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Unfortunately, for so many women, every day they step outside is considered an invitation by some men to speak to them as if they’ve only discovered women and erections seconds prior. Even worse is the new reality that these same parasites have since carried over their thirsty ways to social media– spurring so many women to shout out “Can I live?” in horror. Though I can’t do the Lord’s work,  (i.e. instantly make the penises of the guilty parties fall off) I can at the very least inform you folks how not to hit on someone online. Grab your sippy cups and settle down. I’m here to help.

You’re welcome.

Stop Showing Your Dick

There are some pretty widely acceptable ways of greeting someone you’re interested in. Say, “Hello,” “Hi,” “What up, though,” “Hey,” and “Good morning, afternoon, evening.” Then maybe you can follow with a “How are you?” These are all pretty standard and not remotely aggressive. You know what’s the total antithesis of all of this? Immediately sending someone a shot of your dick. Your dick should not be the greeting as it’ll likely spur a prompt goodbye.

Lesbians Don’t Want You, Dude

For the slow people in the back of the room, if a woman is a lesbian she’s not interested in your dick, how big it is, or whatever sexual magic you think it has. Why? Because she likes vagina, fool. Women, some of you are guilty of this with gay men, too. I don’t know if you’re inspired by Liza Minnelli and Star Jones (allegedly), but your box ain’t the Hocus Pocus either.

Read the rest at Complex.

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It took her long enough, but on the Scandal season finale, Our Lady of the Trench Coat finally had some self-realization. That manifested itself into Olivia Pope finally saying these four magic words: “I am the scandal.” Damn right you are. As much as I’d love to focus on just that and what Olivia Pope could do to stop wrecking so many of our last nerves, since it’s Scandal, we’ve got to focus on the seven million other things that happened, too.

The episode kicked off exactly where we left off — Fitz and Cyrus in the Oval Office, reviewing Fitz’s eulogy as the church was on its way to being blown to smithereens thanks to Mama Pope’s bomb. Suddenly, Cyrus started to feel a little guilt about not warning the president about the bomb because he wanted Sally to get drop-kicked by Jesus into hell. Whatever, Cy, because Jake stormed into the Oval Office to warn Fitz about the terrorist plot.

That bomb went off not long after and a still very much alive VP Sally Langston almost won the presidential election after a wonderfully crafted PR stunt. Just as Sally was about to hop in her limo and get the hell out of dodge, her campaign manager stopped her, rubbed some black marks on her face, ripped her suit and told her, “Be Jesus. You go in there and Be Jesus.”

Sally then played saint and started helping the injured in the name of Jesus winning the presidency. Her “her heroic duty” was so “compelling” that news organizations did a split screen between the presidential briefing on the bombing and Sally Save-These-Hoes (I’m terrible, but I couldn’t resist). Then they just switched to Super Sally and left Fitz wasting his breath. After this, Olivia Pope told Fitz, “Dude, you’re about to lose, B. Sorry, I know this sucks for you.”

Or something to that effect.

Mellie Mel, with fresh vodka in her hand, rightly blurted out, “I want a refund. I want our money back. Whatever your fee is. Whatever ridiculous amount of money we wasted on you. Why did we hire her, because I thought we hired her to win?” Damn right, Mel. Olivia Pope is a terrible campaign manager. Who tells the candidate they’re going to lose even if you think it inside? Why not follow Tisha Campbell’s advice and push until you get it right?

After Fitz’s hopes and dreams were dashed, Gladiators were subjected to yet another nauseating discussion about “Vermont.” Yo, shut up about Vermont. I’m so sick of hearing about that damn state and what all it represents to these two. Either move or stop talking about it! Olivia & Fitz are the best thing to ever happen to Alicia Keys and Swizz Beatz. Ditto for Dwyane Wade and Gabrielle Union. Those two couples have a much better follow through game.

Now, as Fitz talked about what a horrible woman Mellie was and she never loved him, only wanted his power, blah, blah, Olivia thankfully broke girl code and cracked Fitz’s jaw by revealing that the reason why Mellie treats him like his dick is the anatomic equivalent to the Snow Queen’s poison apple is that his awful ass father Big Jerry raped her. When Fitz found Mellie to discuss what happened (this felt rushed, but whatever), Mellie blurted out, “Olivia Pope can’t do anything right.”

