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Sean Spicer often looks guilty of something. He looks like the person who went into the work refrigerator, saw the juice with your name on it and drank it anyway—and put it back with not the slightest ounce of shame. Spicer also seems like the driver you end up cursing out on the freeway because he sees you trying to get over to make an exit but speeds up to block you from doing so. For no other reason than he can and he likes to inflict pain on others. The man looks salty as hell at all times.

For those who missed this when he served as Republican National Committee spokesman, they’re learning it now that this curmudgeon, who looks exactly like Howard the Duck if Howard the Duck met a scientist who could turn him into a human being, serves as White House press secretary.

In his debut, Spicer did not take questions. Instead, Spicer berated the press for correctly reporting that the crowds for Minute Maid Mao’s inauguration were pathetic, or “Sad!” as some wannabe dictators would say. Evidently the man was sent out by his new boss to play into his delusions of grandeur and incessant need to be liked. After Spicer finished, he stormed off. Sadly, no reporter shouted, “Sashay, Shantay” as he exited the building—proving once again why more media outlets need to be more inclusive in their hiring.

Then came his “first official briefing” in which he actually took questions. Spicer got a lot of unwarranted praise for doing that, though anyone who watched the lengthy presser saw that he continued to treat members of the press as individuals he can’t wait to catch on the street. Spicer doesn’t deserve a participation award, beloveds.

Spicer is quite the reflection of the man he works for, though. He lies like hell. He’s harsh in his delivery. He speaks with a strong sense of entitlement. He wears suits that are way too big. He’s infuriating to watch. Most of all, Spicer is incredibly embarrassing.

During a press conference Monday, Spicer was addressing Minute Maid Mao’s executive action that restructured the National Security Council. While doing so, Spicer held up a printed tweet. Why? Because Spicer wanted to drill home the point that there had been “misreporting” on this issue.

However, as The Verge’s Lizzie Plaugic noted, “It seems unlikely anyone in the room or watching the live stream would have actually been able to read what was on the sheet of paper, but Spicer apparently felt he needed hard proof of the tweet’s existence.”

Cast members on shows like The Real Housewives of Wherever and Love & Hip Hop: Anywhere don’t even print out tweets at reunion shows. Spicer is out here holding White House press conferences that come across as live re-enactments of posts from the Shade Room. Yet for Spicer it gets much, much worse.

During that same press conference, Spicer was asked about the Muslim ban signed by Minute Maid Mao and its effect on travelers. Like, say, a 5-year-old boy whose mother is Iranian and who was detained after arriving at Washington Dulles International Airport. When asked if the ban should apply to 5-year-old kids, Spicer said yes. With a straight face at that.

Heaven, I need a hug, and God, I need to borrow your trusty lightning bolt.

“That’s why we slow [the process] down a little,” Spicer explained. “To make sure that if they are a 5-year-old, that maybe they’re with their parents and they don’t pose a threat. But to assume that just because of someone’s age or gender or whatever that they don’t pose a threat would be misguided and wrong.”

The child is fucking 5 years old. When the mother was reunited with her son, she sang “Happy Birthday” to him. For you basket of deplorables reading this, she sang the song in English, although the Persian remix would have been perfectly fine, too.
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If I could charter our new President Hog’s-Head-Cheese Hussein a flight anywhere, the destination would be obvious: the Seventh Circle of Hell. If his long list of sins against humanity before he was elected (insert laugh track) president did not confirm what an arrogant, selfish, greedy, cruel waste of the gift of life he is, then certainly, his actions mere days into his presidency have. So if 45 has already proved himself to be an inhumane tyrant in the making, why would anyone waste hundreds of words seeking to convince fans of the hidden virtues of a bigot?

As previously reported, Mean Mary Tina Campbell of Mary Mary wrote an open letter about the new president that advocates him in ways that a man who associates with white supremacists is undeserving of. Generally speaking, open letters are equal parts inane and irritating. However, Campbell did ask for people to “read my letter below with an open mind.”

As a recovering Catholic who was once recruited for the priesthood (coulda been Yung Pope, but sex, no shade), I obliged.

