Kanye West Needs To Realize He Chose This Life And He Should Stop Complaining About It

Before I read any Kanye West cover story, I ask myself, “Do I have a lifejacket for all the confusion and irony that I’m surely about to sink in?”

I always assume the answer to be yes only to realize, ultimately, that I once again boarded the Titanic where my last nerve and better senses both end up being swatted to death by the iceberg that is Kanye’s psychosis.

Maybe I’m a masochist or perhaps I’m just one of those fans who, despite so much evidence to the contrary, want to believe that Kanye may be an imperfect spokesperson on various issues, but still continues to have very enlightening things to say — unlike so many of his contemporaries.

To Kanye’s credit, he did say something awfully sweet and valuable while explaining to GQ the joys of his newfound life as a husband and father.

On how both have transformed him, Kanye explained:

Because I don’t like walking around with people thinking I’m doing uncool shit, because there’s nothing I’m doing that’s uncool. It’s all innovative. You just might not understand it yet. But it’s cool. Family is super cool.

Going home to one girl every night is super cool. Just going home and getting on the floor and playing with your child is super cool. Not wearing a red leather jacket, and just looking like a dad and shit, is like super cool. Having someone that I can call Mom again. That shit is super cool.

The same way I saluted Beyoncé and Jay Z’s “On The Run” tour for making fidelity look so damn cool amidst the lingering cries about how “these hoes ain’t loyal,” I appreciate Kanye for making stable and committed relationships appear to be a necessity as opposed to a nuisance.

It’s too bad Kanye West had to soil the rest of Kanye West’s interview by being Kanye West.

When discussing the burden of celebrity, Kanye made the mistake of comparing treatment of today’s stars to those of Blacks in the 1960s. Yes, in Yeezy’s mind our celebrities are “being treated like Blacks were in the ’60s, having no rights, and the fact that people can slander your name.”

Every bit of self-respecting Black in me wants to holler at him the way he yelled at Sway for not having the answers.

This isn’t the first time he’s used that false equivalence to state his case either. In September, Kanye had this to say about the state of radio in a BBC interview with Zane Lowe, “I was talking to Frank Ocean about this and said, like, my mom got arrested for the sit-ins, and now we’re more like the sit-outs, like sit off of radio, and say, ‘Hey, radio, come to us.’”

I’m assuming the ancestors have ignored my request to haunt Kanye in his dreams for these self-important and audaciously asinine analogies.

Fine, but can someone please tell Kanye West — he who likes to lament about racism — to stop trivializing the experiences of the very people who paved the way for him to foolishly blurt out nonsense for the amusement of mainstream outlets?

Read the rest at Elite Daily.

Has Tony Dungy Really Been Reading His Bible?

Writers like Bob Kravitz and Cindy Boren are correct in their assessment that when it comes the controversial comments former Indianapolis Colts head coach-turned-NBC commentator Tony Dungy made about Michael Sam, none of us should be surprised.

After all, Dungy’s opposition to homosexuality and the religious beliefs he cites as an excuse for them are common knowledge. Years ago, while accepting the “Friend of Family” award from the Indiana Family Institute – an anti-gay organization guised itself as some place of solace for those clamoring for the resurgence of the “traditional” family – Dungy expressed support of the group’s push for an amendment banning gay marriage (which is presently in legal limbo).

Dungy said: “We’re not trying to downgrade anyone else. But we’re trying to promote the family — family values the Lord’s way. Family is important, and that’s what we’re trying to support. We’re not anti-anything else and not trying to hate anyone else. We’re trying to promote the family, family values, the Lord’s way. Just like I’m trying to win on the football field the Lord’s way. I’m on the Lord’s side when I’m on the field, and on the Lord’s side when I’m off the field.”

Picture it: Me, rolling my eyes profusely, calling out to God asking why the Lord won’t hire a better publicist than these boils on the butt of human decency?

