Sideline Shay

Yesterday, I read on the Twitter that Shay and Momma Dee got into an altercation at a Red Lobster in Birmingham, Alabama. I shouldn’t want this to be true, but I find this story too hilarious to not want to. I can envision this happening in my mind so clearly that I’d be a bit hurt if it wasn’t brought up at the next Love & Hip Hop: Atlanta reunion.

Apparently, they were at separate tables so allow me to paint a picture. Butt hurt over love Shay sits one table over from the empress in her mind, Momma Dee. As a waitress comes back from the liquor store next door to fill Momma Dee’s order of Thunderbird with a splash of Dr. Pepper, Shay rolls her eyes, pissed off that Momma Dee shorted her on their shared club fee. Momma Dee catches that and Shay whispering Shade into some queen’s ear, takes a sip of her drink and proceeds to toss it at Shay’s head with half a cheddar bay biscuit in her mouth. Shay stands up, ready to plex, but someone wisely snatches her by the dyed ponytail she got straight from the Kentucky Derby. After all, as an ex-pimp and drug dealer, Momma Dee is trained well in the art of pistol whipping and bitch bodying.

Okay, so maybe it didn’t happen exactly that way, but I think we should run with this version of events anyway.

Meanwhile, if these two do indeed get into a scuffle it may mean that Momma Dee might finally stop trying toss Shay into Lil’ Scrappy’s sac despite that current space being occupied by his fiancée. I know Olivia Pope gave a lot of you unrequited love having folks false hope with that hilariously ironic “If you want me, earn me!” line on last week’s episode of Scandal, but in reality, you already gave it up so there’s no much else to earn as you’ve got silver and/or broze stamped on your ass cheeks. For the love of Beyoncé, Shay, if you’ve got to turn to your man’s mama to get a man, that ought to tell you all that you need to know.

Yet, here she is, like a stubborn buzzard, huffing, puffing, and chirping over a man who embarrassed the absolute hell out of her on national television by proposing to another woman right in front of her. I have certainly played myself over love, but at some point you’ve got to look in the mirror and say, “I’ve got to let my jaw heal from all the trauma I have put it through.” I hope Shay lets her cracked face repair itself.

In fact, if Shay’s looking for love, maybe she turn to Momma Dee. They’ve got a lot in common. They’re both obsessed with Lil’ Scrappy. They both can’t stand Erica. They both need some business. They’re both into Shay’s ass. I would not be surprised if Momma Dee has told Shay off camera, ”I can at least get 300 an hour off that ass.”

Shoot, even if y’all two did fight inside of Red Lobster like some Facebook trash, gon’ head and kiss and make up and go on a double date in Alannuh with Monifah and her lady. If that doesn’t work, use that VH1 check to find each of yourselves a man (or woman, noh8 and shit) on BlackPeopleMeet.com. Do anything besides…clucking like this on purpose, Shay. Unless something magically changes in the middle of the season, it looks to the victor goes the baby mama. Hell, even if you did manage to sneak in and get some cut, Shay, look at what you had to go through first?

Would you look at that? I’m a life coach and relationship expert now. Wipe me down, or better yet, find me a dashiki so I can give Iyanla Vanzant some competition.

Mo’ Confidence Than Most

If you were to close your eyes and simply listen to this interview, you would be under the impression that the person speaking was a multi-platinum selling superstar with a litany of hit singles who played a crucial role in the shape of contemporary R&B. A person so accomplished that even if they chose to take swipes at their peers – an act most usually perceive to be done in poor taste – there’s not much you can say considering they’re so supremely talented and successful. Like, God personally shaped their vocal chords, Jesus produced their entire catalog, and Allah sent Mohammad on a white unicorn to saddle on back to Earth to demand that every Muslim cop their disc — securing said artist an all-time sales record.

But as soon as the okie doke begins to take over, you open your eyes, see that it’s Lil’ Mo speaking and immediately find yourself dumbfounded. Lil’ Mo has the confidence of Beyoncé with the success of Lil’ Mo. What am I missing?

I actually bought Lil’ Mo’s first album and remembering it dropping the same day as Alicia Keys’ debut. I still even listen to some of the tracks. Say, “How Many Times,” “Ta Da” and “Player Not The Game” with Carl Thomas.