Despite the unfortunate reality that we live in a country which is divided by our differences, misguided by ignorance and fear, obsessed with power, and overcome with greed, I still choose to believe that better days are coming. I believe that, although America and all of its leaders are far from perfect, our spiritual guidance and covering that has been granted from our initial decision to be “One nation under God,” is what has established us as the great nation that we are.

Let me stop you right there, Heil Mary.

It’s fine to believe, despite the inept would-be authoritarian dismantling democracy day by day, that brighter days lie ahead, given that you’ve got God and a cushier tax bracket than most, but what is this nonsense about how “‘One Nation under God’” is “what has established us as the great nation that we are”? Beloved, you are black. This same nation that professed to extol the virtues of God was built on the backs of your enslaved ancestors and has systematically oppressed your kind since its inception. You can luh God like your sister, but no Negroes with the good sense God gave them should pretend that this nation hasn’t long bastardized religion.

I understand that Mr. Donald Trump is our new president, not our God, so as a citizen I choose to have a sensible expectation of him, accompanied by much prayer for him, and a complete dependency on God to work through him, as well as the others that are in office, to secure the welfare of this nation. I choose to opt out of fear of the unknown but rather opt in to hopeful expectation because if God is for us nothing can successfully stand against us.

I mean, if you’re not traveling from select countries on the Muslim ban, I suppose you can walk without fear. You can’t get an amen for this, but at least you are praying for the president. His punk ass needs it.

I believe that understanding and compassion is absolutely necessary for the progress of all people. So, although I don’t always understand or agree with Mr. Donald Trump’s politics, perspective, and approach, I believe that the same God that created all of us has deposited greatness inside of him that goes far beyond what many of us have seen and what many of us could imagine. I believe that God can do exceeding abundantly above all that we can ask or think, according to the power that works in us. I believe that the power that works in us is our ability to love, and unify, and humble ourselves, and forgive, and hope, and pray, and educate ourselves, and apply wisdom and hard work to knowledge. I choose to believe that that same power that comes from Almighty God is at work in Mr. Donald Trump, and it will be used for the greater good of this nation and its people.

Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Did Campbell say, “I believe that the same God that created all of us has deposited greatness inside of him that goes far beyond what many of us have seen and what many of us could imagine”? This mediocre white man has built a career off of nepotism, good tax attorneys, bankruptcy laws, not paying people for their services and being a fame whore. He is the irregular sweater of humanity. I rebuke this.

It’s much easier to assume that someone is in power because God “chose” him than to wrestle with the reality that evil exists and there are instances where one must call a thing a thing—and then fight it. Enter the likes of the Rev. William Barber, who consistently fights for the very Christian principles 45 actively works against. Barber has routinely spoken out against the racism of 45 and the party whose racist rhetoric paved the way for him. He has done so with the assistance of religious people of varying faiths.

Read the rest at The Root.

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I knew that I loved LeToya Luckett when I noticed in the thank-you notes for Destiny’s Child’s immaculate sophomore album, The Writing’s on the Wall, that she shouted out Pappadeaux’s crawfish platter.

Of course, there was already an affinity there—she’s from the same hood in Houston I’m from (Hiram Clarke, ho)—but really, that crawfish mention cemented it. As a bit of a Destiny’s Child scholar, I love the tracks “Get on the Bus” and “Say My Name” in particular because you can actually hear Luckett’s voice on each of them. Y’all know that Beyoncé is my lord and gyrator, but there was a lot of “Stop singing my part now, baby!” back in the earliest DC days. You really hear Luckett in the hook of “Say My Name,” but, well, we know how that all ended.

After Luckett and LaTavia Roberson exited the group, they launched the girl group Anjel, which didn’t pan out, either—ultimately leaving Luckett to go solo. Her first album, LeToya, was released in 2006 and led by the single “Torn.” Not only was LeToya one of the stronger releases of that period in R&B, because it is certified platinum, but it also gives Luckett bragging rights for being the only Destiny’s Child member besides Beyoncé to have a certified album.