Mind you, the Indiana Family Institute is the same group that once protested the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department’s decision to participant in the city’s LGBT pride parade by claiming, ”They don’t sign up for gay pride parades and all that entails with men in police uniforms being howled at by homosexuals.” The adage “you are who you hang with” proves true, so no, it’s not exactly shocking to hear Dungy tell the Tampa Tribune that when it comes to drafting openly gay Michael Sam, “I wouldn’t have taken him. Not because I don’t believe Michael Sam should have a chance to play, but I wouldn’t want to deal with all of it.”

It doesn’t make the comments any less repulsive, though.

Likewise, Dungy’s “clarification” couldn’t be any less useless given all he did was repeat the exact same sentiment in virtually the same language. I’m glad Michael Sam doesn’t especially care about Dungy’s remarks, but I do think they warrant challenging. And when I say challenging, I don’t mean everyone channeling Stephanie Tanner and fixing their mouths to say “HOW RUDE!” in some act of PC Policing. Rather, I want someone to hit the Tony Dungys of the world with their own inconsistent interpretation of the world.

Even if they are a dying breed as the marriage equality movement continues to rack up state-by-state wins, it tap dances my last nerve that Dungy’s ilk get to spew their anti-gay rhetoric and then hide under the veil of religion when called upon it. As I noted in a previous essay on Sherri Shepherd explaining how many Christians grow up believing that homosexuality is a sin and that gays go to hell, there needs to be greater pushback with respect to theology. Let Tony Dungy and his friends at the Indiana Family Institute tell it, when they’re out fighting to keep gays from marrying, Jesus is somewhere on the field with his pom-poms going “GO, TEAM GO!”

This isn’t the case, and for the millionth time, if we want to go tit-for-tat on Biblically-based damnation, someone hand me a rock so that I might toss it at Tony Dungy’s head ‘cause he should’ve been stoned to death for working on the Sabbath.

And when we talk about family in “the Lord’s way,” what type of family is that? Is the one where you get to eat your kids (Jeremiah 19:9), murder them if they curse at their parents (Exodus 21:17), and sell your daughter into slavery (Exodus 21:7)?

Read more at EBONY.

Didn’t We Almost Have It All, Azealia Banks?

Dear Azealia Banks:

I wish I could start this off with Tyra Banks’ “WE WERE ROOTING FOR YOU! WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU!” Fact is, most people weren’t rooting for you because you alienated the absolute hell out of the general public over and over again with your Twitter tirades and the numerous beefs with your peers they inspired.

For a millisecond, you were the wet dream for those of us longing to see you capitalize on Nicki Minaj kicking the door back open for female rappers. Unfortunately, it didn’t take you long to basically become the Crypt Keeper of said dreams.

Oh, sis. Didn’t we almost have it all?

Now, you’re probably still on a high from being released by your former label, Universal Music. You’ve been out here tweeting “I’S IS FREE!!!!!” and comparing yourself to Miss Celie. I don’t know you’re so giddy, though. All this has done is make certain that’ll even take longer for you to release a full-fledged album. That is, if you ever do. Not to mention, your label-less life lends further credence to the theory that you’re basically Foxy Brown without the hits.

It makes me so sad that we’ll probably never catch you at the hot spot. Even sadder is that even if you kept the deal with Universal and dropped an album (finally) featuring you and Jesus’ remake of “The Whisper Song,” it’d still only get nominal attention, because again, so many people curse the day you were allowed Internet access.

Read the rest at EBONY.

Get It Together, Robin Thicke

Funny how time flies when you’re having fun enjoying the peak of your professional success while your personal life takes a private jet to total and utter failure, huh? I’ve read about your low first week sales of your please, baby, please-please-please-please-themed album Paula – about 24,000 in the U.S. and the embarrassingly low 533 copies in the UK, respectively.  As far as the new music and the publicity campaign launched in support of it goes, like I mentioned recently, I look forward to the Law & Order: SVU episode it’ll inspire. With that said, Paula Patton is gone so let’s focus on something you might be able to recover: your relevance as the White Mike of R&B.

