second I’m about to get up and try it a drop. Wait for it…

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Taste The Biscuit

I believe I’ve found my favorite new song for at least the next three hours. I don’t know exactly what a Toasters ‘N Moose is, but I find such knowledge irrelevant to the matters at hand. Let’s just say they’re the new Koffee Brown and move on.

Have y’all ever heard a biscuit sang about in a context so perverse? Thank goodness Pissy used to sing about women reminding him of jeeps otherwise I would have been totally unprepared for a song like this. Please get into some of the lyrical gems in this song:

Taste the honey sauce, taste the goodness of the biscuit with the honey sauce.

Don’t get none of that honey sauce on me, I don’t like the way it tastes with my chicken wings.

Taste the butter spread. Taste the goodness of the biscuit with the butter spread.

Don’t get your butter spread all on me. I don’t like the way it mixes with my mac-n-cheese.

When you’re at KFC you got that special sauce to stir my curiosity.

Just give me a five-piece meal. Oh, what a deal. A big ole box that’s all for me.

You know I’ll take cole slaw on the side. I could tell you wanted to try the potato wedges.

Is this how obese sex works?

Why haven’t these two been snatched up for a chicken commercial? To hell with Annie The Chicken Queen and her fake ass Louisiana accent. Have I told y’all that I heard that Annie The Chicken Queen from the boot is really some vegan Buddhist who needed to a gig to get the bill collectors off her back? Popeye’s could’ve at least hired someone who thinks hummus is the name of one of their chicken friers.

Moose would be the perfect replacement. Look at how she starts to move her body two minutes into the video. Clearly red beans and rice have a special place in her heart. If Popeye’s won’t hire her, surely Church’s Chicken will. I heard they sell tacos now. Obviously, they have no shame.

I promise that the next time I’m at a Popeye’s I will start singing and two-stepping to “Taste The Biscuit.” Y’all know they take forever to get your food ready. Might as well get a little exercise in before I piss my body off.

Sweating With The Oldies

This Saturday many of you of a darker hue may be asked to teach your auntie, uncle, and too cool for bingo grandparents to teach the latest dances. And by latest dances I mean the ones they’re only now hearing about because Wolf Blitzer, Barbara Walters, and Justin Bieber are all being featured doing them during the evening news.

Wait, who am I kidding? Half of them heard about it on radio but couldn’t “play it on the YouTube” because they got confused with the spelling (silly old people and being taught correct grammar). That’s where most of you come in.

More times than not, you don’t want to be put on the spot to dance or at least I don’t. Telling old heads this will usually result in elderly ridicule — the sucking of teeth, the non-sharing of alcohol, and the littlest piece of meat or you plate, what have you.

That’s where this video comes in. Child, old folks done found their own groove. I say this with the most sincerity: I am proud. Look at this video, people. It’s like Glee meets Soul Train. These VIP in the hole in the wall club older black people with friend have said forget you kids, we wanna jig like we used to. We should encourage this, which means if you’re asked to teach someone how to do a dance you quit doing this summer, pull up this video.

Personally, it’s too many damn steps in this choreography for me. However, my first vote in a presidential election was for John Kerry, not Jimmy Carter so this stuff ain’t for me. Still, I champion it.

Do ya’ll hear Pops kick off by saying, “Let’s bust this?!” Well go ‘head then, sir.

Why do I feel like after they finished this shoot they settled up on some ribs, Thunderbird, and performed Ashford and Simpson? And I bet Britney Spears’ mama in the front to the right kicked it all off with “Solid.” Get it, girl.

Also, have you noticed the song they are all dancing to was made by Jamie Foxx. I have stayed clear of as much of Jamie’s latest music as possible. Sorry, I’m just not comfortable with him making songs with Soulja Boy.

I hope someone sends this clip to him and reminds him that old people love him. If he keeps up trying to sound like a teenager all of the people in this video are going to turn him off and put that old Luther album back on. Then again, if you’re of a certain demographic making up dances and uploading them online chances are you think you’re “hip.” So “hip” that you’re probably making up a dance to all of  Jamie’s new album as I type.

In fact, someone’s pappy is telling nana, “Yep, that’s me. Yep!” at this very moment.

Whatever makes them happy. Anyway, if you or someone younger that you love don’t feel like playing the game of “get up and show me that dance,” here you go. You’re welcome.

The Fat B–ch Walk

Back when I was a whole lot rounder and far less secure I wish I had a song like this to lift my spirits. Self-deprecating humor is a great defense mechanism against the sourpusses of the world. Combining that with ratchiness and a Casio beat is pure genius.

No, really why didn’t I have this song back when I cursed this girl out for calling me a fat bitch in middle school? Or the time I came back into my house after hanging outside and my mom looked at me and said, “Go back outside for a little longer.”

What she meant to say was, “You need to go walk off those 20-piece nuggets I wish I hadn’t bought you.” I did not want to go back outside, but I had no choice. Had I been able to have this song on Side B of my TalkBoy cassette player I may have took her command in stride.

