The most horrific thing happened to me the other night. A friend of mine expressed her newfound affinity for Diamond of Crime Mob. Naturally, that automatically gave me the urge to turn on Ms. 32 Flavors classic, “Rock Yo Hips,” and feel the inspiration from her bars about her bootylicious bubblegum.
But, as I was I tried to soda, pop it, and watch it sizzle my body seemed a bit off. It wasn’t the shizzle, if you will.
Like, even homie here would’ve gotten me.
I told another friend that something seemed off and do you know what she said?
“You’re getting old, I bet you just can’t move like that anymore.”
I think it’s about time YouTube gives their videos the 3D treatment, don’t you think?
I’m quite certain many of you are currently thinking: Jesus be a broken Internet connection.
Normally, that would be my reaction, too, but it’s something about this video. Maybe it’s the way she rolls her rolls, but I don’t want to be mean right now. Well, not that mean at least.
I’ve been reading about this supposed Ciara ban by BET. I tend not to believe video ban rumors and usually dismiss them as transparent attempts to drum up press about a given project. But you know, I’m perceived as such a Ciara basher that I don’t want to continue to act as if I curse the day she watched her first MC Hammer video.
Actually, I want to give her a compliment: I like a lot of the new material I’ve heard from her thus far. Songs like “I Run It” and especially “This Is What Love Is” make me consider buying her album. That is, should they make the final cut.
Have I changed my mind about the “Ride” video? Hell no, it’s still not going to do anything for the single. Based on how it’s been performing, I’m right in that respect.
However, two points for Ciara inspiring people to get their body roll on. I may or may not have one night found myself dropping it in front of my homegirl when she came to visit after a couple of alcohol-infused Arnold Palmers. If you’re curious, yes it might have been made with Seagram’s Sweet Tea Vodka and Simply Lemonade. No, she didn’t leave a tip. Unfortunately.
I was smart enough not to record myself, but hey, maybe this girl is just trying give her shape some shine.
And obviously, Ciara has inspired her to exercise. Move that body around, sweat some excess off and be comfortable in her own skin. Hoe shit with a heart, if you will.
She may be a little ashy, but that’s besides the point. Whether or not her video is getting as many spins on TV as people think it should, it’s obviously still making its mark. CiCi stans, stand up.
Warning: This video is not safe for work. As a matter of fact, the percolating penises present in this unfortunate video presentation may cause you to go blind in one eye and temporarily develop a case of vagina envy. Proceed with caution.
As I sit in here as the lone black face in this coffee shop I stopped and asked myself, “How can I embarrass my race today?” OK, so that’s not what I was thinking but you have to own the fact that you’re doing so once you log on to World Star Hip Hop in a public place. In the midst of ass and fuckery themed videos on the site I found what looks to be potentially my new favorite dance.
I say potentially because this instructional video is way too long. Does it really take ten whole minutes to teach a dance called 2 step double? We’re not about to waltz in the club, are we?
One reason why this video is long is it starts off with them giving us an introduction. Yeah, that could’ve been done with a caption. I don’t need to know the last four digits of your social. Just teach me the damn dance.
Nor do we need the dialogue. “What’s up, girl? You ready?” “Oh yeah, I’m ready.” Evidently ya’ll are all ready because the camera is turned on. So much that you practiced these lines. Two points for you getting your straight-to-DVD acting, but get to the point.
Do you see that? I’m already losing focus on why I’m watching this.
Once they finally get to the dance I start to get concerned. Dance on your heels? I’m tall and chances are I won’t do this until I’m in a club under the influence of my whispering friend, Vodka. One false move and I’ll be doing the stanky legg for the rest of my life. Obama signed the reform bill, but I still don’t have insurance anymore. I’m not playing with fire (re: ER bill).
Now to be fair, the girl that looks like Sho’Nuff’s daughter is getting it. However, she and the lost Fly Girl are getting a whole bunch of dances. She’s two stepping, she’s dancing on her heel, she’s dropping it and picking it back up. We all do that in the club in a fifteen minute span. Can I call that a new dance, too?
Then comes her uncle with the cat daddy spin and dougie. Did these folks create a dance by watching 106 & Park with their kids? It sure seems that way.
