I was ready to lay into the concubine with a cat daddy’s credit card after she bashed play actress, faux fashion designer, but fitter than a weight room Sheree Whitfield for “hanging around a bunch of ugly faggots ’cause she doesn’t have a man.” Then I saw Funky Dineva’s response and felt all I could add was a “Yeah!” That and the fact that Marlo, quickly realizing that bashing gays in Atlanta is like shouting “Allah, eat this ass” at a mosque in Mecca, issued an apology. Two of them at that.

The first read like a bunch of nothing, but the second was obviously tailored to be more sympathetic towards the group who largely fuels her popularity and encourages her obvious desire to join the cast of The Real Housewives of Atlanta. I appreciate her apologizing, though I do question one line from her blog post: “When I used this word, I was not mindful of the demeaning connotation that this has in the gay community.”

That is a crock. To quote my beloved Phaedra Parks, everybody knows that faggot is a gay slur. Every damn body, especially people like her who used the term in a derogatory way. It’s not like she was saying, “Oh, Sheree. You’re such a charming woman with Angela Bassett arms. No wonder those fantastic faggots adore you.” But, alright, Marlo. You apologized. Let’s move on…to the gay men who tried to excuse you.

Last nite I saw a few folks tweet something along the lines of, “I can’t believe y’all are pretending to be offended by that.” Motherfucker, she said faggot. She who sashays across the South bragging about designer clothes designed by gay men. How else would I feel?

I understand that some gay men use that word. That’s fine (for them), but even still it’s used negatively. It’s in no way on  on equal footing with “nigga.” Everyone might not agree on the use of that term either, though it’s evident that the context in which it’s typically used is different. There has been no attempt to add any sort of “positive connotation” to faggot so it’s obvious what Marlo’s intentions were she hurled that slur out there. So whereas some people are ready to “be offended by anything,” others are willing to laugh at whatever even if it’s at their own expense. I’d rather eat Sweetie’s old crotchet braids before I ever abase myself to behave similar to the latter.

When I saw people tweeting about the latest episode of TV One’s Unsung, I tweeted, “Freddie Jackson is the ‘You Are My Lady’ dude who wore heels & was on that one episode of Family Matters, right?”  I was quickly informed that he was also on an episode of The Golden Girls. Come on, homie, we major.

Anyway, after watching his special in full I started to remember more about him. “Oh, he had that other song they still play on the auntie stations, ‘Jam Tonight.’” Then there’s that other tidbit I could recall: He was gay as hell.

A few days before the Freddie Jackson episode of Unsung aired, there was a story posted on Ebony.com teasing the segment — basically Freddie answering longstanding questions about who he chooses to do the dip ‘n pitts with. I’m thinking, “So he’s gonna admit the obvious? Good for him!” As you can see, that didn’t happen. All he did was a praise dance around his preference.

As a regular person, Freddie Jackson doesn’t owe anyone an explanation about Freddie Jackson. However, when it comes to selling fantasies – and the more I thought about his catalog, the more clear it became – he’s made money off selling a hetereosexual fantasy. He might not be selling it well considering he spent much of the 80s boppin’ around in sequens and flailing his wrist like it takes salsa lessons, but he’s selling it all the same. So it’s natural for people to wonder. Doesn’t mean he can’t continue to sell the fantasy as a performer/entertainer, but the curiosity is natural. But again, he doesn’t have to tell anyone anything. I just find it unfortunate that he chooses not to, especially so many years later after his peak (maybe he’s pining for a comeback…good luck, pimp).

Actually, that’s not it. What I find troublesome is the language in which he uses to deflect rumors about his sexuality. Namely ”I’ve never had to explain myself to my mother” and “God will judge us for who we all and what it is that we do.” Homeboy is giving typical church queen open closet realness with each quote. It’s one thing to profess that your private life is just that, it’s another to state such with this sort of air that signifies that if you are indeed gay, you will be judged accordingly by the ultimate judge for your behavior like everyone else. That mindset is indicative of someone who may very well lead a gay life with those who know him personally yet still feels some sort of guilt about it because in their minds it’s wrong.

