This is me jiggin’ to the sounds of passionate black power chants of the 1960s on audio. Well, no, not really but let certain folks tell it this is what we do late at night whenever we gather around. I’m pretty sure Clifford H. Bell Jr. thinks this judging from the email he sent me this morning.

It read:

Play your race card you idiot!!! Spewing your (black) venom is what keeps you black people down, when are you black people going to understand that??

Whew, I feel the rage and it’s troubling my soul. Or something. When I saw this I instantly thought, “Hmm, that AOL piece I did must be up.”

Actually, it went up yesterday and I’m surprised that I only got one hateful email versus a dozen the way I do any other time I write about issues that deal with race. I always find it interesting when people get riled up about the things I say when I often have to state them in the mildest of terms. For professional sites, that is. Sometimes I have free reign to just be, but more times than not editors like the PG-13 version of me. Or G. I get it, but you know.

People get very very offended very very easily. Please read that sentence in your best Elmer Fudd voice if you can.

Anyhow, in this piece’s particular case I target black people than white. I didn’t say anything about white people per se, but I suppose when you reference systematic factors that have paved the way for the problems minorities face today some will feel a certain type of way no matter how you word it.

The topic may be a bit stale to some now, but it’s not to those currently suffering and those who sure would love to capitalize off of it.

So, if you have a moment, check me out over on AOL News by clicking here.

Then join me in singing this:

You know what? Would I be wrong if I emailed this video back to him along with the message, “Thank you, Sandra Bullock. I’m most grateful for you helping me see the error of my ways?” He sounds angry and in need of a morning jig.

I swear you would’ve thought I wrote in the article that black people need to free themselves from the man and start throwing buckets of fried chicken at them on site.

Oh, post racial America. How I love thee.

Again: Click here to read it.

When I initially heard about Freaknik: The Musical, my level of excitement rivaled my appetite for a toe nail and tuna sandwich.

So many questions lingered in my head. Why would anyone give T-Pain a cartoon? Why would you theme a cartoon on Freaknik? At 24 how would T-Pain remember Freaknik anyway?

I don’t know why I went against my better judgment and watched this. It literally took only two minutes of viewing to ask the most important question of them all: Why hasn’t anyone handed Jay-Z a glock so he could really kill auto-tune?

I never chimed in on the T-Pain hatred before, but I’m starting to understand the sentiment.

It’s like they took every stereotype and cliche and meshed it with Nickelodeon style animation to make the most offensive cartoon they could create.

Actually, that was exactly what they did and as T-Pain explained to the New York Times, it’s what they were going for:

“There was so much negativity around the idea of Freaknik that we felt like we should push the envelope and make it even more negative.”

Mission accomplished.

There’s the usual band of suspects: Bitches, hoes, niggas, corny white people, references to one mystical all-controlling white man, along with the bougie black brigade who won’t let anyone have any non-uplifting fun.

I imagine this show would like to guise itself as some sort of satirical piece of work, but such an opinion holds about as much weight as an anorexic’s dinner plate.

In perpetuating a bunch of stereotypes T-Pain canceled out the one about all fat people being funny in the process. Even if this show was foolish and marred in stereotypes it still could’ve made you laugh even if it were uncomfortable. T-Pain just doesn’t make me laugh, though.

But wait, I have a compliment: I’m impressed T-Pain was able to put together an animated musical with such a wide array of rappers, singers, and comedians.

Now to make that compliment backhanded: Rounding up a bunch of people to do some stupid shit isn’t all that surprising — especially if it involves a rapper.

Speaking of stupid shit and rappers, I hope God has a sense of humor because if not Lil’ Wayne’s asshole will feel the wrath of an Old Testament-like rod in jail for his portrayal of “Trap Jesus.”

Now that it’s understood that I’m giving this video one finger up, I’d like to discuss this talk of people using this cartoon as proof that Freaknik needs to return to Atlanta.

As Atlanta native, La, explained to me, there are some folks who argue that T-Pain’s creation is proof that the legacy of Freaknik must live in. That the event is good for the local economy, important for city and HBCU morale and is a celebration that deserves its return.

