In my second piece for Ebony.com, I touch on the difficulties that come with trying to touch gay men who continue to view things through heteronormative lenses. Too much? Oh bother. Anyway, you can click here to read it. For the record, I’m still not completely interested in getting married, but not because I think it requires a vagina. I sure plan on continuing to relay this message as many times as humanly possible. I get divorced just as good as anyone else. Now here’s to planting seeds.

Ain’t it pretty? The new Ebony.com has launched and I’m happy to say something I penned is moving across their quite lovely homepage the day of its premiere. My first piece offers a point of view about reality television that isn’t disparaging or sanctimonious. Yes, that means you should still read it. C’mon nah. Anywho, it’s called “Reality TV: Male Stars Get Emotional.” You can click here to read it. Tell your mamas ’cause I’m about to email mine.

P.S. Congratulations and thank you to Jamilah, the scribe formally known as Sister Toldja.

And if you missed it the first time, here’s me on another stupid thing about my lord and gyrator’s pregnancy.

I stumbled along this picture yesterday and I think my reactions to it perfectly encapsulate my thoughts of 2011.

“What in the fuck is this?”

“How in the hell did this happen?”

“Is this some sort of sick joke?”

“No, really: Am I being punked?”

“Get this shit the fuck out of my face, B.”

Need I say more? But, you know, I’ve enjoyed a lot of the writing I’ve done here and elsewhere this year so let’s accentuate the positive and allow that to be the focus of this entry. I’ll be the first to admit that I didn’t update as much this year as I have in the past. Such is life when your student loans skyrocket and subsequently your hustle. Up until a setback at the end of the summer, I was writing 30-40 blogs a week for work (at other outlets), 1-2 essays a week as a columnist, and other various assignments. Plus, I was working on other things related to some long-term goals.

Busy.

That said, while the quantity of posts on the site subsided a bit I’d like to think the quality was still on point. So here are my favorite posts from The Cynical Ones this year. If you didn’t read them before, gon’ head and do so now. And if you know of someone who has the unfortunate character flaw that is never having read me, email this post to them. Or Tweet. Facebook it. Yell the address to them over the phone. Wait. No one talks on the phone anymore. Instagram, text, or whatever it is you 1% folk do to spread the word nowadays.

Alright, here goes:

So I Finally Met The Queen

No matter how up and down this year has been, I will always remember 2011 as the year I met my lord and gyrator, Beyoncé, and instantly became a better man because of it. Sometimes when I’m really down, I just think about her acknowledging that I’m alive and proceed to close my eyes and hug myself like Ray Charles as a pick me up. Yes, it works. No, I’m not ashamed.

Analog Thoughts For A Digital Girl

If you turn on radio and don’t here Rihanna at least a dozen times, you either live for country music or live in the year 1995. But unfortunately, some people still downplay her success because she hasn’t managed to boast of having a number one album. You know, despite albums going the way of TalkBoys.

The Inmate Wives of Baltimore

If you can bear through a Baltimore accent, this post is for yew.

Not The Marrying Kind

As happy as I am for this country inching closer and closer to marriage equality, I personally, am not that keen on the idea of being legally bound to someone. Yes, even if Trey Songz is proposing in my ear while we’re in bed. Oh, childhood.

Will You Marry Me, Rob Kardashian?

Then again, if I did get married I think it would be in my best interest to marry a Kardashian. Please get into my grand idea for having the writing career I’m destined for, only in this instance I opt for the cheap route of netting it. I dare you to tell me my idea isn’t plausible.

Good Luck With That, Cadillac Kimberly

A YouTube comedian whose popularity is largely centered on bashing reality stars decides to play the role of matron of morality on the Twitter. Hilarity does not ensue.

Well, It’s Official

My private student loan payments soared to mortgage level payments this year, and I, trying to curtail my anxiety over it, wrote about longing for the day when I’m successful enough to pay off my debt in one big swoop – and piss on the desk of Citibank’s CEO. It was all in good fun, but according to one commenter on my site, the post made me a creative person who lacks integrity. Fuck him then and now.

Simpletons & Stilettos

I kick this post off with:

I swear, if you made me a sandwich comprised of tuna fish left outside for three days topped with rabbit toe nails smashed in between two muddied pieces of bread I would still have the urge to vomit less than I do after watching this video.

Just go.

Fall Through A Trap Door Already

Why do people – especially women – get into Tyrese, especially when he likes insulting you so?

Uh, I Thought We Discuss This Already

My mother has heard me say, “I like dudes, ma’am,” but she still believes Jesus is on the mainline ready to place me on a cruise ship setting sail to some woman’s cervix.

Niggas Is Gay

Word to Fat Joe.