Of course, his mama had him and his sister in church all day so that point-of-view was indoctrinated. For that, I feel sorry for him. I know what that is like. I read someone elsewhere chalk it up to age and there’s some truth to that. Unfortunately, I’ve found these sorts of sentiments can be found in younger generations of gay (black) men (who tend to find me…to my annoyance, but I digress). I just wish I could shake them all and say, “There’s nothing wrong you. Absolutely nothing.”

While I do appreciate little notes like these, I don’t think it elevates the conversation enough. Then again, getting people to actually read their Bibles before they condemn someone else would do a world of wonders in of itself. Baby steps. Afterwards, maybe then someone will listen to the heathens (and select clergymen, didn’t I say go watch For The Bible Tells Me So?) who want to talk about idioms, context, hyperbole and metaphors.

That way I can stop hearing holy gays one, two step over themselves trying to say, “Even if I was gay, let God handle it, ’cause we all got dirt.”

To Freddie’s credit, this segment posted exclusively online is a bit better as it shows that there is some nominal level of comfortability with homosexuality. There’s still evidence of discomfort. Enough surely to have an ex of Freddie is sucking their his teeth in shade and disgust. Yet another cliché constantly taken from the closeted gay’s codebook.

“I don’t like labels.”

You don’t like them because you are afraid, ashamed, and disgusted by the connotations with those labels that apply to you.

“We’re all human beings.”

Thank you, Bill Nye the Science Guy.

“You don’t have to label anyone’s life.”

Labels aren’t the problems; prejudices attached to them are. Openness can help fight them. Unfortunately, some of them will never be completely inescapable, but if you ever do want to get to the point where being gay is much ado about nothing for the most part, we’ve got to speak up.

Everyone’s not down for such a fight. Even still, God bless you, Freddie. Seriously. I know how hard it can be and while some of your language bothers me a bit, I’ll take you over Donnie McClurkin any fucking day of the week. Your ‘secret’ is about as protected as the color of the sky, though.

As one of the seven people who purchased Olivia’s 2001 debut, Olivia, I feel comfortable talking about the knocked over ant-hill that is her music career. We often hear Olivia’s friends on both Love & Hip Hop and in this interview remind us that Olivia is beautiful and can sing, yet very little is said about how she kind of personifies why those qualities alone have never been enough; proving exactly why some of the tonally challenged vocalists of the world are able to usurp their more talented peers.

What’s my name?

To Olivia’s credit, she did try to dismiss talk of jealousy during her interview with The Breakfast Club, though she did up acknowledging that she occasionally thinks to herself: “You ain’t even half as good as me, what’s the problem?” It’s not like no one has tried to explain it to her.

As we’ve seen numerous times on the reality series, she’s been giving answers only she chooses not to receive them. Talented as she may be, she’s still boring. And when I say boring, I mean play with yourself until you fall asleep boring. How many times does one have to be told to stop behaving like the Tin Man’s sister from Queens before it sinks in?

Teairra Mari has given me more reasons to care about her next project and she hasn’t hit a single note throughout the entire second season. Now while I can’t manage to care a single damn about Somaya Reece’s musical aspirations, I wouldn’t mind seeing her succeed (success for her = a vanity hit via iTunes’ dance chart and maybe a collaboration with Pitbull or something) if for no other reason than she has taken the humbler approach.

I know Olivia is frustrated with her career and fed up with being taken advantage of, but why was she so condescending towards Somaya? Mind you, doing so while Somaya sits in front of her and their camera crew with a grin on her face trying to make peace. So what if you had a deal before? After more than 10 years of singing you’re in the same rescue boat paddling along with her. Yeah, maybe Somaya’s rhymes does make one wonder if a sixth grade girl in Topeka is her ghost writer. That doesn’t mean you have to be so Negative Nancy towards her, Olivia. Producers have already tapped another Nancy for that role.

