[Complex] Dear Potential Bae: Don’t Follow Me on Social Media Unless We’re Seriously Dating

“What’s your Twitter?”

It’s three of the scariest words I could ever hear from someone I could possibly, maybe, sort of, kind of, potentially be interested in on a Beyoncé and Jay Z level, or at the very least, a Mimi Faust and Nikko situation. The equivalents — “Are you on Facebook?” and “What’s your Instagram?” — are no less frightening. I get it, but slow down, son, you’re killing ‘em.

I’m not naïve. Our lives are an open book thanks to Google. And as a person who makes a living (or close enough, anyway) by sharing his musings about multiple subjects on the Internet, I’m especially easy to find. Then you have to take into account that Facebook makes it damn near effortless to stalk the hell out of someone. I’m also just learning, from an admitted stalker, that Instagram has a hack where you can find a person’s IG profile based on their phone number.

Honestly, none of that bothers me. I’d be a hypocrite in the key of Kanye West if I pretended that I never, uh, “investigated a date.” Even so, I have the decency to not immediately follow anyone I’m interested in mere minutes after the initial, “What yo name iz? Tell me what yo name iz?”

Though there are other people who have this problem, my online persona is not different than what greets you in person. Still, as hard as it is to get to know someone on an intimate level, it’s even harder to do so if they develop a preconceived notion about you based on tweets and Instagram comments. Not to mention, call me old fashioned, but I’d like for a person to reveal how crazy they are through interpersonal channels.

I could go on.

Like, let me talk about you online through nondescript terms in peace. Hell, let me talk about other people I may be interested in without the fear that I’m potentially ruining a good thing by simply keeping my options open — which is totally okay according to those fake relationship experts y’all foolishly give your money to (insert Tyrese’s and/or any fake celebrity’s name here). Before you even think to say, “Well, maybe you should keep some things to yourself. That’s what your friends are for.” Bitch, shut up.

Read the rest at Complex.

[Ebony] The Weekly Read: August Alsina, You Tried It

Dear August Alsina:

Considering you’re a Black male artist signed to a major label in 2014, I imagine you’re kind of like a prostitute who has to buy his or her own condoms and OraQuick—there is likely no budget for media training. Now, since I consider myself a fan of yours, I’m going to do you a solid and explain to you why Tuesday was the best day Trey Songz has had in very long time.

First off, Keshia Chanté was simply doing her job. Regardless as to whether or not you or anyone else cares for the way she handled her duties, she didn’t do anything that any media personality, television host, radio personality, or journalist would not have done in a similar situation. Yes, sometimes media outlets may agree to avoid asking an entertainer certain questions, but more times than not, that is a courtesy – a courtesy that is often rightly rescinded.

This is especially true for a young R&B artist with a whopping one minor radio hit to his name. Maybe you missed the memo, but it’s hard out here for an R&B cat. Do you really want to behave in a way that puts you at risk at becoming an outcast on the only major cable network guaranteed to give even a small percentage of a damn about your life?

There may be some people cheering you on for this type of response, but that doesn’t surprise me given Congress never passed that jobs bill. Plus, you have to factor in that some of those people defending your actions are imaginary celebrities in the parallel universe known as their delusion-flavored imagination. To quote Uncle Ruckus, “don’t trust those new”….wait, I can’t finish this sentence. Look up the first episode of The Boondocks later.

For now, let’s just put some things in perspective. Tuesday was the biggest day of your career – i.e. dropping your first full-length project – and on the day you’re on a national network with a show that caters to your core fan base (young women), you berate a woman and curse at her. All over a question you could’ve easily dismissed with a simple “No comment.”

This is hustling backwards personified, dude.

Worse, again, it is 2014 and you’re a Black singer not named Usher, Chris Brown, and Trey Songz. The bookers over at The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon and Live With Kelly and Michael probably don’t even know you exist you, sir. They don’t even care about some of the dudes I just mentioned. You might want to be nicer to the people who are only helping you address a situation that you created.

Read the rest at EBONY.

[Complex] Why It’s Time For All The Social Media Fauxlosophers to Go Away

If “positivity” had a publicist, chances are it would scan each of our respective social media timelines and quickly release a press release that stressed (in a professional way), “I don’t know these hoes.” But since positivity isn’t so fortunate, I’m going to do my part to help its cause. I may not be able to kill the new online phenomenon that is the Social Media Fauxlosopher, but I can kick it in the shin and run.