I know as an artiste, you felt compelled to take your pain and use it to fuel your creative process. I don’t take issue with that as much as other people do, but I do agree at the core that your methodology is off. The same goes for the music, which you admittedly recorded in about a month. You know, this may be very laptop label head of me to say, but perhaps you’ve should’ve taken a lil’ longer to work on Paula.

Say, about as long as it takes for the cable company to finally cut off your service for failure to pay the bill. That’s like three months, right? Yeah, that would’ve been sufficient enough time. Then maybe you could’ve called Pharrell, Jazmine Sullivan, Nicki Minaj, Faith Evans, Lil’ Wayne and other previous collaborators to spruce this project up. Or hell, you could’ve tapped a psychic to help you ask Marvin Gaye for advice. That is, if he’s not somewhere in the afterlife cursing you smooth out.

In the interest of fairness, you were going to suffer a decline even if you got Aaliyah to sing the hook on your first post-Blurred Lines single. You essentially fell into the success you experienced last year, so in some ways, it’s shrewd of you to release an album that was going to bomb so you can chalk it up as a “passion project.” However, you went a wee bit to far with this simpin’, pimpin’ so let me help you with your next steps.

It may be too late for you to win back the Black woman you married, but try very, very hard to win back the Black women who you desperately need to stay afloat. I bet that mainstream success felt good for a while, but unless you want to become the white SisQó, you best let that go and chase the TV One-watching demographic that’s kept you in business all these years. Right now, most of them seem less than impressed with both you and your material. Singing about a Black woman’s alleged suicide attempt will spur that sort of resentment.

Suffice to say, you’ve got to stop acting like a singing street harasser. That said in the very immediate future, here’s what you need to do mostly: go the hell away for a while. After you finish your contractual obligations to promote this album no one is going to buy, go sit down somewhere and be quiet. Don’t do anymore interviews or take anymore questions online. As a matter of fact, the only person who should be allowed to ask you a question anytime soon is your divorce attorney.

While you sit down somewhere in silence, plan out your next moves. Email all of those people I mentioned and start sending them ideas. You can sing about sex because sex is amazing, but do not sing any line that could be determined as “rapey.” The last thing your career reads right now is another thinkpiece demanding that your balls be sawed off and thrown in the lake in honor of basic decency.

Read the rest at EBONY

[THE WEEKLY READ] To R&B’s Tragic Three

Given it’s been a minute since there’s been a new edition of The Weekly Read, I’m feeling generous, thus, treating y’all to a three for one. Consider this the literary equivalent of the Popeye’s Tuesday special, only I ate your biscuit and I don’t apologize for it. You didn’t need those carbs no way. In any event, this is an R&B dude themed starring The Alvin and the Chipmunks of R&B: Trey Songz as Alvin, Luke James playing the role of Simon, and Chris Brown giving a great impression of Theodore. And that’s no shade ‘cause I look exactly like Dale from The Rescue Rangers. All three have tried it as of late, so let us pray that they get it together…well, after I read.

Trey Songz:

Oh, bae Trey. You remind me of that scene in America’s Next Top Model where Tyra yelled at Tiffany, “WE WERE ROOTING FOR YOU! WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU!” What is this Trigga album supposed to be? It’s like one long song best described as melodic misogyny. Wait, I’m being rude. You keep remaking the same three songs, and to your credit, it hasn’t exactly hurt you. Insert a body roll to “Na Na” here.

However, I feel as though you are capable of more than cornball songs about “b*tches” and vulgar sex romps – all set to the same trap beat on the new project. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate vulgarity and the sex songs they inspire, but you do remember you’re the guy who used to release songs such as “I Gotta Go” and “Can’t Help But Wait,” no?  Now you’re recording songs like “Smartphones?” Mr. Neverson, you have got to let “LOL :)” and “Say Aah” go. They were cute – for some people – but that’s done.