In the end, my biggest issue with Olivia is her false sense of entitlement. Charlamagne was blunt enough to tell her that the show makes her look delusional. Yeah. She walks around as if she’s owed something. That’s just not a quality anyone should broadcast — particularly a fledgling R&B singer who’s had several chances already. Thing is, as much as she talks about being able to sing, it doesn’t seem like she’s figured out her point of view as an artist. Say with you will about Tamar Braxton’s attitude and vent your frustrations on her emphasis on the coochie pop over the Mary bop at her age (which isn’t geriatric, meanies), but at least Tamar has a point of view. Olivia’s just there.

Yes, she works hard, but so do a lot of other people. What makes her think that quality alone warrants success?  It ought to, but everyone pursuing a dream tends to pick up at one point or another that it’s just not enough and never will be. I know how she feels, and to be fair, when contemplating my own frustrations – and whew, they’re mounting at present moment – I’ve had thoughts similar to ones Olivia reflected on TV. Fortunately, I know better than to ever make them that public. Why? Because putting down other people on the same hustle won’t help me reach mine faster. Likewise, ranting like I’m owed something will only annoy the living hell out of the people listening. People who won’t care to listen for much longer if that habit lingers a lil’ too long, for the record.

I only know a few things about Paula Deen. The first being she likes to promote foods that will surely take you out over time. The other is she’s sort of like, “What if Big Mama were white with a business sense?” Now I can add a third thing to my mental rolodex: Type II Diabetes. News of her medical condition has been escapable, though what could’ve clearly been a teachable moment for Ms. I’m ‘Bout That Butter, Bitches has since been flipped into nothing more than a corporate spin on an old Ronnie hoe quote. For the unfamiliar, that’s code for, “You got to use what you got to get what you want.” I’d say that in Paula’s case it’s the cream, dollar dollar bills, y’all.

Yes, Paula has known for three years that her’s sugar’s bad yet she’s only discussing it now to shill for pharmaceutical companies. Somewhere Rachel Ray is standing next to a mischievous talking pet saying, ”Vindication is mine.” If you’re one of those folks who painfully abuses the word brand, you don’t mind her chutzpah with respect to greed. You’re probably going to hell, too (if you believe in that sort of thing), but I digress. Anyway, she’s right to point out that Type II Diabetes isn’t a death sentence. It is kind of a warning in the form of a postcard, though. So, if you have Type II Diabetes isn’t kind of awful to tell people to fry beef and dress it up with cheddar, bacon, and stick it in between donuts?

This is exactly like the first big dinner the Joseph family had after Big Mama joined Col. Sanders’s bid whist team in heaven. They sat around the table eating the damn food that killed her without at least one person mentioning, “Yo, maybe we should have a salad with this fatback.” or “How about we try something light like Thai the week after?” As a fried fish enthusiast, I won’t feign health nutdom. But I will let you hot saucers know that one too many pieces will break your heart into them.

Who does she think she’s fooling that her condition might have more to do with age and genetics? Ma’am, I’m pretty sure your Cheesy Ham and Banana Casserole had more to do with it. One could make the same case for her recipe for deep fried stuffing on a stick. The same for her deep-fried lasagna. I mean, yes she does say, “Honey, I’m not your cook, not your doctor,” but I bet she didn’t say that when she looked at the deposit the drug company dropped in her account.

Even though you seem nice with a great liquor cabinet, I have to say shame on you, White Big Mama. You know better. Next time you’re talking about making frying turkey legs in honey battered Crisco (damn, that sounds kind of good) at least make the effort to say, “Run a lap after this or lose your own leg, turkey.” Let us all try to have a heart while we still have them.

Khadijah Baseer needed her fix, so much so that she allegedly offered her dip ‘n pitts in exchange for some Chicken McNuggets. It’s not been confirmed whether or not she offered any additional sexual favors for extra BBQ sauce (McDonalds is a stingy queen), but I wouldn’t put it past her. This happened in Los Angeles, or really somewhere in the Valley if you want to get technical (and for the sake of LA proper, I believe it’s best that we do). Khadijah, no James and certainly no shame, was subsequently arrested on suspicion of prostitution. Keeping the state of California’s budget in mind, she’s likely vomiting expired Spam as a means of peaceful protest as I type this entry.