The nice guy in me wants to nod my head and like this and smile.

Unfortunately, the realist in me has outweighed my good heart, and thus I have to ask what kind of degenerate, herpes-infested fool actually believes any of that? Well, the idea of it boosting the local economy sounds about right. The idea of it boosting HBCU morale not so much.

Granted, being only a year older than T-Pain I can’t pretend that I’ve experienced Freaknik. But, like him I’ve seen videos and heard plenty of stories. You know as cool as some of those stories sound (that is, if you’re into the smell of tuna, BBQ, and used condoms), I have an even better story to share:

Nearly one in every two African American women ages 14 to 49 has genital herpes, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention said Tuesday. Overall, two out of every five blacks in that age group carry the virus, and one out of every six Americans, the agency announced at an STD Prevention Conference in Atlanta.  The proportions have not changed since the agency’s last estimate for the period 1999 to 2004. About 80% of those who carry the virus do not know they are infected. Women appear to be particularly susceptible to infection, with 21% of women infected, compared with 11.5% of men.

Nothing screams good times like a permanent bump.

So for all of you trying to make this ratchet cartoon into some sort of movement for the return of Freaknik to Atlanta, think long and hard about that bedtime story I just shared with you. Then look down and scratch.

In the meantime, while you start Googling symptoms you all can check out the cartoon and share your thoughts:

Not all fuckery is created equal, though I liked the Mariah reference.

Now c’mon nah, I know ya’ll have something to say.

I don’t think Mo’Nique ever had a problem with being honored by the Academy. It seemed to be more of an issue of whether or not she would bend over backwards to be honored for something she felt should be solely based on merit. She chose not to and based on her comments in recent and not so recent interviews, she’s admittedly about the bottom line. To some people you have to give a little to get more in the long run. To others they want all that you can give them from the jump.

As I contemplate driving up the block, turning on “Toss It Up,” and pop-pop-pop that thang for student loan cash, I can’t be mad at those who select the latter in hindsight.

She made her intentions clear and in the end she won anyway. Good for her. I’ve noticed some people argue against her politics comment during her acceptance speech and have sought to flip her words into something that more so mirrors their intentions. I think what she meant was some people – white film critics – called for her to be put in her place.

Most notably Jeffrey Wells of Hollywood Elsewhere, who previously wrote, ”Deny her a nomination and teach her a lesson.”

Call it racist. Call it classist. Call it neither. Call it whatever you want, but know that’s exactly the sort of “politics” Mo’Nique was talking about.

This is evident by her breaking protocol last night inside of the Oscar press room by choosing to speak with people who she said had her back from the very beginning. I don’t fall into the theory that her “non-campaign” was her method of campaigning. I believe there was so much spin on it because the establishment was baffled that she openly boasted about not caving into what they wanted from her. Everyone else but her made it an issue.

I didn’t really think it was necessary to demand $100,000 for an appearance but as of March 08, 2010 Mo’Nique’s money runs marathons around mine…and most of the people who talked about her.

So bravo to her and I’m happy that she won.

One thing I’m not happy about, though, is a sentiment I read on Twitter yesterday. I’m paraphrasing but in short, someone spoke ill of Mo’Nique’s kind words towards Hattie McDaniel by jesting that she’s thanking a woman who played a maid so she could play an abusive mother.

To that I say: Shut your silly, bougie, ridiculous ass the hell up.

Moreover, see Hattie McDaniel’s own words to the NAACP in response to their criticism at the time: “I would rather make 700 dollars a week playing a maid than seven dollars being one.”

Hattie McDaniel did the best she could with what she was given. I don’t think it’s right to disparage her for it.

That said, I do get why some people feel the way they do about Mo’Nique and Sandra Bullock winning.

I wrote about The Blind Side previously based on the trailer and now that I’ve actually seen the film my feelings are not all that different.