Listen, I completely understand the desire to uplift yourself and your fellow man. Times are hard and not everyone can afford therapy—or for that matter, generic anti-depressants. I understand the desire to want to help. I truly, truly do.

Even more, I do not discount the value of anecdotes and I’ve met enough Baptists and attended enough Mary J. Blige concerts to know the power a testimonial can have on people. Even so, there are just way too many people who don’t know shit about a damn thing and need to shut their happy asses up. Not only are they embarrassing themselves, they’re irritating the living hell out of folks who either at least finished one freshman college course or have seen enough episodes of The Oprah Winfrey Show to know better.

Sorry to be a spoiler, but reading the book jacket of The Secret should not give you license to slide out of your lane. Bless your heart for trying, but everyone can’t be “deep” and not everyone is equipped to be philosophical. There is a reason why Maya Angelou is Maya Angelou and so many of you are whatevrurjobiz879 online. It’s okay to just be that.

You know the types I’m talking about.

These are the people who tweet things like, “You know, as the good book says, ‘Like a moth to a flame burned by the fire. My love is blind, can’t you see my desire?’”

“Men lie. Women lie. Numbers don’t. Why can’t we just be like math?”

And so forth.

Then there are the ones who are clearly repurposing old sayings they heard from the gray-haired members of their family—which you are certain of, as the old heads in your family have told you the same thing.

Rounding it out are the fake relationship experts who are more like performance artists in the act of projection. Oh, and we can’t forget about the “parody” celebrities accounts that are just fake Will Smith quoting Benjamin Franklin and Bugs Bunny hour after hour.

Read the rest at Complex.com.

[EBONY] The Weekly Read: Throw That Boy…Oh, My

It is with trepidation that I tackle the song “Throw That Boy P*ssy,” which I’ve been sent 10 million times since last week because a) I’m a Black gay, b) I’m a Black gay from Houston, just like the artist behind the track, Fly Young Red c) because people like to send me things to get a reaction for their amusement. Well, here we are. You can’t see me, but I’m pausing every five minutes to reach out to God and Whitney Houston to be with me as I try to make sense of this.

First, let me start off with the positive.

“Throw That Boy P*ssy” has a very nice beat. It’s one of those basic, but catchy lil’ beats that’ll instantly have you bop before you realize this ditty is a mating call from an aggressive top who likes to play mix and match when it comes to naming holes.

Also, in its own weird way, it’s rather remarkable to hear a gay man – particularly a Black one – be so blunt about his sexuality. When asked for the inspiration behind this song, Fly Young Red said in response, “A few good ni**as…nah I saw a ni**a dancing in the club that I wanted to f*ck so I made a song about it..”

Who doesn’t love romance? Many of us can relate to that. And as one of my favorites, Rich Juzwiak, notes over at Gawker: “Many a rap song has been written about women using this kind of blunt, crass, anatomy-probing language. And now here’s one a gay dude wrote about dudes. I don’t know where we go from here, but I’m tickled that we got here.”

Agreed, though while I may be tickled a bit by this track, I’m mortified by some of the responses I’ve seen to the song and video.

 

Holy homosexual hyperbole, Batman.
Maybe I’m being saddity, but while I can salute the new hometown hero on his hustle (the video has already amassed more than a million views), it feels like a bit of a reach to pass Fly Young Red off as the Frederick Douglass of male on male fellatio. I’m not giddy about the fact straight women will continue to greet me with “What’s your real name and not your Jack’d name?” for anywhere between six weeks and forever.

The same can be said for how helpful lyrics like “Let me see you clap that ass like a b*tch” when at its core, that teases some of the very sort of patriarchy and misogyny that fuels anti-gay bias. I’m trying not to sound like the Spike Lee of the gays across the railroad tracks on the rainbow, but it’s mission impossible. Much of that has to do with people trying to make an ignorant albeit catchy ass song more than what it is.

Y’all, sometimes it’s okay to let an ignorant ass song you dance to at the club when the brown liquor has taken temporary custody of your intelligence be just that and nothing more. Damn.

This is not BEYONCÉ, this is Boy P*ssy.

Read the rest at EBONY.