You know, I’m more aware than anyone of how hard times can be, but even if I have my standards. How hungry or addicted do you have to be to offer your poon for pretend chicken? Not to get all hood snobby on y’all, but I simply can’t co-sign doing hoe shit for food that doesn’t heat up well. I’ll be damned if I ever am locked up for saying, “I’ll suck you dick for some fried swai.” I can kind of get nookie for Nobu (never been, but it sounds divine and shit) or even a hand job for a really good hand roll. Hell, if you pop-pop-pop that thing for an ample gift card to Chick-fil-A or Popeye’s (could last many a meal if you use it on Tuesday for the special), I’ll be like, “Yeah, I see it.” But sex for Chicken McDonalds? Have some pride, heifer. Or at the very least, try your coochie commerce at Burger King. They deliver in select cities now and probably have even less standards.

I imagine Drake spent much of today fighting off tears as he performed the “Are You That Somebody” choreography in his living room as a tribute to the late Aaliyah on her birthday. Aubrey has made his affinity for Aaliyah creepily clear with his constant shout outs, random open letters to the dead that seemed more appropriate for a séance versus a blog post, and now shots like these featuring the face of the singer on his surprisingly nice back. While I know it’s Drake’s body and he and Lil’ Wayne are free to do with it as they please (kidding, y’all), it’s still weird — even for reasons outside the obvious.

Okay, so you decided to put that somebody on your body. Fine, whatever, super stan. But, why is Mr. Owl from the Tootsie Roll pop commercials on the other side of your back, though? I’m assuming one of The Fabulous Freebirds atop Aaliyah is a joint homage to the NWA and the original motion picture soundtrack for Dr. Dolittle. Then again, I’m trying to make sense of someone who acts like he used to pass notes with Aaliyah in class. Silly, silly me. Let’s just focus on the positive: Drake’s got great arms, too. Makes me wanna go do a push up. Any minute now, folks.

Alright, enough of that. Explain those tattoos to me post haste. I need answers.

P.S. Don’t worry about the “Eric Kane” title. That was for Drakey. If he saw it, I’m sure he’d dig it.

If you watch VH1′s Love & Hip Hop Rap & Relations, you saw Kimbella’s ass greet her old friend, the ground, once again following a track snatching themed brawl with one of her fellow reality personalities on the show. In Kim Vanderhee’s defense, she did precede that fall with a moving tribute to the fighting style (if you can call it that) of Evelyn Lozada. Her adversary this time was Erica Mena, another model who boasted of taking part in New York Fashion Week, hair care campaigns, and you know, other gigs that don’t involve ass cheeks and titty tantalizing. What’s that covering Kimbella’s light? Erica’s shade, of course.

While I’m not exactly Kimbella’s biggest fan given the way she opted to symbolically slap the taste out of Emily’s mouth with her sexual past (that includes Em’s baby daddy), this incident wasn’t her fault. She was being polite to that over eager beaver who came there with the sole intention of picking a fight with her as the cameras rolled. Then Emily had the nerve to call the laws after. To quote the great Pimp C, “You ain’t no pimp, you a fairy.”

If all of that weren’t bad enough, now this model turned aspiring singer is babbling to TMZ about how her appearance on The Real Housewives of Hip Hop has derailed her career. She told the site, ”My whole image in my career is now affected by this. I wanted them to pull this clip because I don’t want to show this side of me.”

This is the same person who shook her breasts in the face of another woman during a business meeting. The same person who picked a fight and proceeded to threaten the woman on camera. See a pattern here? I bet the producers of this show did when the first interviewed her in casting. I imagine Erica was proud of her stunt up until she looked at her mentions on Twitter and realized more people prefer her showing her ass in a thong over showing it via a fight with Juelz Santana’s lady. Oh well. Her bad.

You would think she’d know how to act by now. According to my own mentions on Twitter, Erica used to work as an “employee” of Dash on Kourtney & Khloé Take Miami. And my friend Google filled me in on some of her modeling work:

Word to the wise, Erica: Telling Kimbella you’re on a higher level than her because you got to lay on your back for King while Kimbella tooted it up for Black Men is like someone munching on dark meat from Church’s Chicken telling me I’m not worth shit for ordering wings and shrimp fried rice from the hood carryout a few blocks up.