But, I’m personally not mad at Sandra Bullock winning. I like her. Does that take the sting away from the film? No, however, the movie does pull from a true story. Did the screenwriter and director perhaps take away some of the nuance from the book? It seems that way, but I’d have to read it to know. I can only speak on what I’ve seen or read. Imagine that.

Had Avatar won Best Picture, while I would’ve potentially gritted my teeth, I’d understand why the movie would have won. It’s a technological feat and as the highest grossing movie of all-time (thanks, inflation) it’s a cultural movement that cannot be denied — no matter how anyone feels about its script.

Yes, it’s very much Dances With Blue People. Or Smurfs Save The Day. Pocahontas With Freestyle Braids, for sure. And there’s definitely quite a few underlying racial overtones that made me want to call one of my homegirls to whoop Sigourney Weaver’s Blue Bo Derek looking ass in the film out of spite.

Yet sigh, the movie made a lot of money and people like pretty stuff with happy endings. It wouldn’t have been shocking if it won.

It’s an unfortunate reality that despite all the time that has passed white audiences still like to honor us for the best portrayal of our worst, but it’s even more unfortunate to me that some people can’t ever see a silver lining.

Last night the first female director won an Academy Award for Best Director and Best Picture over a monstrous film with a huge name attached to it. And although he didn’t win last night, Lee Daniels is the second black film director to be nominated for Best Director. Chances are he’ll likely be back in contention for that award for the upcoming film, Selma. As will Mo’Nique if her plans to develop a biopic on Hattie McDaniel come to fruition.

As a writer, I take great comfort in Geoffrey Fletcher becoming the first black screenwriter to be honored by the Academy. Also feel inspired by Mark Boal’s win as he’s a freelance journalist and the script for The Hurt Locker was his first. My dream is to one day follow in their footsteps.

Some of these movies employed themes and imagery that could stand to take a beat seat for a couple of decades, but Fresh reminded me this morning that I’ve seen far worse:

Gabby Sidibe didn’t back hand a hoe last night while on stage. Be grateful.

If I sound a bit hypocritical, I can’t help it. I do get some of the criticism and I’m guilty of leveling some of it myself; but, last night I didn’t want to completely dwell on any of it.

No, everything is not perfect for minorities and women, but little by little progress has been made. I’d rather focus on that than on something I won’t be able to change. Not today anyway.

I only interpret Soulja Boy’s music in two extremes. Sometimes I’ll say listening to Soulja Boy is like being slapped in the head with a watermelon. And then there are times where I’ll think to myself, “Well, who doesn’t love watermelon margaritas?”

He may talk like a Hooked on Phonics failure, but if the beat goes and the alcohol flows chances are I might be indulge him in his web of foolery. I’d be lying if I denied supermanning you heauxs the very second after I found the instructional video a few years back. In fact, if I could actually remember how the dance went I’d still probably be down to do it if there’s a Flip Cam in my presence.

And then there’s “She Gotta Donk,” which I won’t dance to in public but will appreciate all those around me that choose to.

But this - this shit right here – has left some seeds in my teeth.

The main reason is the obvious: Soulja Boy raps about as good as corn chip flavored feet taste.

Granted, he’s always been the male equivalent of Trina but he’s always been clever enough to guise that with a catchy beat. The beat for this song is not bad at all, but it unfortunately doesn’t do a good enough job of distracting us from Soulja Boy and his awful lyrical content.

Let’s start with:

This right here is my swag/The girls are on me…damn/Everybody pay attention/This right here is my pretty boy swag

And then there are gems like:

I’m pretty boy swagging in the club feeling sexy…no homo.

A guy dancing around a bunch of self-professed “pretty boys” suddenly feels compelled to declare his heterosexuality after saying he feels sexy in the club? Isn’t that kind of like telling folks about your pretty boy swag? If one is OK why not the other?

Heavens to murgatroyd. I’m trying to make sense of Soulja Boy lyrics. Nevermind. To that line I say:

I demand that everyone reading this makes that same face this instant. Don’t let your judgmental co-worker sway you from doing so either.

As for the video itself, I would get on it looks like a high school project, but it’s a recession so I completely understand.