However, take a gander at the closing of this All Music review of Based On A True Story: “Probably the best reference point for Lil’ Mo’s winning blend of street smarts and classic soul divaship is Mary J. Blige, and Based on a True Story suggests that Blige could have some serious competition in the years to come.”

Anyhow, I don’t pay much attention to Lil’ Mo and her ongoing social media jihad on the Twitter, but I imagine if she’s going to be like this on the Los Angeles spinoff of R&B Divas, she’s going to be a contemptuous cackle worth catching weekly. And even if she does come across a wee bit delusional about her place as the Godmother of Hip Hop and R&B, I’m entertained. A whole bunch.

Hell, I could stand to be less critical and play up my strengths the way Goddis Love’s mama does. It seems to do her a world of good. Helps her hold on, all that.

I mean, this was Mo only three years ago.

Look at her now: Earning TV checks for shade queen. I’m not sure why she doesn’t get along with Negro Twitter better. Is this not a shining example of where your self-important bitchiness will take you?

For the record, I looked up the source of Mo’s ridiculous moniker.

As she explains in an interview with Soul Train:

Soul Train: You call yourself the Godmother of Hip Hop Soul – can you elaborate?

Lil’ Mo: It’s actually the Godmother of Hip Hop and R&B.  I did a show a few years ago for the LGBT community. Before I left the stage the host grabbed my hand and told the crowd to applaud for the anointing over my life.  He went on to say that God has his hand on me and though many won’t like it, nor what I do to survive, never compromise and always stay humble. “For I am the Godmother.”  I cried and ever since then everyone calls me Godmother. Heyyyyy…

My apologies, breeders, for thy gays tried the absolute shit out of it and now we must hear this title forever more.

There, There, Little Whiny, White Privilege Enjoying Teen

Oh, look, you guys. Abigail Fisher has a little sister. Suzy Lee Weiss wrote what she called a “satirical” piece about her not getting into the colleges she wanted.  In it, she whined and whined about why “diversity” kept her from attending her preferred institution of higher learning and excessive tuition. Never mind that her grades and scores weren’t up to par or that she got into other good schools that, when combined with her race, will still result to her leading a life better than most who live under much different circumstances.

However, because Weiss threw in a few “jokes” with her rant, she doesn’t understand why people – us people – have any reason to pick at her.

After all, she’s the one who likely got her parents to fork offer large sums of money to enroll in SAT prep courses. That is, those standardized tests already culturally biased in her favor. I’m sure she also had them waste funds on school trips and interviews. Yet, it’s all so very, very unfair that of all the privileges she enjoys in the world, going to an Ivy League school isn’t going to be one of them.

Well, until she wrote this nonsense in the fucking Wall Street Journal:

For starters, had I known two years ago what I know now, I would have gladly worn a headdress to school. Show me to any closet, and I would’ve happily come out of it. “Diversity!” I offer about as much diversity as a saltine cracker. If it were up to me, I would’ve been any of the diversities: Navajo, Pacific Islander, anything. Sen. Elizabeth Warren, I salute you and your 1/32 Cherokee heritage.

So just like Abigail Fisher, whose Supreme Court case that might completely decimate affirmative action all over, her pity party is being treated by conservative-leaning entities who want to use their messages to further their anti-diversity initiative agenda. Now she’s being offered internships. Plus, as you can see, it’s come to my attention that she’s been furthered awarded for her musings on her mediocrity not being rewarded enough to her delight by being booked on Today.

I suppose it will never dawn on her that this whole hoopla demonstrates the kind of advantages she has in life and how a few ‘no’s’ cannot stop her show. Ditto for the realization that other folks with actual things of importance to say won’t get their voices heard in such far reaching media outlets.

But why would she care? It’s all about her, remember? Her. Her. Her.

Meanwhile, what a smug little something, she is.

“I was attracted to the sexy ivy league names.”

Gee, why wouldn’t anyone want you around, girl?

“It’s like 30 Rock taking on things politically correct.”

She’s young, so obviously what Tina Fey did on that show went completely over her head. Hopefully someone can cover the cost of a clue and send it fast delivery to her.