Also, we’re the same age, which means you’re entering your 30s this year so one would hope that your maturation level didn’t peak when you were in your early 20s rocking braids. You’re old enough to remember Jodeci, so you’ve got to recall that even their sex-fueled music encompassed variety. And despite my yearning to see him rot in jail and suffer a horrible depiction on Law & Order: SVU, even R. Kelly has managed to mix bumping and grinding subject matter with love songs, Sam Cooke impersonations, and fake inspirational songs that likely make Stevie Wonder go, “I mean…I guess it’s cool or whatever.”

Come on, Trigga, do better.

Luke James:

First off, Simon, let me be clear that as a Mariah Carey fan and someone who kept rewinding the opening scene of last week’s True Blood, I have no issue with miscegenation. I clocked the clap back you got on Instagram after posting a picture of your White girlfriend. Was it fair? No. People are petty, evil, and even if you personally have done nothing to them, select folks will project their issues onto you even if you’re not one of those Black men whose relationship girls are best described as “EWW, BLACK ICKY. WHITE YUMMY.”

And while you’re right about being human, which allows you to feel a ways when people come at you crazy, you are a human in 2014 i.e. do not upload anything on a public forum that is personal and may cause you to react. We all struggle with this, but as someone inching past celebrity-adjacent status, you have got to learn this lesson faster than others. Your fan base is primarily Black women, a group that very often sees the men they deem to be heartthrobs sharing their off-stage lives with women of other races—usually White ones. That is going to stir up some feelings and if you’re gonna do this fame thing, you have to handle that with grace.

Speaking of your fame, why isn’t there more of it? Forward this inquiry to your team and have them report back to me. I mean, you have a gorgeous voice and record R&B that actually sounds like R&B. And your music doesn’t scream “I hate women, especially my mommy.” You’re also not a bugawolf, so I do not understand the issue here. Is your Illuminati application on hold because you made Beyoncé mad on tour? If so, go bring her some vegan chocolate chip cookies and vegan macaroni and cheese (yes, it’s real, and it’s alright or whatever) and apologize. We gotta get you poppin’. We both know Trey Songz won’t be heeding my advice. Save us, my dude.

Chris Brown:

Breezy, unlike some folks, I have no issue with you growing your hair out and leaving the dye alone, gaining a lil’ weight and looking like the love child of Al B. Sure! and Walter Oats, but for the love of God, can you stay out of trouble?

Read the rest at EBONY.

Scared Old Men, Modern Style, and the Perceived Feminization of Black Men in Hip-Hop Via Fashion

Whenever you pick the brain of someone like Lord Jamar about hip-hop’s ills, he’ll give you minutes-long rants about how the “feminization” of hip-hop is destroying both the culture and the Black men who contribute to it. His most recent display of this sad lil’ shtick was an interview he gave to Vlad TV earlier in the month about rapper Young Thug daring to wear something that looks an awful lot like a dress. When asked about it, the former Brand Nubian emcee flatly said, “I’m not feelin’ him. The more feminine shit that you do, the more you’re going to have to do other shit to try to prove your manhood.”

I’ve always found homophobia (which is in a deeply committed relationship with misogyny) within the hip-hop community to be especially laughable. As Aaron McGruder used to routinely point out in the pre-TV days of The Boondocks, this is a genre of music in which its biggest stars are greased muscle men instructing other men to suck their dicks. On top of that, many of these guys are adorned in so much jewelry you’d think Liberace had a bunch of unidentified bastard seeds. Meanwhile, a common narrative of rap is, was, and perhaps may always will be to drive home the point that women—excuse me, bitches—ain’t shit.

We are collectively a very He-Man woman hating society, though, so I can’t dismiss Lord Jamar as some sort of outlier like a Five Percenter or one of those Black Israelites who every Sunday on 125th and Lenox disparage Islamic men for wearing “dresses” and, like Lord Jamar, act as if femininity is some terrorist organization hell bent on the annihilation of Black men.