[Complex] eSlang: In Defense of Not Treating The English Language as If It Owes You Back Child Support

What I love about technology is that it’s given us so many different ways to communicate with each other. What I’m increasingly hating about technology, and to be specific, social media, is that it’s chipping away at one of the oldest methods of communication: words. Chat acronyms flood my Twitter and Facebook timelines daily and have been a constant pain in text conversations over the years.

Now, I try to be respectful of other people’s views. For example, despite thinking that only selfish, soulless corporatists find any of the tenets of modern conservatism to be virtuous; I don’t hate you or your Fox News-feasting brethren. Likewise, Jesus seems like the homie, but these days I limit my praise and worship to blasting screwed and chopped version of Mary Mary’s gospel music in the morning. And if you don’t share the fanfare of Lupita N’yongo I don’t judge you; I respect your right to be wrong.

But, there are two lifestyle choices that make me wince, or in some cases, force me to tame my inner Chris Brown. The first is a disdain of Beyoncé. As I say often, if you don’t like Beyoncé, you probably have some sort of personality disorder and I want you to stay far, far away from me.

The other thing that really snap, crackle and pop locks my last nerve is our heroin addict-like obsession with shorthand. Don’t get me wrong; I do agree that acronyms have their place. Sometimes it’s just easier to say NAACP, NWA, or YMCMB. That said, technology has coddled far too many of you fools and my eyes are sick of it.

Call me whatever you want, but if you text “HBD” instead of “Happy Birthday,” you’re a terrible person. It literally only takes a few additional seconds to type out the words. Hell, if you have an iPhone, it will more than likely auto-complete the word for you. By the way, why is it “HBD” when “Birthday” is one word? I guess this is what happens when you make an entire generation of students train to take a test versus teaching them things like language, or critical thinking.

Read the rest at Complex.

[EBONY] The Weekly Read: Tyler Perry

Dear Tyler:

Although I’m not the biggest fan of your work, I took no joy in your new movie, Single Moms Club, becoming your worst opening picture to date. Okay, fine, I smirked for a few seconds, but I bet the stars of The First Wives Club laughed like hell at your official failed attempt to make a movie that’s sort of like the Lady Gaga to their Madonna. I really hope Bette Midler is somewhere going, “Who shot ya? Separate the weak from the obsolete.”

Likewise, I took no personal joy in Lionsgate ending its deal with your 34th Street Films, given that arrangement was intended to help you introduce other filmmakers not named Tyler Perry. Then again, one of the very movies released under that banner, For Colored Girls, is the main reason why I stopped going to see your movies in theaters. Your movies have made made close to a $1 billion and you own an island. We both know your heart will go on.

Anyway, thanks to Netflix, I did watch one of your most recent works. What was it called again? Tyler Perry’s Confessions of Another Stuck Up, Educated Light Skinned Heifer You Want To Punish On Film? Or was it Tyler Perry’s Confessions Of a Girl Who Needs Jesus & a Bus Driver? Whatever, you know which one I’m talking about; the one with the Smollett girl from Eve’s Bayou. That one.

I don’t want to rehash the rage the ending spawned— though it is incredibly irresponsible and downright despicable to use AIDS as a tool of punishment—but I do think that movie and your other Madea-less film failures in recent years point to a pattern that you need to address if your aim is to get back on top.

For starters, by now you should realize that you can’t just repurpose old film plots and expect to win big at the box office. So if you’re going to keep sampling movies from the 1980s and 1990s, you need to be like Puff Daddy and make that remix hot. In 2014, you’re more like Diddy in the mid 2000s. Remember any of his hits from that era? Me neither.

Oh, and I know you want crossover appeal, but sir, you may catch a few batches of White folks here and there, but sticking random C-list White actors isn’t going to make your movies more appealing to them. Like most of the Black mamas and great aunties in attendance, they just want to see Madea threaten to pistol whip somebody. Please stop trying so hard.

Now, if you’re serious about branching out and doing more “serious” movies and gain wider audiences, I have one very important tip for you: Please evolve, particularly on the way you portray women.

If there is one pattern to be found in your works, it’s the obvious disdain for “uppity,” educated women. That, more than anything else, is why I personally can now only take your works in doses. Hell, I would rather leave my contacts in hot dog water overnight than watch another one of your mean spirited dramatic diss records to smart, professional women.