“We’re being judged on things that we cannot control as opposed to things that we can.”

Welcome to life. Don’t let it get you down, though. In the end, you are white, so gon’ flip that naturally straight hair of yours, girl. The system continues to be set up for the organically pale to be pushed into the promised land.

That said, damn you, Today show. There are millions of students who could only wish to have the options this brat does and you ignore them all the damn time. I don’t know why bratty white youth being obnoxious has become a recent trend in coverage about higher education in America, but I’d love for it to die a swift death. The sooner the better.

Kill For Kim

So this happened. At first I couldn’t figure out why this deranged 12-year-old from 1996 was randomly tweeting me a threat. Then it hit me that it was probably the post I wrote about Lil’ Kim the other day. Or it could’ve been this post. Or this one. Or that one. Maybe the piece I wrote for EBONY.com last year. Whatever it was, clearly this crazy sum’bitch to become quite upset with me.

When in the business of speaking your shit to earn your supper, you get used to be told that you ain’t shit, ain’t ever been shit, will likely never be shit or are a piece of shit in return. It’s the circle of shit, if you will. When I was writing political pieces every week for AOLNews.com, I routinely got emails from cranky conservative white people who saw me as Assata Shakur’s long lost ornery son — and in some cases her ornery gay ass Black ass son. Insert more racism and all sorts of vileness here. I’ve also had numerous insults directly sent to me within this space and all of the other various places my writing has appeared.

So I’m used to people having words for me, though none have ever been on some “stay inside fo’ I kill you, bitch” sentiment.

After I saw this post, I initially thought to say something like “Fuck you, fuck the bitch that bred you, and fuck whoever didn’t lock up their wifi, which outlawed your Internet thug ass to keyboard goon.” I opted not to, because well, it’s not worth it. In fact, I feel bad for anyone who not only makes a celebrity the centerpiece of their life – to the point where they want to inflict bodily harm on a complete stranger if someone speaks ill of them – but does so for a celebrity who star is more faded than a pair of acid wash jeans from 1986.

Whoever didn’t hug that ridiculous, jello-nose loving asshole in his or her youth, you failed us all. All that said, fuck this idiot. Before I ended up making fun of this psycho in real time on my timeline, I definitely reported their tweets to Twitter directly. I went outside this weekend and will be outside tomorrow and every day thereafter, but anyone so stupid enough to make a traceable threat for the world to see is not worthy of the service.

Even gang members and drug dealers on social media use codes. How do you have the nerve to be both dumb or crazy? You can only be one or the other. There is no sense in trying to overcompensate when it comes to flaws.

I like Kimberly Jones, circa before all this bullshit happened, and I wish her and her Batman-villain manufactured body well. But rest assured, if she’s doing something ridiculous and/or awful and I am so inclined to write about it, I will continue to.

God bless you, too, motherfucker.

But, I Want That Hot Sugar, Sugar

So Tamar Braxton finally put some beans in that oven, and while I’m happy for her womb, as soon as I read the news I started mourning her sophomore album. Children are great if you’re into that kind of thing, but yo, what does this mean for that hot sugar, sugar? Tay-Tay singing to Epic already prolongs the release of her new project, but between breastfeeding and diaper changing, who knows how long it’ll take now?

I realize harboring these sentiments places me right in the top five of the universe’s ain’t shit list, but you know, if the almighty Beyoncé can still struggle promoting an album during pregnancy, what chance does a mere mortal have? I’m not just selfish, I’m concerned. That makes it somewhat less trifling, right? No, well, I’m entitled to my feelings. I’ll ultimately get over it. Not before I hit publish on this post, though. So, yeah, let’s keep this going.

I mean, I wouldn’t have a problem with Tamar Braxton shooting a video for “Hot Sugar” with a baby bump. I’ve learned over time to stop judging pregnant women in the club. It’s like, so long as they’re not taking shots, shots, shots, shots with everybody, or giving her fetus blunt breath, have at it…in your private section preferably.

I just wanted Tamar to finally enjoy the kind of musical success worthy of her talent. I’ve waited more than a decade for a second album. I suppose another year will be fine. Eh, probably not, but I’ll still buy it, girl. You know I love that voice.