Elsewhere

Look, y’all! I made it onto national TV! Let us pray that it happens again and again in the future, and when it does, it’s geared more towards my own projects and passions. Also, let us bow our heads and ask the almighty that I come to realize that while it’s okay to adore Mary J. Blige, one doesn’t have to blink like her on TV. In my defense, I was a live TV virgin.

Alright, I’m spent. Go forth and read and spread around like HPV. Then go get a check up: I read about fellatio causing oral cancer and I’m afraid now. Scary, right? Be careful. See: I helped.

Edit: I can’t believe I left off what I wrote about Amy Winehouse.

This video doesn’t really have much to do with the point of this post, but who doesn’t love this song? Let me get on with it, though. A few months ago I wrote against the homophobia that was a part of Tracy Morgan’s controversial act widely criticized earlier this year. I still find the idea of “joking” about your murdering your son if he was gay to be deplorable. I’m also personally irritated with cheap jokes about gay men. However, I have revisited my position to a degree after reading G.I. T.I.’s interview with VIBE.

Mind you, I think T.I. trying to defend the right to be a bigot to be stupid though I do think there’s something to be said about his additional thoughts on political correctness. Poor way of putting it notwithstanding, there’s something to be said about us growing so hypersensitive and what that means for comedy in the future. Like, did you know there’s a term called “transmisogynist”  and that transgendered is considered offensive because it’s a verb?

I sure as hell didn’t. Anyway, here’s my latest for The Root entitled “T.I., Tracy Morgan and the PC Police.” Click the bold, hit like on the actual article, etc.

As I mentioned in the essay, I was a little worried when I heard Michelle Obama refer to then Senator-elect Obama as her baby daddy — only because I knew chump conservatives would take that line and go the distance with it. And they tried (it) but over time Lady O toned it done (to my dismay) and became hugely popular as a result. Yet no matter how non-threatening her causes are these days many on the right continue to hammer at her. Was reading a piece in the Washington Post that said the First Lady will be a political asset in the looming election though the key to that is being essentially apolitical. I find that slightly irritating so I wrote a piece about it. Wanna read it? Here it go: “The High Cost of Mrs. Obama’s Popularity.”

It’s becoming increasingly harder not to be at least a teensy bit jaded about celebrity culture’s choke hold on the media. Yesterday, I read that New York Times best-selling author, Snooki, admitted that she has no idea who J.K. Rowling and Maya Angelou are. I still have yet to see a single episode of Jersey Shore (on purpose), but based on what I’ve seen of Snooki in the press that revelation doesn’t surprise me at all. She’s just one of many intellectually challenged personalities turned pretend writers who can claim to be best-selling authors despite needing a ghostwriter to help them finish writing their ABCs.

Another that comes to mind is Tyrese, who can also boast of being a New York Times best-selling author although he has trouble spelling the word author. Of course, all Coca Cola crooner did was follow a formula laid out by Steve Harvey. Basically: Give people advice on subject matter your own life suggests you know little about. Or in the cases of others, project your own insecurities about race, gender, relationships, and self-identity to people who have been beaten over the head with nonsense, and thus, are gullible enough to buy yours.

If you think I sound like rock and sea salt run through my veins, I can’t say that I blame you for concluding so. I will pay each of the aforementioned this compliment: Every one of them had enough sense to capitalize on their fame and broaden their appeal to maximize their earning potential. Still, this is madness especially since now your technically trained writers are beginning to follow their leads.

I read Tracy McMillan’s memoir, I Love You And I’m Leaving You Anyway. I also checked out that Huff Post piece she wrote about why women aren’t married. Something about them being bitches, shallow, and some other stuff that sounds like it came from the varsity cheerleading squad for male chauvinism. Naturally, that means she has a book coming: Why You’re Not Married…Yet: How To Stop Acting Like a Bitch And Start Getting Hitched. A show called Why You’re Not Married is on the horizon, too.

McMillan is a funny writer, but I don’t get the point in telling women to stop being bitches over a problem that can be statistically attributed to several factors. I really fail to understand how a three-time divorcee can pen a book shelling out advice on marriage. Then again, I’ve read people call Tyrese and his employment of various gender stereotypes insightful.

The other day, the homie Bassey Ikpi tweeted to me about my Beyoncé piece for The Root, calling it “thoughtful and measured.” She did note, though, “…so of course it’ll fall on deaf ears.” She’s right. I’m trying to write well-written material that seeks to make people laugh and think. That’s a horrible way to write in 2011. I’m hustling backwards.

I’ve decided to join the trend and consider writing a book about some shit I know not a thing about. I have a working title in mind: Pulsate The Pussy: A Gay Guy’s Guide To Straight Sex. Initially, I considered joining the female bashing trend and was going to pitch an essay called: “Your Life Is Meaningless If You’re 30 and Unmarried. Same For You, Gays. Your Day of Reckoning Is Coming!”