Also, I know romantic comedies are all tied to a “happy ending,” but for someone whose entire fortune is based on the monetary support of Black women, you’d think you’d be a bit kinder to the single ones. Yes, it’s always nice to have someone, but why is a woman’s happiness always predicated on her landing a man—particularly a blue collar one?

Can no one in your movies be unmarried and be—gasp!— happy all the same? I mean, you’re not married, but you seem to be quite giddy. Why can’t any of your female characters be just as satisfied?

And how about outsourcing some of the screenwriting and directing duties to some of these brilliant Black children of God out here who have the talent, but can’t get the work? You don’t have to be a one-man-band when you have the resources to hire other people. And maybe more outside input can help you tell new stories with new characters.

Wait, let me stop before I end up the basis of a character in one of your future movies: Godless, hedonist homosexual who doesn’t find nirvana Jesus until a wise cracking, single mother of two and a half introduces me to love while stamping my priority mail.

The bottom line is you can’t keep doing is giving us Cassie the first time she performed on 106 & Park and keep expecting Beyoncé results.

Read more at EBONY.

Paul Ryan’s Kinda Racist And It’s Okay To State The Obvious

So if I am to believe select political journalists, Paul Ryan can employ racist tropes to promote policy with racist outcomes, but none of us can call him racist.

There was a bit of an online debate over the Think Progress headline “Paul Ryan Blames Poverty On Lazy ‘Inner City’ Men.” During an appearance on Bill Bennett’s “Morning in America” on Wednesday, Ryan discussed legislative proposals that would focus on creating work requirements for men “in our inner cities” and deal with the “real culture problem” among its inhabitants. Raise your hand if you can see where I’m going with this. Now bury your face in to your palms because of that realization.

Ryan said:

We have got this tailspin of culture, in our inner cities in particular, of men not working and just generations of men not even thinking about working or learning the value and the culture of work, and so there is a real culture problem here that has to be dealt with.

Ryan went on to cite the work of Charles Murray, a conservative social scientist who believes Blacks collectively are less intelligent than Whites due to genetic differences. As outlined by Think Progress, Murry believes poverty remains a problem given “a lot of poor people are born lazy.”

So let’s refresh. Paul Ryan recently discussed the cycle of poverty, but noted that “in particular,” there is a “real culture problem,” where men living in the “inner city” don’t want to work or even think about work. What is the definition of “lazy” again? Something about “not liking to work hard” or an unwillingness to do so?

Okay, a little word math problem. What’s a synonym for lazy? Shiftless, right? What kind of man lives primarily in the inner city? Reminder: Don’t let those new gentrifiers fool you. Alright now, take Black men add the coded language for lazy and what do you get? Shiftless Negro! I see what you did there, Paul Ryan, no matter if certain reporters want to pretend otherwise.

I’ve read comments like, “And I think things can play on racial stereotypes without someone intending to demean others.” Never mind the fact that by playing on racial stereotypes to make a point, you essentially are already demeaning others.

Then there are whitesplaining articles that counter Think Progress’ summarization of Ryan’s appearancewith:

Ryan’s problem, it seems, is that he’s talking about inner cities while being 1) a Republican who is 2) about to unleash poverty legislation heavy on work requirements. If you’re a Democrat, you can talk about the inner city in the same way Ryan does.

Slate’s Dave Weigel then tried to conflate Ryan’s remarks with those made by President Barack Obama. The difference, though, is that Obama offered a nuance take on the nihilism that exists in inner city communities as a result of the cycle of poverty where as Ryan insinuated that Black men “inner city men” don’t value work and have no desire to work. More importantly, Obama never cited the work of a known racist to lend credence to his point of view.

Meanwhile, others who call a spade and spade (and probably play spades at holiday gatherings), are not trying to excuse the racist sentiments in a clearly racist statement. To wit, Rep. Barbara Lee (D-CA), a member of the Congressional Black Caucus, issued the following statement:  “Let’s be clear, when Mr. Ryan says ‘inner city,’ when he says, ‘culture,’ these are simply code words for what he really means: ‘black.’” House Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) categorized Ryan’s comments as “shameful and wrong.”

Paul Ryan is now defending himself, claiming he never, ever thought of race when he made those pointed remarks:

This has nothing to do whatsoever with race. It was a long talk and he asked about the culture and I just went off of that. This has nothing to do whatsoever with race. It never even occurred to me. This has nothing to do with race whatsoever. This isn’t a race based comment it’s a breakdown of families, it’s rural poverty in rural areas, and talking about where poverty exists — there are no jobs and we have a breakdown of the family.  This has nothing to do with race.

