I am all types of confused after watching a trailer for the would be reality series, Big Yo’s Lesbian Housewives. In case you were curious as to what a Big Yo is, it’s a longtime lesbian club promoter based in Houston. I recall hearing about her club from a lot of my fast ass gay friends in high school. One of those very friends sent this to me – presumably as bait.

I get it, folks. Everyone wants to be a star. Y’all see NeNe Leakes has gone from Country Crocker to the country club and y’all wanna be down, too. Trailers like these, though, prove yet again why everyone can’t be like Baloo.

No offense to these studs and fishes in the clip as they seem like lovely people, but if you’re going to try and sell a reality show (Keefy prefers the title The Secret Lives of Studs) can you front with feeling? And reason. Am I really supposed to believe that this stud with a sleeve is messing around with men? What, is she topping the dude? They both looked like they were holding in their laughter. Let it out, ladies, ’cause I damn sure did.

I will applaud Big Yo for making the most effort. Clearly, she’s been studying the Tyler Perry school of overacting. She still needs a lot more people, but here’s to hoping she scores the lead in Madea Gets Her Bussy Licked. As for that “Coming Soon to VH1!” line in this video’s summary:  They’re gonna air the sex tape Santa Clause made of the Easter Bunny blowing Jesus’ back out before this. But you know, there’s always LOGO or World Star so good luck and God bless and shit.

2. Where is Michele Bachmann? (Don’t answer. Just relish in the fact that I even thought to ask.)

3. Isn’t Big Ang a joy?

4. Whatever happened to that Eve comeback project?

5. So Azealia Banks is like more hip-hop for hipsters, right?

6. Isn’t Oprah’s Master Class the best pep talk?

7. So are these two gonna be like Foxy Brown versus Lil’ Kim, only the version of Kim she imagines herself to be?

8. Isn’t it great to see D’Angelo back on stage again?

9. Why is Rihanna so damn pressed to show the world how bad she is?

10. When is the last time Jennifer Hudson had some Popeye’s chicken?

11. How about someone push Mark Oxner off the boat instead?

12. Why are there people in the world proposing marriage via Facebook walls?

13. Will Christina Aguilera be sure to wear panties to the next funeral?

14. High unemployment rates or not, isn’t it odd for select Detroit high schools to be teaching their students how to work at Walmart (with credit to boot)?

15. Anyone else notice how much Karen on Mob Wives looks like Mafia Miss Piggy?

16. What are the chances that this might be featured on a future episode of Keeping up with the Kristians Kardashians?

17. The next time Khia makes the news for being arrested for something like repossession evasion, is it fair to assume that someone defaulted on her pussy bill?

A spilled drink may have led to four people, including two innocent bystanders, being shot early Saturday at a Stone Mountain nightclub, police said.

18. Who do I have to shoot in the NRA to get them to lay off gun control laws?

19. Isn’t this trailer a bit extra for a show that’s mainly gonna consist a bunch of women throwing watered down happy hour drinks at each other?

20. If Marlo Hampton were a song, would it be Khia’s “Pussy Bill?”

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.

Look here, y’all. I’ve been waiting for D’Angelo to come back for a very, very long time. Obviously, I’m overjoyed to see that not only is he back on stage, he’s back on it without sounding like a damn fool. This is a feat and anyone who’s heard any of those sorry (!) demos of his that have leaked in recent years is relishing in it. Indeed, glory be to God that he doesn’t sound like the WB Frog. To that end, I need some of you folks to do me a favor: shut up. Do not scare this man away. I need him more than you know.

Yesterday, Wendy Williams did an impromptu poll among her audience about D’Angelo’s return. The results? They want him to stop eating fried fat back and hire a trainer. They prefer D’Angelo shirtless and with hard rock abs. Go download some porn. Admittedly, D’Angelo continues to look like he ate ODB. Give him credit for at least doing some push ups and reps with the dumb bells. Or not. It’s whatever to me as I don’t give a single fuck about the way he’s looking right now. I’m just happy he’s singing again. So happy that I’m ready to fry his big ass some fish if he so desires.

Do you folks more fixated on his waistline than his vocal chords not realize how bad R&B has gotten, especially when it comes to male R&B artists? Most of whom don’t even deserve to be thrown in that category, for the record. I need D’Angelo — a legitimate soul singer with ability. I can’t take another year of fake R&B thugs naming more designer labels than a queen high on coke and hijacked credit cards.

Likewise, I am exhausted by this Europop dance trend. How much longer do I have to put up with American music artists theming everything around what was poppin’ in Belgium back in 1996? Give us free.