Of course there are other ways to look at this. I imagine some of you are thinking, “They should’ve never given you n*!$@’s a Web cam.” This is true. Not to mention it’s unfortunate to see how anyone can make up a song in three minutes and people like me who know better will dance to it anyway because it has an easy beat and even simpler hook. Yahh trick yahh!

Yeah, I know this is some bullshit but guess what? I’ve already made it an MP3 anyway. This will accompany the proud prostitute anthem, “Got Dat Work” by Memphis Blac & Smokahontas Jones (introduced to me by her Royal Ratchiness, Fresh) on my iPod.

For those of you who turning up your nose at me and this fat bitch, I will quote the great Kanye West: “You have to balance ignorance with intellect! Can’t have school with out recess! #Greatesttweetofalltime”

New life motto, people — and consider me on my damn break at this moment.

Naturally, this song and its video is not without fault. The “all my ladies say ‘hey’ and all my fellas say ‘ho’” part is something you would expect from a person who says things like “June 1982…those were the days.” That’s alright, though. Those lines could be cleaned up once hat Magick Jumpoff is signed to Bad Boy.

As for the “video,” uh, I’m not sure if dude intentionally tried to pay homage to AKA in the background, but I suppose not tightening up makes you more trill. And as a sidenote, I’d like to say that I am quite curious as to how people get so fat on skinny stoves. That’s almost more impressive than the song — that’s some serious dedication to the cause.

Nevertheless, this made me chuckle for a few minutes and I most certainly will play this in the car whenever some of the fat phobic people I’ve met in Los Angeles are riding in it. And I will definitely keep pushing with my rap dreams (only to ether that bitch, Sallie Mae and her BFF, Citibank).

Who wants to help me pen the “Skinny Slut Stomp?” Or “Skinny Slut Strut.” I haven’t decided yet.

P.S. I’m about to go make me some chicken nuggets. I’ll be fat bitch walking the whole way there.

Who Wants To Choke?

I’ve been looking for a new dance to do in a random parking lot, on a sidewalk, or in a crowded gym (for inspiration) for a few months now.

The flex is old and its heir apparent, the daddy stroke just didn’t serve the same level of inspiration. So while I’ve definitely been looking, I surely am not ready to settle – especially on some shit like this.

This is the kind of dance I hate because it makes me feel old. I don’t want to feel like I need to join a yoga class or stock up one Ben Gay to jig, get it big. And, I don’t want to have to think about the thought process behind a given random dance.

That’s certainly what I’m doing right now after watching this video.

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The Devil Is Busy…Creating Gospel Dances

Is this what hell really looks like? If so, I’m ready to repent for every single one of my sins. I think I might have mentioned this before once or twice, but for all of the newbies to the site let me be clear: I’m not too fond of gospel music that tries to seem, uh, “hip.”

Forgive me for the use of the word “hip,” but I couldn’t think of any way to word it without a lightning bolt instantly shocking my skull to its core.

What I mean is I like my gospel music to sound like it came from the hottest plantation in the South. You know, I want to feel like I’m spiraling into deep and dire despair. Or something sweet and sang immaculately well — like Yolanda Adams’ “Open My Heart.”

Or even better: Mary Mary’s “God In me” screwed and chopped.

Before you even think to say something slick don’t knock it ’til you bopped ya head to it.

Any songs that fit those descriptions I can get with. But this shit, this shit right here, that ain’t it. At all. Not even a fraction of it.

Forgive me if this is like a sin or something to say, but this is that bullshit.

I have joked about jiggin’ for Jesus before but I wasn’t serious.

Hopefully, these people in this video aren’t serious either. I hope this is a parody because this is cornier than Oprah Winfrey’s insert somebody’s name who won’t give me the clap back’s feet.

Let’s start off with the obvious: How are you going to praise God breaking one of the biggest commandments. Thou shalt not steal, ya’ll.

This video is like a knockoff of 17 different dances. I see stuff people did in old Luke videos, only off beat. I see the choreography to “Walk It Out” and “2 Step.” I see a dude we’ll refer to as T-Lame jacking Tallahassee’s version of Roger Troutman’s entire look on clearance.

And don’t think I didn’t catch Deacon Frye’s classic move being jacked for this.

They even appropriated the phrase “getting jiggy with it” into the song. Um, I thought the world joined together one desperate afternoon and prayed away that song into the abyss.

Should I even address some of the new dances they created like the “Ma’Dear?” What in the world was that supposed to be? Wait, don’t even try to explain it to me. I wouldn’t want to remember any of this after I hit publish.

This is exactly why I prefer going to the club with heathens.

P.S. All of my comments are directed at participants of this video that are over the age of 18. The minors don’t know any better.

I Be Stroking

The other day one of my followers on Twitter mentioned the song “Daddy Stroke” to me saying it’s the kind of song they could see me jigging to. I remember someone vaguely mentioning the song to me months ago but I never got around to listening to it. That’s the problem with being a responsible adult outside of the region with the best dance songs — you miss out on everything. That or maybe I’ve been too busy listening to my Nicki Minaj mixtapes in an attempt to master my fake accent. Spare me your shade in the comments.

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