Or this is a commercial for their unlicensed dance academy run out of one of their grannies’ garage? I’m not quite sure because the link enclosed at the end leads to a site selling cheap CDs of people I’ve never heard of.
I guess they sponsored the fee to get on the site.
So here I am typing as I’m watching this left with the feeling that I’ve been hoodwinked. Bamboozled even. I haven’t learned anything. I’d wish them a stub toe but considering I got hit by an uninsured [redacted] last week I don’t want to take my chances.
Someone tell me there actually is a real way to do this dance? I’ve really been trying to find a new ign’t anthem to dance in the parking lot to. I’m mad I’m not going to get to practice this in the coffee shop like I planned to. I was hoping that would help me in my goal to make white friends in LA.
In the meantime, leave your feedback on this and tips for the other goal.
I may still enter him in the next race draft for his animation ambitions, but I’ll admit I might have been wrong to write T-Pain off so quickly when it comes to music.
The minute I turned this song on my slim started shifting side-to-side and I was caught back in the wave of Autotune. I pray Jay and the Illuminati don’t punish me for it.
I only interpret Soulja Boy’s music in two extremes. Sometimes I’ll say listening to Soulja Boy is like being slapped in the head with a watermelon. And then there are times where I’ll think to myself, “Well, who doesn’t love watermelon margaritas?”
He may talk like a Hooked on Phonics failure, but if the beat goes and the alcohol flows chances are I might be indulge him in his web of foolery. I’d be lying if I denied supermanning you heauxs the very second after I found the instructional video a few years back. In fact, if I could actually remember how the dance went I’d still probably be down to do it if there’s a Flip Cam in my presence.
And then there’s “She Gotta Donk,” which I won’t dance to in public but will appreciate all those around me that choose to.
But this - this shit right here – has left some seeds in my teeth.
The main reason is the obvious: Soulja Boy raps about as good as corn chip flavored feet taste.
Granted, he’s always been the male equivalent of Trina but he’s always been clever enough to guise that with a catchy beat. The beat for this song is not bad at all, but it unfortunately doesn’t do a good enough job of distracting us from Soulja Boy and his awful lyrical content.
Let’s start with:
This right here is my swag/The girls are on me…damn/Everybody pay attention/This right here is my pretty boy swag
And then there are gems like:
I’m pretty boy swagging in the club feeling sexy…no homo.
A guy dancing around a bunch of self-professed “pretty boys” suddenly feels compelled to declare his heterosexuality after saying he feels sexy in the club? Isn’t that kind of like telling folks about your pretty boy swag? If one is OK why not the other?
Heavens to murgatroyd. I’m trying to make sense of Soulja Boy lyrics. Nevermind. To that line I say:
I demand that everyone reading this makes that same face this instant. Don’t let your judgmental co-worker sway you from doing so either.
As for the video itself, I would get on it looks like a high school project, but it’s a recession so I completely understand.
I will point out one last thing, though: This video reminds me of why I sometimes shift my lids to the side when I think about some Atlanta rappers.
In Atlanta you can have ridiculously creative acts like Outkast and Goodie Mob who combine sounds and imagery uniquely their own or you can have people like Soulja Boy who is obviously ripping off another region’s sound.
When D4L and Dem Franchize Boys took off I was instantly annoyed (but I still danced, I’m not crazy) because I knew they were ripping a Dallas sound that had been around years prior and got all the credit for it.
And Yung Joc’s debut album sounded like it was recorded down the street from Frenchy’s Chicken. Houston natives will catch that reference.
In sum, Soulja Boy needs to give Silkk The Shocker his flow back and let Dallas handle the sound if he’s unable to. This dude could’ve at least given me a new stupid dance to love for five minutes. Damn, homie, are you getting lazier on us?
Or to put things more eloquently, allow me to quote YouTube user, xXSeasameSkreetXx:
Dhis sonq is sooo MuahFxckin’ Wack. Well de’ beat is tiqht as fuhh doe. Somebodii needs ta make remix wihd it forrea.
I believe I miscommunicated my intentions with a previous post. When I asked that you send me new music, I should have prefaced it by noting that I only want ya’ll to send me good music. Something just can’t be ign’t; it has to be jiggable and ign’t. It’s the difference between someone like Lil’ Boosie and this fool, Ken Dahl:
Now I hope the person who emailed me this didn’t think I’d actually enjoy this. Walk the plank? Who in the hell do you think I am? Captain Hook? Not only can I not get jiggy to this shit, I’m tempted to Google Ken Dahl to see if he was born in America. If not, well, don’t be surprised if you see a follow-up post about his deportation.