That said, salute to Tamar for announcing her pregnancy by saying “I have a love on top.” #Beyhive ’til she die. And now baby makes two.

Oh and Toni: You can drop the bit about retirement and call Babyface now. If I have to wait until Tamar is done with postpartum (I’m going to hell), you’ve got to carry the weight of the Braxton family’s musical legacy. Yes, again. Sorry, Trina can sing, but not enough are here for acting like Ke$ha’s Black nanny trying to get her groove back as “Black Britney.”

Overcompensation, Party of One

If I had any lingering doubts in my mind that Miguel has gotten his life from “Freakum Dress” at least thrice, consider them confirmed now. Oh, wait a second. That comment is part of the reason why Mr. Pimentel is doing this, isn’t it? Eh, maybe but even so someone should explain to this young man that it gets better and it will even sooner if one doesn’t start air wrapping their dicks in preparation to simulate sex on stage in Sweden.

I’m sure Left Eye is somewhere above smiling at the realization that her lessons of safe sex have carried over to her follow processed hair artists. Or maybe it’s from laughing her ass off with Rick James and Eddie Murphy’s singing dreams in the afterlife. Pick your poison.

Look, I really like Miguel. He’s a nice songwriter who is trying in earnest to evolve R&B and soul music. Also, I’ve run into him a few times out in LA and he’s a very nice guy. Not at all like some of the pricks I’ve come across who don’t possess even a fraction of his talent or morsel of his potential.

Plus, his sophomore album is sublime and I’m actually still a little put off that it hasn’t gotten as much attention as channel ORANGE. It lacks the backstory that makes Frank Ocean’s debut so powerful, but as total a body of work Kaleidoscope Dream is a bit more versatile (as opposed to Frank’s, which I think has stronger songs but a bit lopsided when looking at it wholly). I think there remains a disparity in terms of attention given to each artist, but the above clip is yet another reason why I can see Frank continuing to be the critical darling that gets the sort of accolades Miguel’s more honest about wanting to get.

Little pretty man with the press and curl, you’ve already pressed your head so there’s no sense in giving the rest of you that treatment.

I, of all people, would never discourage anyone from using their sexuality if that’s what moves their heart. Hell, I think “T-Shirt & Panties” is one of the most underrated records of all time. Nevertheless, this all feels like overcompensation, party of one.

Dude, we get it.

You like girls or something. You’ve been working out. No need for the oddly simulated reminders.

Bobby Brown would hump the stage back in his day, and if memory serves, Trey Songz has faked fellatio once or a dozen times during a concert, but as much as I like those artists, they’re not on the sort of creative wavelength you’re on, man.

Those two seem like 13-year-old boys who just discovered an erection (for the rest of their lives) whereas in this clip you’re sort of giving me the one who wants to prove you’re just like them so a kickball won’t be hurled at your head. I get it, but quit it all the same. You have enough talent to fill up Andre the Giant in your Prince barefoot short frame. Act like it.

You don’t have to do this, especially not that hard. Yeah, what was with that grind, dude? Not to mention you throwing your hand back to make sure you bangs didn’t move too much out of place while you hit your daddy stroke. You out here fucking like Trade Little Richard?

Meanwhile, between this and the Los Angeles District Attorney giving Chris Brown failing marks on his progress report, Frank Ocean is having the best week ever.

P.S. As my homie, Devon put it: “And somewhere young gay men are making million of gifs to use for their personal time. Well played MigMoney. Well played. lol”

See? Didn’t stop it.

DJ Clueless

Even though I enjoy this radio show because it’s the closet thing to filling the void left by “The Wendy Williams Experience,” sometimes I wonder why hasn’t someone fixed the Google over at “The Breakfast Club.” Don’t get me wrong, they often manage to have good interviews, but it’s increasingly due to dumb luck given some of the hosts don’t ever bother to do basic research on their guests. Or maybe their interns are too busy updating their Instagram accounts to do it for them. Whatever it is, someone pray to gossip Jesus so that it’s soon fixed. You know, before Nicki Minaj has to curse them all out again.