However, it’s her second album that sticks out to most. Lady Love was an excellent album despite her then-label, Capitol Records. It’s a strong effort not enough people got to discover at the time. While her single “Regret” managed to perform well, it was majorly ignored because of the label’s lack of effort. Unfortunately, as with many of the black artists on Capitol’s roster at the time—Cherish and J. Holiday, among others—Luckett’s debut success was lost because the label basically treated “the blacks” on its roster the same way President Sweet Potato Saddam treats black folks on any given day of the week. At the time, I tried to ask my Creole relatives to put a root on the execs there, but most of them told me to sit the hell down and figure out how to do a roux first.

Those disappointing sales and the dissolution of her deal with the label spawned a very lengthy musical hiatus for Luckett. It’s not as if she hasn’t been working, though. We’ve seen her as an actress on Single Ladies, Rosewood, Ballers and Treme and in films with the likes of Taraji P. Henson and Ashton Kutcher.

I’m all for going in the direction Black Jesus sends your checks, but it’s been way too long since Luckett released a new album. We’ve had little teases here and there, but nothing like a full-fledged effort. Finally, though, Luckett has begun the rollout of a new album.

Using her acting chops, Luckett recently released the video for her new single, “Back 2 Life.” The single will launch her long-awaited third album, Until Then.

Read the rest at The Root.

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Whenever I am asked why I don’t go into the comments sections of any of my published work, my response is immediate and in the form of a question: “Why do you hate me?” I am black, gay, work in media and have private student loans. Have I not suffered enough?

For years now, many of my colleagues have rightly regarded the comments sections of various outlets as cesspools. As someone who writes for black and mainstream sites, let me assure you that when it comes to the comments section, no matter which water fountain you sip from, it’s all spit and old bacon grease.

If you’re not being trolled by someone from Gouda Gaddafi’s basket of deplorables, you’re dealing with someone who believes that Dr. Umar Johnson actually has something valid to say or who thinks you and the source of your erections both need Jesus. In the age of “self-care,” I try to avoid actions that result in voluntary acts of torture.

However, a new report earlier this month claims that readers want more journalists to respond to them in the comments section. In a survey that spans readers from 20 separate U.S.-based news organizations across various mediums (print to broadcast to digital), 81 percent of commenters said that they would like to see reporters clarify factual questions in the comments section. Additionally, an average of 73 percent of respondents said they wanted “experts” on topics to weigh in in the comments section. And about half claim that they wanted journalists to highlight “quality comments.”

As Nieman Lab notes in its story about the survey, which was jointly produced by the Engaging News Project at the University of Texas and the Coral Project, the Washington Post has started launching such endeavors—creating an email newsletter that highlights top reader comments and discussion threads.

I’m not a reporter, but when I was commissioned to write a piece for the Washington Post about Andrew Harrison’s use of “nigga,” I smartly ignored the comments section. Of course, my friends trolled me anyway and sent me sample comments. Most of them were from white people whining about why it’s a double standard that we colored folk dare create a colloquialism with an alternate meaning of a racial slur, but it’s unfair that they can’t partake.

Good luck to those political reporters who have to answer the questions of people in the age of our 45th president, a basket case who challenges facts at every turn to the delight of his equally dumb flock. Some will say that there are indeed comments sections less obnoxious than the average. Like say, Kinja.

Whenever I wrote for Gawker, I was “encouraged” to go into the comments section and respond to readers. It wasn’t completely bad, but when I wrote about Bernie Sanders irritating me as of late, I got bombarded on Twitter, Facebook and email about it. Bless everyone’s heart who felt that strongly about it, but I’m not in the habit of spending significant amounts of time responding to things like white people telling me that I’m privileged as if they’re still not white.

To quote Sheree Whitfield, “Hell to the nah to the nah-nah-nah.”

The only site I can think of that doesn’t have a comments section that makes me want to cry out to Black Jesus to ask why he won’t smite these damn fools is Very Smart Brothas.

Still, I typically read the essay and go back to minding my black-ass business. I just don’t trust most internet commenters. Too many people use anonymity to unleash things they dare not say to someone’s face. Way too many folks are under the unfortunate assumption that writers owe the reader more than what they’ve been contracted to write. Not enough grasp that anything beyond what was written is a bonus.

Read the rest at The Root.

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She can dress this up as an act of nobility all she likes, but it reeks of opportunism.