The first wrong thing about this video is that it starts off with a child and the words, “BITCH, BITCH, BITCH!”
That’s not OK. There had better be a tutor on set or at the very least, a copy of Hooked on Phonics.
Even worse is this goes on with a Pacman like graphic. Uh, Pacman is a legend and Ms. Pacman is video game world’s greatest bust it baby. To quote my NO homie, “Don’t do me that.”
There’s also the issue of his sunglasses, whom he obviously stole from a teenage girl. Or a queen who tries too hard. Whatever the case is, give those glasses back to that girl, sir.
Ugh, and then there’s this jig. What is he doing? There’s a choreographer listed on the YouTube page of this. I’d love for that person to answer. I mean, I was named after Michael Jackson but I can’t pop lock him so by no means am I waiting in the wings to be jumped by Omarion on MTV. Still, I can break these heauxs off if you give me a couple of drinks. That has to count for something, no?
That said, that side to side move combined with a Muhammad Ali impersonation won’t bring anything but a brawl inside of a club. Consider yourselves warned.
The one positive thing I have to say about this song is I enjoy the line: ”No one got no where without taking the risk, without doing something different, without pushing the envelop.”
It’s unfortunate that it doesn’t apply to this song, though. This is very much in line with the school of thought that dictates that you can come up with any random beat and throw in a catch phrase and two step and – bam – fools will dance to in the club with no shame.
I count myself among said fools, however, you can’t just throw me any ole’ thing and expect me to throw my hood to it. Granted, this nonsense may be stuck in my head but the same can be said of the stomach virus I had at the beginning of the year.
Jig fail folks. Send me something else.
P.S. I see that this Ken person is on Twitter. I imagine he’ll be cursing me out by sunset. Follow me at @youngsinick if you don’t already.
California readers, why do you hate me? Is it because I’ve said nightlife in LA ends at 12:15 MT? Have I offended my LA brethren by saying Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles is the “We Are The World” remake equivalent of soul food? Or does it have something to do with that tangent I unleashed on Twitter after [the man] gave me a ticket knowing damn well the meter was broken?
In my defense, I’m not lying about the clubs but I’ll push it back to 12:22 MT as a compromise. Uh, I’ll eat at Roscoe’s if someone else pays. And well, as for that Twitter tantrum, I fought that ticket and it was dismissed so as soon as the state finds another way to come up with the money to fix these raggedy roads we’re all good.
And I like the weather, you know the sun is pretty. And there are pretty people, which really helps bring out the sweet superficial side out of me.
But whatever individual gripe you may have with my slick talk, please don’t let me out of your jigs. Especially if said jigs involve something Texas-based.
Thanks to the lovely, Stiletto Jill, I’m now aware of “Teach Me How To Dougie.”
There’s only one problem, though: This video was added August 8, 2009.
Is that how we’re doing it, Cali? Ya’ll leaving me out like that? I don’t appreciate it. I’m not even going to talk slick about the actual video and the fact that it’s rooted in another city’s sound. I’m actually happy Cali’s finally realizing the correct way to get cheeks moving in the club.
Now that said, I’m going to need all of my readers to quit holding out. If you are aware of new dances and/or songs that are riddled in fuckery then you need to email me.
And if you’re unsure of the sort of songs I’m looking for I have two helpful hints:
1. There needs to be a distinctive beat.
No beat, no chance. It doesn’t even have to be some fancy or overly complicated beef. I am from the south, need I say more?
I’m trying to jig, get it big and that’s it. Respond accordingly.
2. Disrespectful lyrics are probably a good sign.
Do you hear all of these niggas and bitches in the song? Yeah, it’s unfortunate, but chances are once I’m in the club or at the gym or just rolled out of bed I’m not going to be thinking about lyrical content. The best ign’t dance songs are ign’t as all hell.
So if you hear something like “bitch, fuck you, hoe” the song pass it on. I’ll reflect and then feel bad about myself the next day.