That said, this interview with Sidney Starr was hard to watch albeit not completely for the aforementioned grievance. I understand that when it comes to transgendered people, there’s a lot of confusion as to what made them think they needed to have a sex change to “live their best lives” and what exactly happened to the genitals of their past. Straight up, I don’t even completely get it, though I’ve seen enough to know that there are ways to handle your curiosity when opportunity presents itself.

DJ Envy gets an F squared for his efforts because instead of actually trying to learn why Sidney Starr felt like she needed to become a woman as that’s how she feels she was meant to be, he judged her using America’s favorite novel, The Bible.

Again, it’s not that I don’t think Jesus isn’t the homie, but I don’t believe Noah literally cramped the goats Billy along with every other species imaginable all on one point for 40 days as God made the water rock its hips, then wave and sip. Likewise, I have a hard time believing Eve and her gullibility with a speaking serpent is the reason why it’s taken Hillary Clinton forever to become president and why many of my readers have horrific mood swings once a month. I mean, where was the stegosaurus with the cutest southern twang ever to stop this all from happening?

However you feel about the Bible and religion overall, though, it’s some really simple ass logic to conclude that no one has the right to alter their gender make up because “God doesn’t make mistakes.”

Really?

What about autism? Cancer? Incurable diseases that have stripped people of their lives since the dawn of civilization?

Now that logic is cute in a “I Am Not My Hair” sort of way and would’ve gone a long way in helping Lil’ Kim see that she didn’t need to go and alter herself into Miss Swan and La Toya Jackson’s baby, but as the Queen Bee eloquently once stated, “Nigga, please come off that.”

I don’t care what DJ Envy does with his privates, but I get the feeling he’s probably used them to bust one in homage of some cosmetic surgery enhanced woman in some magazine who got additional ass shots and tit lifts courtesy of Adobe, M.D.

So unless people with this faulty logic aren’t lobbying Congress to stone not just plastic surgeons, but any medical professional that seeks to tame the natural order in any capacity, shut the fuck up.

Again, I necessarily get it either and particularly don’t like when gender issues are meshed in with those pertaining to sexuality. Still, when I don’t understand something, I try to listen…with some level of respect. Such is life when you have common decency.

Oh, and as far as Sidney Starr goes: Girl, you cannot sing, but good luck with that. Whew, you senses seemed off beat throughout this entire interview, too. You didn’t use Chris Brown’s nose spray, did you?

If DJ Envy is so God-loving, I sure hope he prays for you — only not for any reason that relates to his own misgivings about the world and all the things God has allowed to happen within it.

Beyoncé and Thirst Bucket Journalism

Like Anderson Cooper, who is the vanilla spice latte to my caramel macchiato, soy with sugar-free vanilla sweetener, my nerves were also on swole following the manufactured controversy his network has since christened “Beyoncé-gate.” There are only so many varying ways to say to the simpletons and sensationalists “I hate you, Jody,” but thankfully, I have a troubled childhood and a silver medal in shade (we can always be better) that helps in moments such as these.

Please, please get into my latest column for “The Weekly Read” over at EBONY.com entitled “To Those Baffled Over Beyoncé.” Part of this is just your garden variety Beytheists being typical losers, but it’s more so the 24-hour news cycle that’s at fault. Hate it all with me by clicking here, why don’t you?

Well, F*ck You, Too, Fantasia

As a practicing gay, you become accustomed to being blamed for the world’s troubles big and small. If your bitter homegirl can’t get a man, it’s because her hairdresser keeps turning all of the available breeders out. Should a sizable earthquake happen, it’s because the homosexuals have gotten way too beside themselves now that a few secularists have decided to co-sign their call for equal rights. The same applies for hurricanes, heavy rains, speeding tickets, and you getting the burnt biscuit with your five-piece spicy strip combo. And according to Fantasia’s Instagram feed, it’s also my fault that she met somebody’s husband at a T-Mobile store, fell in lust and love, had his baby, and proceeded to brag about their relationship as his wife went “What the fuck?” before deciding to take advantage of an old North Caroline law targeting home-wreckers and sue her ass.