When Chrisette Michele was asked to perform for the new president, she had a choice: to stand with the marginalized or to align herself with their orange-tinged oppressor. In an interview with The Breakfast Club, she revealed that the question was an easy and immediate yes.

With that, her fate was sealed, though she’s certainly been trying to clarify an unconscionable decision in the wake of the immense backlash she welcomed. First, she released an open letter; the cyan font made it barely readable, but honestly, no matter the font or the color, none of it made much sense. Towards the end, she declared, “I am here, representing you, because this is what matters.”

Michele repeated that sentiment on The Breakfast Club. “I needed them to see us,” Michele argued. “I needed them to see what we have to say, what we look like, how we talk. With the entire campaign experience, I think that many of us were wondering, who is he talking to?”

The President is 70 years old and in his lifetime, he has engaged in housing discrimination against Black people, has called on the death of innocent Black men, has used racially inflammatory language over decades, and through his favorite job, reality TV host, has worked with Black people. The President has always seen Black people just as he has seen Latinos, immigrants, Muslims, and women; the problem is, he sees all of those sections of society as less than. As for who he was talking to, anyone that’s bothered to take a gander at any of his hate rallies during the campaign knew the answer: like-minded racist White people.

Given that line of thinking, the singer’s political naiveté made the interview nothing more than a 40-minute PSA on the virtue of not speaking on things you know nothing about. The fact that she continuously repeats the adage “I’m no political genius” doesn’t make her a sympathetic figure. No, it just painfully and frustratingly illustrates willful ignorance.

Let Michele tell it, it is imperative that we need to communicate. So, “I took a lot of heat, but I wanted to unite America.” The problem with this line of thinking is that it foolishly assumes that closer proximity to prejudice will help lessen it. However, in the first week of the new administration, needless walls will be built; cruel bans against refugees over their religion will be unleashed; the threat of martial law has been hung over major cities; Jim Crow is leering towards a massive return; stupidity is soaring.

In the end, Michele didn’t even get to engage the menace. “My family has disowned me,” she said, “If you decide to Google me, you’ll see that America is writing about me in their newspapers. I’m the Black poster child for discord right now, and he’s not going to shake my hand?’ So no, I didn’t get to meet him.”

And every Negro went “Duh.”

Michele then slipped and confirmed suspicion that this was more about herself than she lets on. When asked why she didn’t attend the Women’s March the next day, Michele answered, “They don’t invite D-list celebrities.” The self-deprecation displayed does not deny the hubris-laden subtext of her response.

Read the rest at Essence.

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I should have known Kellyanne Conway couldn’t be trusted when it became all too apparent that she couldn’t be bothered to place trust in a comb before appearing on national television.

If that sounds cruel to you, to quote my spiritual adviser, Beyoncé, “I ain’t sorry,” so don’t anticipate any Anita Baker-grade apology from me. It’s high time that Conway was taken to task about her hair, which often looks like her boss Tropicana Jong-il’s hair. If I can make fun of that heap of elderly golden retriever hair that sits atop his head, I reserve the right to speak on No Comb Conway.

That aside, Conway ought to be taken to task for other things—namely, how much she has in common with her boss.

Much like the madman she helped place in the White House, Conway has only a superficial commitment to her principles. This is a woman who routinely appeared on television in the 1990s to complain about the behavior of former President Bill Clinton while her husband, George T. Conway III, reportedly “played a historic—and largely hidden—role in the impeachment of Bill Clinton.”

So she doesn’t like working with men who don’t respect women, although she seems to have no problems working with President Grab ’Em by the Pussy. Then again, her working alongside 45 shouldn’t be too surprising given that she got a head start working with terrible, sexist men like Todd Akin.

“I’ve been in a very male-dominated business for decades,” she told the New Yorker last fall. “I found, particularly early on, that there’s plenty of room for passion, but there’s very little room for emotion … I tell people all the time, ‘Don’t be fooled, because I am a man by day.’”

What is the gender equivalent of “All my skinfolk ain’t kinfolk”?