Yes, Lord Jamar may be one of the harsher and outspoken critics of the “feminization” of Black men, but he’s no less guilty than many of the other people who griped over Kid Cudi wearing a crop top at Coachella. The same goes for those who roasted Kanye West for wearing a kilt. Sure, you could sweep some of the critics aside as “jokes,” but it all ultimately plays into the sentiment that when you are a man—particularly a Black one—you are limited in your personal expression for the sake of preserving your manhood.

To Lord Jamar and others, manhood is a performance. One’s personal style is a part of that act and the minute you deviate from the collective acceptance of masculine ideals, you are worthy of ridicule, condemnation, or the very least, be questioned about your manhood, an all-too common occurrence that deserves re-examination.

In a piece entitled “metrosexuality is dead, thank god for that,” Anders Christian Madsen celebrates the end of the early 2000s trend and credits the likes of David Beckham, Jared Leto, and Zac Efron for showing (white) men that it’s okay to break from the mold. Similar pieces have been written in celebration of Kanye West, and perhaps over time, Kid Cudi, Young Thug, and others may receive similar accolades for doing the same for Black dudes.

This undoubtedly spooks the hell out of the Lord Jamars of the world, but what frightens me mostly is that ultimately, we’ve still yet to challenge how exactly we should judge one’s manhood.

If you are gay, you are used to the idea that some men may view you as less of a man for your attractions; however, we’ve reached the point where a straight guy could literally be swimming in a pool of vagina and he’d still be considered less of a man and boxed in because of a crop top or a kilt.

Read the rest at Complex.

Why So Terrible Now, Trey Songz?

It may not seem like it, but Trey Songz has been around for almost a decade now. Of course, you’d have to remember a time when Trey had braids and managed to get Aretha Franklin and Juvenile on the same track. One assumes most cannot, as evidenced by Trey’s initial sales figures, though the singer who used to drop mixtapes under the name “Prince of Virginia” did manage to cement his status as a bona fide star with his third album, Ready. The 2009 release spawned the top-10 Hot 100 hit, “Say Ahh,” and R&B/hip-hop radio chart toppers “I Invented Sex” and “Neighbors Know My Name.”

With Trey’s new fade, bigger frame and sexual bravado set to full speed, Ready sold nearly a million copies domestically and positioned Trey as essentially the heir to R. Kelly’s (urine-soiled?) throne.

Yet, while Trey’s follow up album, Passion, Pain & Pleasure>, went on to outsell and produce another Billboard hit in “Bottoms Up” featuring Nicki Minaj, it was not the fan favorite that Ready was. For good reason: It wasn’t especially enjoyable. It was too long, poorly edited and a bit all over the place. Bobby Brown and Michael Jackson did not make all of those short-ass albums for you contemporary crooners to give us these No Limit-era R&B albums.

The same goes for 2012’s Chapter V, which sold nearly as low as Trey’s first two albums. As interesting as Trey’s thought process on club-going sounded to him at the time, I’m not entirely sure that’s the kind of song an R&B singer ought to be singing.

That’s essentially been one of Trey’s biggest problems: a lack of focus in terms of sound and identity.

Trey Songz hasn’t made his love of rapping a secret, but neither has the radio when it comes to how it feels about Trey Songz, the rapper. Quick: Name a rap song from Trey as big as any of the aforementioned hit singles? Exactly. More, while misogynistic lyrics are typical of a rapper, how far does a pretty boy who sells his love and lovemaking songs – often performed shirtless – expect to go with his huge female audience when he’s calling them a bitch every other line in a song no one asked for?

Now, only a few short months away from his sixth release, Trigga, Trey Songz ought to ask himself what might get him back to the sort of success he enjoyed with Ready.

Read the rest over at VIBE.

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

Dear August Alsina:

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

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

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

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

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

This is hustling backwards personified, dude.

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

Read the rest at EBONY.

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

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

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

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

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

You know the types I’m talking about.

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

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

And so forth.

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

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

Read the rest at Complex.com.

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

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

First, let me start off with the positive.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

Read the rest at EBONY.