You know, bringing up rural areas in response to criticism over comments made about inner city men — and again, coupled with the citing of a known racist — isn’t a good defense, Paul.

Read the rest at NewsOne.

[EBONY] The Weekly Read: Dear Ben Carson ’16 Supporters

I would like to believe that there will be another Black president before I go off to join, Jesus, Mohammad, and Beyoncé in the afterlife at Club Eternity, but I cannot be for certain. However, there is one thing I’m willing to bet my liver on: Dr. Ben Carson won’t be Negro POTUS number two, especially not in 2016. So while I hate to be the bearer of bad news to the “National Draft Ben Carson for President Committee,” I would advise them to look for a new hobby.

Now to be fair, #TeamBen, you have done some impressive work thus far. As The Atlantic’s Alex Seitz-Wald notes, “The group that put Carson on the hotel keys has outraised Clinton’s draft committee, Ready for Hillary; has been on the ground in Iowa; and is working from the playbook written by Howard Dean and Barack Obama.” More, according to the group’s Web site, their petition seeking to encourage Carson to run has amassed close to 390,000 signatures.

Nonetheless, you could probably find a million fools in America willing to vote for a brown avocado as president, so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything in the grand scheme of things. And besides, from what I’ve read, you folks over there are running with some very flawed logic as to why Ben Carson is the GOP’s best hope to defeat presumptive Democratic presidential nominee and master of the universe, Hillary Clinton.

Let three-time congressional candidate, George H.W. Bush appointee, and petition-creator Vernon Robinson tell it, Ben Carson is the Republican Party’s best shot at broadening its base beyond old, racist, and easily fooled White dudes.

Robinson says, “At 17 percent, Hillary loses all of the swing states and the Roosevelt Democratic coalition is destroyed. In addition, Ben Carson is able to clearly and calmly articulate conservative positions in a way the average voter can understand.… He’s the only guy who can bond with all of the American people.”

Are we talking about the same Ben Carson here, because the Ben Carson I’m familiar with is about as calm as a second string hypeman at his first Source Awards.

I mean, Ben Carson is the man who once declared: “You know Obamacare is really I think the worst thing that has happened in this nation since slavery. And it is in a way, it is slavery in a way, because it is making all of us subservient to the government, and it was never about health care. It was about control.”

Not only is this one of the most asinine false equivalencies that I’ve read since that time I read some misguided White woman compared Beyoncé to Miley Cyrus, it’s despicable for a Black man of all people to diminish the horrors of slavery to make some kind of cheap political point. Ben Carson, may every dream you have for the rest of your natural life be summed up as American Horror Story: Slave, Slap the Stupid Out Of Your Simplistic Self.

Worse, Carson had the following to say about same sex marriage: “[Traditional marriage is] a well-established, fundamental pillar of society and no group — be they gays, be they NAMBLA, be they people who believe in bestiality, it doesn’t matter what they are — they don’t get to change the definition.” He also said gays don’t deserve “extra rights” and he loathes political correctness.

This is Ben Carson “calmly articulating conservative positions in a way the average voter can understand”?

So private insurance is like slavery and two committed people of the same sex getting married is like boning a dog and/or a pedophile? Mind you, Obamacare is proving to be a success and attitudes about the initiative are rapidly changing now that it’s been implanted and marriage equality is gaining support in the Deep South. Now, Carson did say during his speech at CPAC, “One of the principles of Saul Alinsky is that you make the majority think their ideology is outdated, and nobody thinks that way.”

This must be the old, crotchety conservative Black male equivalent of “The Illuminati” and various other theories found on YouTube. You keep telling yourselves these lies if you want to, but if you nominate Ben Carson for president, you’re going to yield the same results as Herman Cain’s 2012 campaign and Alan Keyes’…well, every time he’s tried to run for something.

Read the rest at EBONY.

EBONY.com: [THE WEEKLY READ] Let Lupita LIVE!

Okay, I will admit to laughing like hell when I saw this shot of Tyler Perry and the new Academy Award-winning actress, Lupita N’yongo. I’ll also be completely honest and own the fact that I thought the same thing. Nonetheless, I only found the image comical and not a call to arms.