Other visible traces of gross hypocrisy can be found in her previous support of comprehensive immigration reform and legal status for undocumented workers. According to CNN, in 2014 Conway co-authored a memo for a pro-immigration group that outlined the benefits to providing a pathway to citizenship for nearly 11 million undocumented workers. Now she’s the headmistress of propaganda for the Fried-Cheese Führer who has decided to make good on his promise to build that stupid wall along the Mexican border.

Another thing that makes Conway the Tamera to 45’s Tia is the shared trait of being a fame whore.

Read the rest at The Root.

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As the pool of white tears begins to flood from the influx of supporters of our newly elected authoritarian who are expressing regret over their votes, allow me to extend the following invitation to one and all: Drown.

Recently, USA Today published an op-ed entitled, “I Voted for Trump, Not Against Planned Parenthood.” In it, Melody Forbes laments that she voted for Honeysuckle Lenin “because I wanted to see change in our country.” Yet Forbes complains about the prospect of the man she voted for lending support to any legislation championed by the likes of Vice President Mike Pence and other Republicans in Congress who have long sought to dismantle women’s access to health care.

“It doesn’t make any sense for Trump, who said he would defend the American people from politics as usual, to sign a bill like this,” Forbes writes. Forbes then spends time relaying facts about Planned Parenthood, as if anyone on that side of the political aisle cares about reasons to consider women’s health, while continuing to write other delusional statements such as, “I did not vote to send him to the White House to take away health care from people struggling to get by.”

That is exactly what Forbes voted for, as is pretty evident to anyone who paid real attention to the campaign behind easily and often refutable rhetoric. Honeysuckle Lenin did indeed defend Planned Parenthood to some extent, noting last year during a Republican presidential debate that it has helped women. However, he said this while still promising to defund it because he claims to be pro-life. Meanwhile, even if the man did promise not to defund Planned Parenthood, anyone who was paying attention to the various stories about him curbing contractors’ pay would find it easy to reckon with the reality that the man’s promises mean nothing.

Still, Forbes has lent her voice to a growing chorus of folks who feign bemusement over a president who’s behaving the same way he did as a candidate.

When the then president-elect pulled back on his promise to build a “big, beautiful wall” along the Mexican border, numerous suckers took to Twitter to complain that a long-proven liar had misled them. The same has happened with respect to the repeal of the Affordable Care Act, which many voters ignorantly assumed was different from Obamacare.

As for his Cabinet picks, the man who swore that he would “drain the swamp” has appointed various billionaires and village idiots to assemble what historians have labeled the richest Cabinet in U.S. history. This Cabinet would include the likes of former WWE executive Linda McMahon, who on Tuesday spoke before the Senate in hopes of becoming the next leader of the Small Business Administration. Surely, her being a top Trump donor had absolutely nothing to do with this two-time failed senatorial candidate—whose greatest achievement, arguably, is introducing me to “Macho Man” Randy Savage—being nominated for that position.

Such moves have not yielded “Oooh yeah! Dig it!”-like expressions of glee about the Colby-Jack Führer. Indeed, the outpouring of hurt, dismay and anger gained so much steam so sharply that it has since given way to a Tumblr, Trumpgrets, that tracks the almost comical levels of bitching and moaning, and other musings, from regretful voters.

As this new administration continues to embarrass itself and drag the nation down with it, there will be more folks who will publicize their remorse over their vote. Such is their right, but I’d like to think I speak on behalf of the millions of marginalized people who will suffer the most under the tyrannical reign of a racist, sexist, xenophobic, narcissistic, pathological liar when I say, fuck all y’all. In fact, run headfirst into a wall. It’s not as if any of you appear to use your heads much, anyway.

Read the rest at The Root.

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When it comes to Melania Trump, multiple things can be true if you try really, really hard not to operate at the same intellectual level as her dimwitted husband. Like, even if Slovenia’s new favorite daughter chose to pose nude back in her modeling days, it was wrong for the New York Post to publish those photos as it sought to exploit her sexuality and demean her. Similarly, as I wrote last fall, Melania has long seemed uncomfortable with the spotlight that came with being a candidate’s spouse, since she only signed up to be a rich man’s wife and hawk some jewelry.