That woman is shade in its best form. Mellie went on to tell Fitz that Jerry is indeed his son. Fitz didn’t care—though with Mellie’s secret discovered, naturally, there’s no way in hell Fitz can divorce Mellie now without truly being the worst person ever. He told Olivia as much and she understood, but if you listen very, very closely, you could hear the tracks of her tears, and an ice box being installed where her heart used to be.

As much vilifying that Mellie suffered at the hands of Fitz, I’m glad he finally understands that if there’s anyone around him that truly loves him and is willing to make sacrifices for him, it’s his wife as opposed to his girlfriend.

That said, Mellie, you should still look into divorcing Fitz and making VP-elect Andrew your new bae.

Oh yeah, y’all knew Fitz wasn’t losing that election. Unfortunately, he won due to his son Jerry collapsing on stage and dying due to bacterial meningitis and the nation feeling just plain awful about it.

Rest in peace, Jerry. You were a brat (understandably so), but you didn’t deserve that.

Before Jerry dropped dead at Fitz’s campaign event, Olivia and her mother had a final confrontation in Rowan Pope’s hospital room. There, Maya explained that everything she’s done was for her. She explained, “That man hurt you. He uses you and he will throw you away when he’s done with you. I just wanted to give you the chance to be free. To be happy.” Mama Pope wants to murder Fitz because he hurt her baby girl. A little abrasive, but sweet for a sociopath when you really think about it.

When Olivia pressured her mom to answer whether or not any of the first 12 years of her family life was real, Mama Pope said, “I didn’t kill him and we both know I could have.”

Read the rest at Complex.

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A few weeks ago, I offered to take a trip to Walmart and secure the firearm needed to putBasketball Wives out of its misery. I’d like to update that proposal. I am willing to buy this show the Ginsu knife collection, a couple boxes of Ambien and a map to the nearest and tallest bridge. Whatever it takes, just end this suffering. Yes, there have been some highlights in this abridged season of the fledgling VH1 franchise, but last night’s season finale all but confirmed that the show has been stagnant for too long and no longer works.

Will VH1 cancel the show? I doubt it. If anything, they’ll probably try to retool the show with a mostly new group that will fail miserably at trying to top their predecessors. Until then, let’s wrap this up properly, shall we? —Michael Arceneaux (@youngsinick)

5. Punks Jump Up To Get Beat Down

Bless Suzie Ketchum’s heart because I can understand why after years and years of being everyone’s punching bad, she wanted to huff, puff and blow someone else’s damn house down for a change. Unfortunately, she picked the wrong one in Kenya Bell. Tami describes their altercation the best when she matter-of-factly told Suzie, “I love you, but she beat your ass.” We didn’t get to see the actual fight – damn you petitioners – but we saw Suzie’s bloody lip.

That’s pretty much all the confirmation we needed. I will say, though, Suzie, good for you saying, “I’m not just gonna sit there and be a pussy.” No, you’re not, but Shaunie was right in that fighting isn’t your thing. It’s one thing to be more assertive, it’s another to rush someone knowing you’re in need of a few dozen kickboxing classes.

The fight ends the finale and if it’s the last segment of this show that ever airs, goodbye. Thanks for the memories…not so much the ones from this season. I’m blocking most of those out. BYE.

Read the full recap of the finale at


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On this week’s edition of Women Trying Not To Behave As Badly As They Used To aka Basketball Wives, Evelyn Lozada is in therapy, Evelyn is still debating whether or not to go back with Chad, and everyone has to talk about Evelyn and whether or not she will or should go back with Chad. Not to be outdone, Tami Roman continues to show why she needs a therapist her damn self as she seeks to handle a relatively harmless remark. Meanwhile, Shaunie O’Neal doesn’t have time for Tami or her talk of sucker punches and I certainly don’t blame her. These characters sure know how to test your empathy levels, but I appreciate the challenge. —Michael Arceneaux (@youngsinick)

4. Tami and The Seed

Tami met up with Evelyn to whine about Shaunie explaining to Tasha that a meeting with Tami could go very well or not. This is the case for most human beings, especially those who are known to be aggressive with not the most pleasant attitudes in the company of alcohol or even a freaking weekday. As Evelyn said in the confessional aired during this segment, if Tami is all about changing and showing the lighter side of herself, she needn’t overanalyze such a minor tidbit of information.