Despite shouts to the contrary, it’s obvious that Fantasia still feels a way about some judging her. Never mind that she publicized the affair and proceeded to further antagonize the public by constantly trying to justify her relationship. Nope, it’s everyone else’s fault that a public person made a private affair public, and as a result, was criticized publicly. And surprise, surprise, since this soulful simpleton wanted to invoke the Bible to pan others’ for their perceived sins as a means to deflect from her own actions, she’s getting judged again, only this time she’s judging back.

As far as the Bible goes, I must’ve missed the part about God hating ganja. Also, as much as I would love to talk context and historical accuracy, re: the six verses that reference the gay in that book, let’s just say if I ever started a book club and thought to invite Fantasia over, she’d have to wait until we got on Patti LaBelle’s cookbook.

I will say this, though: Someone needs to sit her ass down and explain how what anyone else does has no bearing on her actions.

If I’m looking at a picture of Trey Songz from behind, the side, the front, or him just seductively eating some turkey sausage and start singing to myself “Oops, there goes my shirt up over my head. Oh my.” that has nothing to do with her caressing the scrotum of someone else’s husband.

The gays didn’t force you to be Antwaun Cook’s bottom, baybee.

Fantasia needs to come to gripes with what she’s done and move on. Maybe people were a bit too harsh on her — self included. However, get over it or at the very least, blame someone else for your problems in silence. Of the fraction of the fan base Fantasia used to enjoy, a fair share of it consists of gays. We’re the people that will ensure that she can afford white meat forever.

She’s got her nerve riding the rainbow and then taking a piss on it when she’s feeling crabby about her choices.

And since we’re on Jesus, let us pray that he and all his deity-friends work as a cohesive unit to help celebrities learn what “taken out of context” means.

What she argued was: “Y’all judging me, but look up at all the other unholy shit going on? The gays getting married and people are smoking weed legally.” What did we take out of context? If you’re going to two-step out of that shit with the hopes of getting future Pride weekend and Ru-Paul’s Drag Race bookings, start by admitting what you said and apologizing accordingly.

Otherwise, shut up. Her head is as thick as the bottom of half of her because she fails to see that if she had kept things to herself starting two years ago it would’ve only been Aunt Bunny telling her she and her married boyfriend are in the wrong. I hope Fantasia manages to bounce back with her music career and come to a place where she doesn’t need to pop one too many Advil PMs to deal (sincerely), but she needs to learn when to shut the fuck up. After a while, you get sick of artists who need your kind for varying reasons pretend to be down for you only to show you how they truly feel later on.

Bottom line: Illiterates ain’t shit and they ain’t saying nothing, a hunnid motherfuckers can’t tell me nothing. I’ll be in that ass, beez, beez in that ass.

God bless, though.

See Karlie Redd Serve Dimples With Del Monte

What in the bootleg Baywatch hell?

Is Karlie Redd still trying to be a singer-rapper? I mean, selling ass isn’t exactly a bad idea for a theme if you’re plotting to peddle music, but this video gives more of a calendar girl tease. Is Karlie trying to diversify her portfolio? Throwing out those cheeks to catch a potential bidder? Trying to show her co-stars that she can become a breakout star ’cause of her booty, too?

I saw her on the cover of an ass magazine at the gas station about a month ago. Her cheeks didn’t look lopsided there, but I wasn’t sure if that was Dr. Adobe working the magic. I suppose if anyone had lingering doubts about the shape of what she sits on, Karlie’s here to give you a grand tour paid for by World Star Hip Hop.

Is K. Michelle going to apologize for saying Karlie’s got one ass that’s mixed with an apple and Oswald Cobblepot? Probably not, but if it’s any consolation, Karlie, the rest of us know now. We even see the dimple.

Don’t get me wrong now. I don’t have anything against Karlie Redd. My inner bird chirps to “Louis, Prada, Gucci” and it doesn’t really matter to me if she’s 69 in Lady and Tramp years as Mad and from Memphis claims. I am confused about her goals, though.

Like, if you’re going to get this big feature on WSHH, shouldn’t the background music be your own creations? I know for a fact she’s been working on music, so why can’t I hear it as the director of this clip does the same three angles over and over again as opposed to “Del Monte Fruit?” I’m not following. Or maybe she got paid for this? I hope so because those shoes looked painful. If you’re not going to plug your own product, you best at least have gotten some Christmas present money.