However, while those two truths may exist, there is another that takes precedence: She married a bigoted megalomaniac, a vile monster with only minuscule traces of characteristics associated with humanity who had discussed a potential presidential run as far back as wife No. 1. Perhaps, like most of us, she assumed that her narcissistic nitwit of a husband was merely bullshitting, but there was always the risk that he would actually go through with a real foray into presidential politics.

So when it comes to the question of whether or not she deserves pity, ask yourself another question first: Why bother?

Over the weekend, Melania looked noticeably uncomfortable at every event associated with her husband’s inauguration. The visible discomfort was so obvious that some outlets reached out to body experts to further explain what may have been going on in Melania’s mind. On the pair’s awkward, rhythm-challenged inaugural dance, body-language expert and professional speaker Patti Wood noted to Mic that Melania leaned away from her husband, Parmesan Putin.

“That typically says, ‘I don’t want to merge with you as a partner,’” Wood explained, adding that Tangerine was “pulling her in sexually.”

In other words, the leader of the Aryan version of Love & Hip Hop: New York’s Creep Squad behaved exactly the way you’d expect—to Melania’s apparent horror. That, coupled with a GIF of a visibly bothered Melania, has sparked cries of “Free Melania.” No matter how well intentioned these efforts, there are ample reasons to scream up “Hell nah” in response.

Even when feeling somewhat bad for her, I always kept in the back pocket of my mind that she willfully chose to marry a racist, sexist jackass dedicated to the hobby of being disrespectful. As we move forward with this shit show of an administration, it’s time for all of us to keep such a tidbit front and center. We should also recall that when it comes to bigotry, Melania was an active participant in the very racist conspiracy theory that fueled her husband’s political rise.

Read the rest at The Root.

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During a recent appearance on Bravo’s Watch What Happens Live, Queen Latifah revealed that there has been discussion about a revival of Living Single. While some of us were immediately joyful about seeing the return of Khadijah James, Regine Hunter and Maxine Shaw and hearing the phrase, “Put some beans in that oven,” others were naturally skeptical. After all, we did see the Shaft reboot, which, for some odd reason, is getting yet another reboot.

Still, given the boom of white-led revivals and reboots in recent years, it’s about time that black shows cash in on nostalgia and Hollywood’s total disinterest in original ideas. With that in mind, I’ll be playing the role of fake-ass development executive and outlining potential reboots of previous Negro-focused programming of yore. If you hate me playing the role of melanin-enriched Andy Cohen, that’s fine, but remember this, beloveds: This shit still sounds better than a second Shaft reboot. Can you dig it?

Homeboys in Outer Space

We don’t invite back the original characters, only the title. In the revamped version, we get a sci-fi drama about black people who venture to another planet after the 45th president of the United States of America, Mango Zedong, blows up the damn world. They leave white people—and, thus, most of their troubles—behind in a new world they build from scratch. Put this on Netflix so they can really talk their shit.


I feel like Tracee Ellis Ross is too busy for this, but we really need to see this show back, if for no other reason than that Toni and Joan have got to make peace. Also: William needs to tip out of the closet. No shade.


After six seasons, the show ended on a cliffhanger—incredibly insulting, given how instrumental the series was in making UPN matter as long as it did. Brandy herself was asked about this and said: “I don’t know what happened, and I feel so bad because, you know, so many of the fans, they’re mad about that. That’s not the way you end a show that’s been on for six years. So, I’m sorry, y’all.”

You know, looking back, Moesha Mitchell was annoying as all hell. I still loathe that brat for turning down a free car just because it was a Saturn. She’s like a middle-class Vanessa Huxtable who behaves like Donald Trump Jr. during his terrible-twos stage.

In any event, in a revival, it’s worth exploring what happened. In my mind, Dorian’s friend kidnapped Myles, killed him, and 20 years later, we come to see a less obnoxious, humbled Moesha working in media. As for who was pregnant, it was Niecy, and she takes a more prominent role in the show.

Now, with respect to Kim Parker, she fell off with both of them, got colored contacts and a terrible wig and ended up a sad reality star. The new season would focus on the trio renewing their friendship. If Sheryl Lee Ralph and William Allen Young are available, they can come back, only I feel like Dee Mitchell would be on her Tina Lawson after divorcing Mathew Knowles.