I will point out one last thing, though: This video reminds me of why I sometimes shift my lids to the side when I think about some Atlanta rappers.

In Atlanta you can have ridiculously creative acts like Outkast and Goodie Mob who combine sounds and imagery uniquely their own or you can have people like Soulja Boy who is obviously ripping off another region’s sound.

When D4L and Dem Franchize Boys took off I was instantly annoyed (but I still danced, I’m not crazy) because I knew they were ripping a Dallas sound that had been around years prior and got all the credit for it.

And Yung Joc’s debut album sounded like it was recorded down the street from Frenchy’s Chicken. Houston natives will catch that reference.

In sum, Soulja Boy needs to give Silkk The Shocker his flow back and let Dallas handle the sound if he’s unable to. This dude could’ve at least given me a new stupid dance to love for five minutes. Damn, homie, are you getting lazier on us?

Or to put things more eloquently, allow me to quote YouTube user, xXSeasameSkreetXx:

Dhis sonq is sooo MuahFxckin’ Wack. Well de’ beat is tiqht as fuhh doe. Somebodii needs ta make remix wihd it forrea.

Lyk3 r3a!!y.

Rihanna has a history of performing at the same energy level as a sedated Britney Spears. But, to her credit I think she’s trying to do better as evidenced by this performance at the Echo Awards. Has she completely succeeded yet? No, not really, but in this instance I think we should give her an A for effort. If an A is too much, just don’t give her a D for deportation.

Before your eyes shift sideways, let me make my case.

Look at how she opens the performance. She’s actually moving, ya’ll. Like, not just her lips but her actual body. Granted, she’s bending over and busting it open for a Transformer, but I’m sure Jimmy Neutron is somewhere smiling because of it. She gave robot boy hope and potentially a hard on, folks. Does that count for something?

More times than not Rihanna simply stands there, looks pretty, and tries her best to sweep you off your feet with her vocals. This time she’s trying to shake a tail feather and those bad nerves that used to shake her. How ’bout a round of applause?

I didn’t mention it when it dropped, but I love her video for “Rude Boy.” So much that there’s one move I already hope to duplicate in the club soon. I get that most of her videos are going to be nothing more than self-indulgent odes to how sexy and well-styled she is, but at least in videos like “Rude Boy” she can also show off her playful side in addition to all of the ass and tags present.

I mean, I dig the Elvira meets Elkeisha angle she has going to push Rated R — so much that I scooped her album for .99 cents when it was on sale (I bought the one that dropped before that for full retail price, so there). Unfortunately, others chose to use that money for their value menu selection at their fast food restaurant of choice. That’s probably why Def Jam has seen the quick success of this song and has already started writing the narrative that her next album (which will likely drop in three days) will be more upbeat and fun.

And if that truly is the case it’s good that she’s trying to step it up as a performer. I’m sure an employer waving your work visa in front of you will motivate anyone to get on the job training.

Just so we’re clear I’m not saying this performance is the greatest thing ever. It is an improvement, though.

Look at where she used to be:

This sounds like her introduction ceremony into the Illuminati. Her voice is doing the ratchet throughout the entire performance. If nothing else I said was convincing, do we finally have an understanding now?

I don’t think I’ve ever said this on the site, but I do like the idea of Rihanna and I appreciate what she offers musically and aesthetically as it relates to what it means to be a pop star. She’s necessary because she has that sort of polish even some of my favorites don’t have.

I just wish she had the other important element of being a pop star — performance skills. But, she’s trying. I have to keep saying that to myself.

I genuinely hope she starts watching MC Hammer and Madonna clips to boost up her stage act. She looks like she’s actually having fun on stage in this clip. If she could get the audience to join in on the fun more often she’d be a lot better off professionally.

With that said, do you all think I’m caught in the wave of Rihanna or maybe, just maybe the girl really is improving?

After 24-year-old Richard Calderon hit the car of Alexis Wiley’s mother and drove off, Waley’s mother – a police officer at Texas Southern University – drove after him hoping to get his plates.

That’s when Calderon pulled his gun out and immediately started shooting.