Also look for key words like “ratchet,” “crunk,” “aye,” “jig,” and “bounce.” Other words like “independent,” and anything related to money (that the rapper probably doesn’t even have, but I digress) should be looked for, too.
I’m getting older, which means I am unfortunately letting nonsense like knowledge, morals, and maturity thwart my endless search for a pointless club anthem.
But that’s why the internet is so helpful. I have you all to lean on. So Cali, forgive me for the shade I’ve been throwing. If it helps, the weather is still lovely and I plan on buying some bougie shades soon. I bet that’s probably more important to you all than voting in your local elections.
I hope this post has settled any confusion. Send me songs. Now.
And before anyone says it, don’t act like you have no means of contacting me.
Look at the “About Me” page to the right of your screen: My information is there so you have no excuse.
I’m seriously beginning to question whether my blog readers love me. This song has been out for at least a year and I’m only now just finding out about it? What gives, folks? Is this punishment for not blogging enough?
To make matters worse, this song is obviously from Baldamo. One of my best friends is from Baldamo, but do I get a heads-up? No. I thought you were my dog “doug,” man.
Before I go any further I’ll at least say it’s nice to know there are songs out there that don’t discriminate in who gets to twirk to them. A lot of songs only call for a certain aesthetic to jig along. But with “Hit It To The Beat” you can be any size, any complexion, and not have a lick of rhythm in you yet if you’re willing to bend over, hey, this one’s for you.
People coming together under a shared disinterest in maintaining any sort of decorum in a public setting whenever an an overtly sexual song starts blaring from the speakers: My country ’tis of thee.
Oh and I must say I appreciate the lyric, “‘Take the condom off? @#$%! outta here!”
Good to know in a metropolitan area flooded with mysterious rashes, bumps, urinal burns, and fledgling immune systems there are still people out there aware of sexual health.
That said, I think my left eye just caught chlamydia from watching this.
This video was posted under the heading, “WHERE ARE THE PARENTS?”
To answer their question: Probably at the whole in the wall doing the same damn moves to “Doo Doo Brown.”
I want to join in the chorus that this type of dancing is a bit much, but then I quickly thought about my own dance antics over the years. Would I be a hypocrite if I said this is way too much even though someone once described my dancing as, “Yeah, Mike, you dance like the first of the month and rent is due?”
Maybe so, but in this instance, I’ll be that. What’s going on in this video is way over the top.
I may have swung under rails, broke a couple dozen people off, used a fence inappropriately outside of a club around 5:00 a.m., and dropped it in a kitchen during a house party over the weekend, but I can’t say I’ve ever done anything like this at a club.
These folks are literally fucking on camera inside of a club. And even if I did simulate sex while dancing, it was very likely it was with a women and ya’ll know that doesn’t count. I get the feeling if I were standing inside of this house of hoe shit I’d notice a lot of dents in the wall, a poodle in select spots, and a smell that would probably ruin my after club appetite.
That means unless you’re getting paid for this (not that I condone prostitution, but I understand the recession has brought out the Nevada in people) and are at peace with your local free clinic and/or gynecologist, I can’t and you shouldn’t either.
P.S. If you have the mp3, you should still share it, though. I mean, I still don’t think you should be on all fours having pound puppy sex in public, but I do like club music sometimes.
As in if you didn’t know any better you would’ve thought I had just been pulled over by the police for running a stop sign while drinking…with no pants on.
That said, I’m making a real effort to get better. Namely because being able to be comfortable in front of the camera usually means a boost in pay grade. That’s the reason I actually majored in broadcast journalism in college, but somewhere along the way I lost a clue. I’m trying to get it back, though.
Another entry with a subsequent second attempt at video blogging will be up very soon, but in the meantime I found an outtake I shot at my last apartment before moving.
It includes a heaux-ish (credit for adding “heaux” into my lexicon goes to Chase N. Cashe) jig. In jest, of course. Ya’ll know I keeps all types of classy ’round here.
That’s all you get for free. Dropping it and swinging from under a rail at the club (true story) only come with loads of joyful beverages…or charitable donations via Paypal. I’m no fool.
In the meantime I’m going to go write this other entry and then get up on some work. You all enjoy this and please adhere to the main theme of the video: Tell someone else about this here site. Help me help myself be great(er).