If your aim was to transition into singing you should’ve went on this show acting like the person Olivia refuses to be. You either let the producers gas you up or you should really retrace your K-12 education and figure out where your critical thinking went wrong. Whatever the issue is, it is your own. This show’s ratchet levels were just fine without you. If you want to go, please. In fact, your segment could’ve gone to Somaya Reece, who I noticed is complaining about much of her footage being left on the cutting room floor. I can’t blame her. I would want to have my story of crawling out of the attic chronicled, too. Wepa! Or you know, whatever “gon’ girl” means in Spanish.

Can someone break down the reason Bow Wow is still rapping in very small words? For the life of me, I can’t figure it out. I haven’t heard anyone sing along to any of his music in several years — including people who aren’t tall enough to ride the mightiest roller coasters. Last time I checked, Shad was able to at least book film roles and was even up for the lead in some sitcom Ice Cube was doing. So, yeah, I don’t get it. It’s been a long time since anyone bounced with him, bounced with him. Been almost as long as anyone has poorly sang about no one being like him. The seven people who did enjoy his collaborative works with Omarion have either grown up or are somewhere trapped inside of a closet looking for their choir robe.

That leaves…uh, I don’t know. Who’s left?  I don’t want to criticize Mr. Baby’s business acumen, but I’m curious as to what makes Bow Wow at the age of 125 in child star years a worthy signee? Who’s trying to hear Bow Wow spit hot fire  in this decade? Don’t get me wrong, he’s not a bad rapper or anything. That is, if he’s even writing his own lines — which is still an acceptable question to pose. Whatever the case, God could be ghostwriting for Bow Wow and I’m almost certain that no one would still donate a damn.

Yes, I see all 90 of his tattoos (which I imagine  hurts his chances at becoming a full-fledged actor)  and the fact that he spends a large share of the kiddie tour he’s earned over the years on strippers. The pound puppy is a big dog now. Unfortunately, it’s a dog that needs to put one area of his life to sleep. Besides, I don’t believe in child stars of his hook trying to be on that hood shit. Lindsay Lohan’s exhibited more instances of thug life than Shad Moss has (watch out, Kreayshawn).

So c’mon nah, y’all, break it down for me. Why is Bow Wow still rapping and who among you are interested in this? I need answers. Right this minute.

Those of you who have deprived yourselves from indulging in the mental stimulation that is Keeping Up with the Kardashians likely don’t know much about Kris Humphries. Lucky, lucky you. For those of us who can’t seem to pry ourselves away from that show along with all its spinoffs (minus Khloé & Lamar, which was too boring for me to endure) we’re aware of the fact that Kris is as annoying as he is aloof. After this interview with Good Morning America, those fun facts about Kim’s soon to be ex-husband are now officially inescapable to all.

I’m assuming anyone with working senses under the age of 60 is aware that Kimberly Kardashian is currently the poster child of fame for fame’s sake, and thus, if you enter her circle you’re presumably down for the cause. Yet here Kris is giving what’s probably the most awkward interview I’ve seen in a long time. Did he learn nothing from his mother-in-law of 45 minutes? I can’t believe this goof thought a morning news anchor gave two shits about his mommy’s cookies (I will link to the recipe out of the kindess of my heart). Or his charity, for that matter.

Yes, charity is wonderful and I’m assuming when producers reached out to him they said that he could incorporate talking points about his organization into the interview so long as he gave them what they needed: Conversation about who really counts. Perhaps a nondisclosure agreement keeps him from divulging anything of note (gon’ head, Kris Jenner, always thinking), though if that’s the case, why didn’t he stay his extra large ass at home? You know, the one in Minnesota that he nagged Kim about loving so much on the show.

I know everyone is annoyed with Kim now and wants her to be the bad person, but can you blame her for ditching this marriage before it was too late? I mean, I’m not sure what she ever saw in him to be honest. How do you go from Reggie Bush to this? Not even just in terms of looks (though that’s very, very important ’round these parts), but overall media savviness. Kim, I hope you make wiser choices when selecting your next three husbands. Never again, girl. I am serious. Never again.