In reality, Tami feeds off of conflict and doesn’t know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em. I wish there was a prescription someone could write her as I’m exhausted with watching a person continue to complain about perceptions they are responsible for creating. To wit, Tami already invoking the possibility of violence, noting, “I love Shaunie, but I will hit you in your face if it goes left.” Madam, you are 43 years old. If you don’t want people to call you a bird, stop clucking.

You can read my Basketball Wives, episode four, season five recap in full at


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Dear Twerk Thieves & Ratchet Robbers:

No, I’m not about to spend 800 or so words ruing the day that Miley Cyrus took “twerk” mainstream and ruined it for those who, as Beyoncé recently put it, have “been doing this since the 90’s with DJ Jubilee.” I’ve already come for hertwice. I would, however, like to talk about the folks who might not be sitting in first class with Billy Ray’s baby on Appropriation Airlines, but certainly have a seat on the plane.

I quite enjoyed reading the many, many Miley-themed thinkpieces about her disaster of a VMA performance, but a lingering theme in many of them reminded me of a longstanding problem I have with people who discovered the words “ratchet” and “twerk” within the last three years, or in some cases, three minutes.

Like one of my brilliant friends who articulated her frustration this week, as someone from a Southern, working class Black family who grew up with that terminology, it grates my nerves that certain folks – Black and white alike – write on what they don’t know with such authority. In some ways, non-southern Blacks who don’t know the culture view twerking and ratchet just as novel and trendy as many White people do.

To be fair, none of you are conducting “scientific studies” on twerking like ABC News, which made me feel as though my life has been lived within the confines of a zoo. Ditto for the “TEACH ME THAT TWERKING THING MILEY DOES” tone articles I’ve spotted here and there. Yet, amid all these works on mores and customs pulled from southern Blacks going mainstream, very few of them have been written from the perspective of southern Black people. That has lead to so many of these musings conveying both unfamiliarity and a continuation of the same kind of erasure that’s problematic for a variety of reasons.


My VMA recap (via
Catfish, episode 10 recap (via
On the mind-numbingly dumb comments recently made by Lee Daniels, Rand Paul & Michael Bloomberg (via NewsOne)
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The story seemed so ludicrous that I easily dismissed it, especially given the earliest reports didn’t specify the exact role actress Zoe Saldana would be playing in the long-delayed Nina Simone biopic. But alas, it seems that Saldana will in fact be portraying the life of singer, songwriter, pianist and activist and not the singer’s daughter. A back and forth has predictably albeit understandably ensued upon the confirmation.

Some have quickly scrutinized the choice of casting largely on the merits of aesthetics. It’s somewhat cringeworthy to hear it explained in the context of “Zoe doesn’t look Black enough,” yet beyond such a provocative statement is a legitimate critique that a fair-skinned, ultra thin, Black actress portraying a woman who was everything but is a bit of a slap in the face to Simone’s legacy – which this movie purportedly seeks to honor.

At the same time, one could make the case that if the people behind the movie initially wanted Mary J. Blige in the role (who reportedly left due to the project’s troubles with financing) perhaps what’s most important to the project’s handlers is a name versus a look.

After all, we do live in a world where Ne-Yo can say he turned down the chance to play Dr. Martin Luther King on the big screen because he didn’t want to gain any extra pounds following the formation of a new physique to coincide with a new album.

That reality allows for another and maybe more credible argument to make against the project.

As much as I adore Mary J. Blige and don’t doubt her claims that she was working hard to deliver a credible performance, didn’t she essentially start the long running joke about this movie among skeptics? All Saldana’s casting does is offer doubters another way to deliver a punch line. And rightfully so, actually, because while Saldana is a decent actress, even if she looked like Nina’s long lost twin she’d still be an odd choice to play the high priestess of soul.

Nina Simone is someone who once argued “Slavery has never been abolished from America’s way of thinking.”

Meanwhile, Zoe infamously told EBONY magazine last year, “We have a Black president right now. So why the f— would I sit down and talk about how hard it is for Black women in Hollywood when there’s a Black president in my country?”

To get someone with Zoe Saldana’s mentality to portray the likes of Nina Simone on screen is akin to asking Love & Hip Hop: Atlanta’s Joseline Hernandez to play Assata Shakur – and even then I might give the edge to Joseline.

Follow here for more.

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I believe that’s been my expression for a few days now. I think it’s what adults call the worries of working. Believe me, it’s overrated. As I get over that and myself, allow me to run ya’ll a couple of updates.

One, if you’re interested, I’m doing a radio interview for a Blog Talk Radio program called The Gay Agenda.