I need a break and D’Angelo might finally help usher in one. I’ve never been attracted to that man, so perhaps that only heightens my inability to side with the superficial. Whatever it is, that “D’Angelo needs to come back until he is cut again” talk needs to go the fuck on somewhere, yo. I remember reading some Spin magazine article a while back about his whereabouts. It seems part of what sent his psyche into a tizzy was him feeling ostracized. People didn’t want to hear the music anymore. They showed up to his concerts ready to fuck him — throwing their panties on stage and what not. We gotta be gentle with Michael Archer, otherwise he might go back to the trap house, the crazy house, or wherever he was hiding his genius from us. That cannot happen because I’ll be damned if we go through another year of a bunch of half-ass crooners giving us their best R. Kelly and/or Ace of Base impersonation.

So again, go hose your hot asses down until the coast is clear. Don’t blow it for me ’cause he doesn’t look like the man you used to wanna blow. Sometimes you gotta do baby steps on the hoe stroll.

It should not be that difficult for people to understand why some are happy with Viola Davis’ most recent successes in acting, but not necessarily its source. Sadly, I tend to keep up with the habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt. I’m working on letting that virtue go. In the meantime, let me try to help explain sentiments that I assumed were as obvious as the color of Mary J. Blige’s roots.

Viola Davis is a wonderful actor long overdue for the type of acclaim she’s currently enjoying this award season. No one who takes issue with The Help has said otherwise. Those with criticism of the critics love to suggest so, though. Why? I gather it makes it easier to dismiss valid critiques of the film as nothing more than a bunch of bougie Negroes showing that they can’t satisfied with anything.

I can see why people found the movie entertaining (while I cringed a whole bunch). I do think it was well made. That said, it’s fair to point out that the narrative is something we’ve seen play out again and again. It’s also within reason to note The Help toys around with the facts of that era — essentially giving viewers an unrealistic portrayal of the time period the story is set in. Given what period that is, why wouldn’t some – especially those who actually lived during those times – find that dangerous? It’s not as if the black experience in this country routinely trivialized.

Regardless, should Viola Davis win an Oscar most will be thrilled for her. But, the notion that skeptics go silent because her win will pave the way for other, more well-rounded roles: Let that go. Hattie McDaniel won an Academy Award in 1939 for playing a maid/mammy. And here we are.

After all these years, we have Spike Lee continuing to say out loud that Hollywood knows nothing about black people. A point that gets him painted as some loud mouth on a “tirade” for what feels like the millionth time. Meanwhile, George Lucas is revealing that despite being one of the top filmmakers in history, he couldn’t get a studio to back a black war action movie. Part of it is his sales pitch to motivate moviegoers to show their support opening weekend. To show those studios that black movies can make money — despite several decades of receipts already providing that info. Then you have screenwriters like Barry Michael Cooper lamenting over the good ole days (nee, the 1990s) where you had a bevy of black writers and directors making movies. Movies that were versatile with respect to story, character, and direction.

And now? We have The Help and movies like Pariah being ignored by the Academy. Zoom, look at how far we’ve come. It’s a pattern worth pointing out. Some call that perspective negative; those who have feel they’ve simply got higher expectations, especially for someone like Viola Davis. I hope she wins just because she deserves it, but I’d be even happier if she were given projects beyond flicks like The Help The Softer Side of Segregation. She deserves that a whole lot more. We all do.

If anyone still can’t grasp that, maybe no one can help you.

Hello, hell. You look a lot harsher than I ever imagined. Don’t get me we wrong: While I think the trailer of this show will prove to be all the rage on You Tube and World Star Hip Hop, I seriously doubt any network will order it to series. Then again, strangers things have happened. As have worse shows. Regardless of whether or not it does make it to the telly, one thing is certain: Similar pilots like will be shot. I find that quite horrific. However, I can’t be too pious about the matter because it’s people like me that are responsible for it happening.

I watch The Real Housewives of Atlanta, The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, The Real Housewives of New York, Mob Wives, Basketball Wives, Basketball Wives: Los Angeles, and Love & Hip Hop. I have seen several episodes of The Real Housewives of New Jersey, The Real Housewives of D.C., The Real Housewives of Orange County, and The Bad Girls Club (which is awful). My Catholic guilt gene sometimes makes me feel sorry for things that I shouldn’t, but in this instance, I’m very much culpable. Even still, doesn’t The Mistresses of Atlanta sound trashier by comparison? Granted, mistress is a more appropriate title for many of the woman on the “wives” shows, but something about a show themed around infidelity hoe shit seems so…okay, fine, I’m not going to win this argument so I’ll move along.

From what I read, one of Drake’s ex-girlfriends is featured on The Walking Mattresses of Georgia. Just what the world needed: Another ex of Drake showing her ass on national television, potentially spurring more melodramatic lyrics from Droopy about the perils of fame. At this rate it won’t be long before The Real Cum Stains of Coke Rap is shot. After that, we can anticipate The Jezebels of Jig Music. Then once those two shows become huge successes, we’ll get the spin-off called The Jaws of Rap. No wait, it’ll be called Jocks & Jaws or Hoop Hoes. Whatever, this all makes me wonder whether I should retreat a bit on some of my viewing habits. I’m displeased that I even feel compelled to entertain such a question. I hate this new show already.