Sure, there is a possibility that Perry may send Lupita’s agent a script that centers on a downtrodden single mother on welfare and Popeye’s two-piece dark meat Tuesday specials ‘cause her deadbeat baby daddy – played by Tyson Beckford – ain’t worth a good damn and it’s only when one of Mary Jane Paul’s boyfriends swoops in with a Bible and a blue collar that she gets to exhale, shoop-shoop. But damn, can we not fixate on that right now? History was just made on Sunday, so why not just rock our hips, then wave and sip in the glory?

I know that in the age of social media, an opinion waits for no man, but I just don’t believe Al Gore invented the Internet for some of your cousins to constantly run amuck over the most inconsequential, completely innocent photo. Why, I do declare that we were lied to, y’all: A picture isn’t always worth a thousand words.

The same goes for your tweets, your Instagram word memes, and your essay-length Facebook status updates.

Seriously, why can’t some of us ever chill?

Even before this photo made its way to the web, I saw a few messages along the lines of:

“What about Kimberly Reece? We let Jasmine Guy still appear on WeTV, but where is the good doctor? That ain’t right!”

I don’t know where she is, but I know I hate tit for tats and false equivalences.

Ditto for this one:  “OH, Y’ALL CARE ABOUT LUPITA N’YONGO, BUT WHERE WERE Y’ALL WHEN VIOLA DAVIS POST UP, FLAWLESS! RIDIN’ ROUND IN IT, FLAWLESS! FLOSSIN’ ON THAT, FLAWLESS!!!”

Well, most of us were saying on Oscar night that year, “We love your natural, it looks better than those wigs, sis. We love how built you are. We want you to win even if this sanitized story about segregation makes us want to stab our eyes out with a Black Power Fist Afro Pick.”

Remember, kids: Just because you can’t recall something not happening (given you not bothering to pay attention at the time, usually) doesn’t mean that it didn’t. And do we really need to compare N’yongo to every other dark-skinned actress in Hollywood? Is that really a debate you want to have?

Read the rest at EBONY

Complex: You’re My Friend, But I Hate You Online

There is no polite way to say to a friend, “I enjoy you just fine in person, but as far as your online persona goes, I want to reimagine Kirk Franklin’s ‘Stomp’ all over your phone and whatever other product you own with Internet access. Why? Because I fucking hate you online, bitch.”

Thanks to the implosion of social media and our collective crackhead-like addiction to it— combined with the growing need to overshare—I’m learning things about my friends that I would’ve never known, or at the very least, would’ve taken a very long time to notice.

For example, while I’m not as averse to having respectful conversations about religion and politics with my friends, I’m a choosey lover when it comes to that, and even then I prefer to keep such chatter to a minimum. And yet, whenever I go to Facebook (in a time machine to share my articles), my homepage might as well be called the “Hallelujah For Hosanna” bulletin board. That’s fine for the most part, but there’s always that freak for Jesus who wants to go Commando Christian and thump everyone upside the head with their Bible. Where is Moses to part your ass from my feed?

Worse are the people who know as much about politics as a three-hour old baby. Then again, I suppose I’ll take that person over the YouTube false prophets who swear Satan co-wrote“Partition” and is trying to take over the world, one D’ussé purchase at a time. There are too many libraries still open for anyone to be so damn stupid.

Then there’s Twitter, where diarrhea of the thoughts has a daily orgy.

Friend, I hate that you’re casually sexist, homophobic, or in some cases, racist.

Friend, I hate that you think being a mean-spirited, miserable asshole is amusing. I’m sure the other mean-spirited, miserable assholes are coaching you on, but you’re not going to want to share a cot in hell with them.

Friend, I hate that you think you’re Iyanla Vanzantwhen, in real life, you’re about two mistakes away from ending up on MaurySteve Harvey, or some other daytime talk show for people who need to cut out the bullshit and get right.

Friend, I absolutely hate that you’re one of those people who shames broke people. If I went by Twitter, I would assume everyone is sipping the finest Kool-Aid from diamond encrusted red solo cups as they tweet from your Italian villa. Do you know how hard it is for me to hold back the urge to say, “How are you talking about broke folks when you’re paycheck to paycheck like my ass?” Or in some cases, credit card scam to credit card scam.

Read the rest at Complex.