A reader was nice enough to reach out to me and after much delay (mainly my fault), I’m going to do the interview. Will be talking entertainment, blogging, politics and – gulp – me.

If you’re interested in listening in or sending questions, you can find information for all of that here.

I’m not really sure I have a gay agenda outside of the desire to be treated as if I don’t have a toe growing out of my ear and spreading Beyonce’s love so we’ll see how this conversation goes.

The write up for me sounds super duper nice. Almost too nice. I was referred to as an LGBT activist. One week I’m deemed a comedian, the next an activist. Maybe this is the path I’ll ultimately take but until then, I’m consider myself a writer in need of a book deal (but I need to shut up and get my proposal together, coming…I swear), and a spiffy brownstone in Brooklyn. Oh, and silly things like health insurance (with a job that won’t cause me to need it for rehab).

But yes, I’ll be on the program tonight between 8-9 pm EST. If you’re on West Coast time, it’s two days ago.

People are learning I’m alive. What a reason to jig, get it big.

OK, with that said next topic.

I wrote a piece for Aol News about the “ebonics” translator. I think the title is silly, but I find the criticism even sillier. It seems the DEA is being practical versus political. If you’d like to read why I feel that way, click here.

Last and certainly not least, I hope you have rocked the boat, worked the middle and changed positions in honor of the late Aaliyah.

Yes, some people are fans come lately, no, she wasn’t an opera singer but why do people feel the need to say this every single year?

She was talented, beautiful, and most of all, seemed genuine. And she kept her business to herself — a lot art in entertainment if there ever were one.

Her last album was so well put together and it’s unfortunate we didn’t get to hear more from her.

God rest her soul.

Alright, so that’s everything. Updates to come tomorrow. If not, feel free to curse me out.

OK, you can go twirk now:

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Monday marked the fifth anniversary of The Cynical Ones. Surprise, surprise that I’m celebrating the moment days after the fact. Actually, I had no original plans to honor the moment but then I thought about it — it’s been five years. That’s certainly a number worth celebrating, huh?

It is so here I am.

My very first entry was a post about my very first date with a guy. Only at the time I didn’t specify gender because I was still too embarrassed to publicly state something I knew about myself even back in daycare. Ask me about during nap time. Or not. Bottom line, that entry was pitiful. I only keep it up to remind me to never write anything that awful again.


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Not to sound insensitive, but of all people who are afforded a pass for pulling a Donnie McClurkin minus the penis Rihanna is the last person I would pay it forward to.

When Beyonce slips and fall it’s because she’s typically twirking every last calorie of her two-piece dinner off her body.

When Lady GaGa falls to the floor it’s spurred by her exhaustion levels — which developed because the constant perfectionist is giving her all on stage.

I can even understand why Michelle Williams can fall. As a late bloomer on the team skinny side of life let me warn you about what a strong wind might do to us. Besides, I still don’t doubt that Sasha Fierce pushed her out of the way for stepping into her light.

That said, I get why they might take a tumble but not Rihanna.

Although I did write that post about Rih-Rih improving as a performer, it’s not like she’s started doing acrobats during her performance.

She still walks from left to right only every seventh step she puts a twist and dip into it. That’s commendable for her, but c’mon nah, that’s no reason to fall.

I didn’t laugh when she fell for fear that the Illuminati would get me got over a giggle, but I will say this: Girl, get up.

You weren’t walking in stilettos nor were you doing anything your choreographer spent hours teaching you to do. You were walking to remind the other people in the arena to wake their tired asses up.

Kidding, kidding…kinda.

I will give the girl one thing, though: Despite initially looking ready to fly into space on the fall, she made up for it by dropping to the ground and humping it. That’s totally something I would expect her to do.

Bravo on that, Rihanna.

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Crunk & Disorderly has been very good to me. Fresh, mistress of fuckery and all things ratchet, constantly gives me a shout and opportunities to get people to know that I’m alive. Justin, who also writes for the site, routinely shows love for my work and helps bring attention to my site. So I’m trying to pay it forward.

I asked Justin, who has also started blogging on his own site, The Wandering Prince, to contribute a guest blog and he’s decided to chime on everyone’s favorite target and/or inspiration, Tyler Perry.

Now before you read, let the record show that I’d probably stuff Madea’s bra if the check was right.

That said, ya’ll be really really nice to Justin and check out his entry below:


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