Now on a slightly unrelated matter, I’ve noticed quite a few criticism about the current direction of that Negro Telenovela now airing on BET. Many place blame at BET’s unpolished feet for the injection of various aspects of hood shit. Well, y’all need to quit it ’cause that’s not their fault. I have no reason to run to their defense, but those who make those allegations ought to look at their other original comedies and compare and contrast. If BET wanted to King Triton the crew at Sports Goes Soap to “color” up their show, they would have done the same to the other ones.

If anything, BET has become hypersensitive about past criticism and tries too hard to avoid doing anything that might cause the hair on the back of Jesse Jackson’s neck to stand. I hate it, because now I won’t ever find out why Rick Ross was smoking weed on camera (in this instance at least). I don’t give a damn if he’s getting high; just show a sad commercial of a crack head after with a stern warning. It’s probably more entertaining than a lot of these positively bad “positive” shows my remote control refuses to acknowledge.

I still don’t want to see On Call Asses of Atlanta, though. Nu uh. I have my limits. We all should.

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.

Much like everything else that involves her, there’s a stark contrast in the responses to Nicki Minaj’s latest visual for the (buzz) single, “Stupid Hoe?” I’ve seen it panned as stupid, an insult to hip-hop and brain cells overall. Some have asked that we think of the children while others declare their desires to never think about the clip ever again. Then you have people aged 16-24, the people who keep Nicki’s Crayola box of wigs full, who majorly seem to adore it.

Based on the requests I’ve seen for me to cover this video, I believe some of you are under the unfortunate impression that I would share the grown folks’ disdain for the video. Uh, you all have read this site before, right? I mean, you may not follow me on the Twitter but if you’ve read The Cynical Ones then you know that I love me some Nicki Minaj. Yes, I’ll be fair in my criticism of her from time to time, but more times than not I’m for Young Nick. I think a better question is have most of you heard of Nicki Minaj before this video?

The song is “Itty Bitty Piggy’s” second cousin, once removed. It’s the kind of obnoxious, hyperactive song I enjoy when on a caffeine high. Nicki Minaj and all that she does is an acquired taste. If you didn’t like her before Pink Friday there’s no reason to feign shock about what she’s doing now.

To that end, I adore the visual for “Stupid Hoe.” If this is any indication of where she plans to go with her sophomore album, Nicki just may be ready become the kind of visual artist I anticipated her to be. It’s everything that Nicki has done in the last few years with her image on a grander scale. Perhaps some parts of the video are nothing more than a rehash of themes its director, Hype Williams, has already beaten to death in works from a decade or so ago, but it’s still a step up from past videos we’ve seen from Nicki.

First, she looks absolutely gorgeous. Blessings to her makeup team. They have her looking immaculate. The video itself is a sight to see — bright, colorful, and engaging. It’s exactly what “Massive Attack” failed to be. And based on the little bit she gave us, I see that Nicki has been studying her Twerk Team tutorial videos. One must remember rhythm is a privilege, not a right for the less fortunate souls trying to bust it open on beat. If I were near Nicki right now, I would do a Twerk Team kick in salute.

I’m sure it would help make up for the bird a lot of folks are flipping in her direction.

The word “clown” has been thrown around a lot to describe this video. Hello, Captain Obvious. I’m glad you arrived to your destination safely. I read someone say on Twitter that “Nicki is a clown in on the joke.” This is your life, Nicki Minaj, and that is exactly why I enjoy it so much.

One of my immediate thoughts while watching “Stupid Hoe” was that Nicki would make a great comedic actress. She doesn’t take herself too seriously so I wonder why everyone else tries to? This track and its accompanying video are nothing more than a big budget diss track. A colorful fuck you to Lil’ Kim, if you will. Complaining about a song called “Stupid Hoe” being simplistic is like expecting to get full off an empty plate.  Same goes for the lamenting the end of hip-hop.

And if you want to pretend that a goofy rapper who meshes her theater background from a performing arts school with what she learned about dissociative identity disorder by watching The United States of Tara is soiling the minds of children across America, you’re within your rights to have half-ass hobbies. Personally, I don’t think we give kids enough credit. I happen to think most of Nicki’s fan base gets what she’s selling: fantasy. A goofy, occasionally bratty and arguably immature fantasy, sure, but a fantasy all the same.  I certainly understand why some may hate it, but the babies will live and so will anyone who thinks otherwise.

The only criticism of the video I side with is Nicki pushing this “I am the female Weezy” shtick. Clearly her boss has had an influence on her, though she shouldn’t strive so hard to sell herself as the female counterpart of any man. You are your own person and you don’t need to be linked to a male peer to flourish. Isn’t that exactly why the person Nicki’s attacking has become such a target now? Never mind: I’ve already given enough thought to a song called “Stupid Hoe.”

Back to signing this song and making ridiculous noises and faces I go. Sing along. Or you know, don’t.