New York Undercover

Ideally I’d like to forget the horrific last season of this show and bring Eddie Torres back from the dead. Unfortunately, the illegally streamed YouTube episodes don’t lie, so we have to deal with the conditions we’re given. To that end, J.C. Williams should play an Olivia Benson-like leader of a new squad. It would be interesting to see a minority-centered crime show, notably in an era in which law enforcement increasingly targets minorities. And we need to figure out how to bring in George Gore II and Lauren Vélez.

Family Matters

I only want this show to come back on a limited 10-episode run in which Steve Urkel has been placed in a mental institution because, let’s be honest, that nerd was a stalker, and when he became Stephan Urkel, that was a sign that he needed to be committed. Let Little Richie be his psychiatrist. And, no, Eddie Winslow cannot come back because he’s going to try to sing again.

Also: We need to find out what happened to the youngest sister who went upstairs and never came down.

Read the rest at The Root.

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Now that doomsday has happened, there are certain things to which we can look forward.

For one, there will be pain. Lots and lots of pain. Unfortunately, it won’t be like a Betty Wright track in which said pain will yield some gain. It will just hurt.

There will also be plenty of stupidity because if the confirmation hearings are any indication, we will be beset by inept buffoons, who, much like the 45th president of the United States, have absolutely no business doing the jobs with which they have been tasked.

Of course, there will be loads of corruption because when you elect a con man to the highest office in the land, he’s going to give you your money’s worth. However, of all the nuisances that await us, one that’s increasingly sticking out to me is that we will be embarking on having the political Ike and Tina Turner in Mango Zedong (Donald Trump) and Vladimir Putin.

For quite some time now, Frack and Fuck-Up have been whispering sweet nothings to each other in the public space, reminding me of a Drake song in which he is oh so smitten, only to end up vexed over the fact that she has dared to have a life aside from him.

If previous comments are any indication, these two will very much behave like a celebrity couple desperately trying to sway you into giving a damn about their union.

Recently, Geppetto (Putin) took up for his new boo thang (Mango Zedong) by addressing the now infamous dossier in which a former MI6 British intelligence agent claims that the Russian government has compromising information about the new U.S. president. During a press conference Tuesday, Putin said, “These things that have been alleged are clearly false information.”

(Because if you want truth, you turn to a man trained in the art of lying like hell for the advancement of specific agents.)

Among the various forms of malarkey the lying head of state presented to a forced audience, though, this portion was particularly comical: “Did Trump really come and meet with Moscow prostitutes? Firstly, he is an adult, and secondly, he is a person who for many years has organized a beauty pageant, socialized with the most beautiful women in the world. It is hard to believe that he ran to a hotel to meet with our girls of a low social class, although they are the best in the world.”

This is not how prostitution works, but it’s clearly a sign of someone standing by his man. I suppose if the former KGB agent allegedly put in all that effort to housebreak his new pet, it would make sense for him to go above and beyond to protect him. You know, even if that means saying with a straight face that loads of women want to smash a man who looks like a pot of lasagna made from old slices of Kraft cheese.

Still, it was already stomach-churning to watch an American campaigning to be president laud an authoritarian figure from a hostile foreign government, but now we have to spend maybe four years living with this.

While the crowds in Washington, D.C., were thin-crust pizza for the inauguration, it was apparently a lituation over in Moscow. Indeed, The Independent reported that supporters of Putin held an all-night party in celebration of the U.S. president who U.S. intelligence agencies all agree benefited from the assistance of the Russian government in winning the presidential election.

Adam Lusher wrote: “One of the organizers, Konstantin Rykov, who has served as a Russian MP affiliated to Putin’s United Russia Party and has also been described as a ‘Kremlin web propagandist,’ invited his Facebook followers to the event with the comment: ‘See you in the evening. Washington will be ours.’”

Despite the new administration’s claims to the contrary, we undoubtedly will soon have to bear the sight of Mango Zedong and Putin standing side-by-side in jubilee like they’re Ja Rule and Ashanti about to perform “Always on Time.” While there is a special shade of irony in the guy who promised to “Make America great again” being so clingy to the de facto dictator of Russia, it is not enough to gloss over how infuriating it is to see such a low-level ruse happen in real time.

Read the rest at The Root.

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