Unfortunately, I don’t hate women so I can’t go that route.  But, I’m comfortable with the idea of pretending to be an expert to pay off my real loans. Doing it by merit takes an extremely long time.

Which leads me to the point of this post: I want to marry Rob Kardashian.

I have entertained the thought before this career epiphany for obvious reasons. What are they? Look at Rob Kardashian from behind. Hello, obvious reasons.

Undoubtedly, this would give me a great boost, but I think this would be beneficial to him, too. Yes, Rob’s doing Dancing with the Stars or whatever, but he’s still in the shadow of his sisters. At the rate he’s going now, he’s never going to get his own spin-off. I mean, he hasn’t been exactly doing anything on the Kardashian shows he’s already featured on. If he and I got married, he can snatch the gay icon crown from Kim and my future mother-in-law could flip that into a show.

I’ve already thought of potential plot lines for our reality series.

1. We get married in New York because it’s legal there and Mama Jenner doesn’t want another one of her kids shacking up. I’ll be happy to be back on the East Coast, Rob will miss In-N-Out Burger so thus, conflict. Then I will find out Rob had lunch with his ex-girlfriend (I’ll know because I sent the emails to her publicist), the one from 702 Cherish 3LW and The Cheetah Girls. I will confront her on the following episode where I quote Mokenstef. I’ll also let Adrienne know that she won’t be throwing KFC on me like the girl who upset Lil’ Kim ‘cause she wasn’t light skinned when playing her in a movie that she used to work with.

2. I don’t know, something about Twitter. That sounds mundane enough as a potential episode, right?

3. We hire trainers to get our bodies together. No shade to my future sister-in-law, Khloé, but there’s already one plus-size Kardashian. E! won’t accept two for much longer. And the finer he gets, the more he’s ogled. A gay Kardashian wedding is already worth at least two Us Weekly covers. New bodies will give us one more and maybe an In Touch feature. Since I’m black, I can try to finagle additional coverage, too. Kris will love me: I’m always thinking.

I have a feeling Kim will love me just as much.

See what I mean? Not to mention her favorite singer is the Queen and her favorite Nate Dogg featured song is Snoop’s “Ain’t No Fun.” We’re soul mates.

Khloé and I both curse a lot so we’ll be fine. Amerie Kardashian may potentially pose a little trouble, but I can check her if she comes for my husband. Then we’ll bond after or something.

I think this is a great idea. I’m pretty sure Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda would let us guest-host the Today show (I’m into corporate mergers when it suits my own interests). We could become America’s favorite gay couple, or the very at least, place a strong second to Ellen and Portia.

I might be even able to convince President Obama to lay off the Kardashians based on our shared love of Beyoncé. And you know, I write about politics and shit. I also loved Dreams of My Father. I smell future White House invites when the administration needs some gays on their side.

For those of you ready to bark, “Didn’t you just write about not being the marrying kind?” Look, that was before I realized that these days it’s better to be a celebrity or at least celebrity adjacent before being anything else. Besides, see Rob in slacks. That’s worth giving marriage a try alone.

And there you have it. Rob will break out of his sisters’ shadow, find a job, and prove to Kris Jenner that she doesn’t have to go and set up a casting call to find a more profitable son. Meanwhile, I’ll earn cheap celebrity status that will get me closer to my dreams. Plus, I’ll have a big butt having pretty boy. This fairytale sounds sweet enough for Disney. I’m like Cinderella with a cock.

By now quite a few of you are thinking to yourself, “Michael is out of his damn mind.” Well, some of you probably assumed that anyway so there. I’m no less crazy than the society that has divorcees as relationship experts and functional illiterates with titles traditionally afforded to people above 8^th grade reading levels.

Yes, hard work, perseverance and faith can still get me to my dreams, but fuck all that right now. If I married Rob Kardashian this shit would happen a lot sooner and easier. And it would benefit him, too. See how selfless I’m being? That will help our marriage last.

What do you say, Rob? Will you marry me? If the sex part of our marriage throws you off at first, do not fret, future partner-in-crime. Slow and steady wins the race – with lubricant. For the record, we’re not filming it. Would totally ruin my plans to be a children’s author (everyone’s doing that, too). If he accepts, my future publicist will let y’all know about the ceremony.

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.

If only it were this simple.

In my latest for The Root, I offered a personal touch to a recent story about a growing number of people (5.9 million of them) between the ages of 25 and 34 who have been forced to move back home thanks to the economy. I actually know of a few people who have either dealt with this in recent years or going through it now. Admittedly, the time period I write about is a few years shy of 25 but trust me, it’s close enough.

I have alluded to some of the issues mentioned in the piece on the site before, they this offers a bit of specifics (like an actual prescription) that I’ve never been forthright about — especially not for publication. I’m opening up more in that medium. Maybe it will help. Me. Someone. Both. Who knows?

Click here to check out “Moving Back Home: A Gift and a Curse.”