A bullet went through the back of Alexis’ head and went straight through her eye.

Her mother frantically called 911 and waited for ambulances to show.

While they were able to piece together her eye and put her on life support that nite, the following morning she died.

Among the students who left campus and subsequently went home was my 11-year-old niece.

If it were me at her age dealing with this I wouldn’t be as worried. Without soiling this blog with another sob story about my upbringing, I’ll just say I grew up a lot faster than my niece did.

I always smiled when I thought about how different she grew up from me. When I think of her I think of nothing but purity. She is my angel and that’s all there is to it. I hate the fact while she’s still going to be a much happier child than most, this experience will never leave her.

When my mom told me what happened I knew that innocence was gone. No matter how many curse words she didn’t say, the Disney shows that she watched religiously, or the naïveté you could always hear in her voice, Richard Calderon’s bullet has altered the way she looks at the world.

It happens to us all, but I didn’t want it to happen to her now.

I am not good with dealing with tragedy. When I called my mom in the middle of the night to tell her someone put a gun in my face, I said it with no emotion and simply told her where she could find all of the bills I left back at home so I could cancel my credit cards.

When my grandfather cried two weeks before graduation, I called the one I still adore most and talked about everything but. I did cry while speaking at the funeral, and I hated myself a little for it afterwards. When my grandmother died six months to the day later, I focused on another emotion – anger – towards someone else and tried not to focus on it.

And then it really hit me and the only way I really managed was by writing about it.

But I had to call my niece yesterday. We’re close – so close that I look to her like she’s my daughter.

Every time I try to comfort someone I feel like a bumbling idiot.

I worry that yesterday was no different.

I talked to my niece as many times as I could yesterday and I almost slipped and cried on the phone (a quality I hate) while speaking to her.

I found out that my niece saw the girl a few hours before she was shot. They ran into each other while at McDonalds. Alexis waved at my niece. My niece’s younger sister loved her big sister’s friend. So much that she would always go up and play with her.

The first time I spoke with my niece she thought her friend was alive. She was told that she was in a coma.

I asked her if she had prayed for her friend yet. Then I told her that it’s OK to cry (yes, I hate it, but not for everyone else — we all have our double standards) and that if nothing else she ought to be alone and talk to God. Say how you feel, speak on behalf of your friend.

I told her I would call her back. I couldn’t wait so I called back about 15 minutes later. I had to say I hope I didn’t make her feel worse.

A couple of hours ago she called me back and let me know about her friend. I could hear the hurt in her voice and it made me feel so small. I just wanted to hug her.

My heart actually jumped when she told me that her friends from other schools had called to check on her. Because my niece and Alexis share the same name, a few of them worried that it was my niece who had been killed.

I know that unfortunately these sort of senseless tragedies happen more times than we’d like. And as sad as I am now for my niece I know that ultimately she’ll be better.

Her friend isn’t so lucky and it irritates the shit out of me how stupid, selfish, and pathetic some people are.

Why would you shoot at a car because they wanted you to pay for your mistakes?

Why are these sorts of people consistently allowed to have access to guns?

Why are so many evil pieces of shit like Richard Calderon forcing children to grow up too fast?

Yesterday Farouk Shami lost his bid to be the Democratic gubernatorial candidate after getting that ass handed to him by former Houston mayor Bill White.

With Shami knowing he was a heavy underdog in the race he made a last-minute decision to release this campaign song in the form of an ad.

In my head I picture some poor misguided soul telling Shami:

1. Rap

+

2. Ad

=

3. Youth (or probably just black) votes.

Whoever the mastermind of this advertisement is, I hope they enjoy their new life pushing KFC’s new boneless chicken filets.

I never thought Jay-Z killed auto-tune, but I definitely think Farouk just put another bullet in its already fledging appeal.

I’m not mad at the artist J. Xavier because a check is a check, but I hope he uses said check to pay for tuition because a successful career in rap seems about as likely as RuPaul posing in Playboy now.

I completely understand the idea of marketing your product to audiences atypical of your core demographic by trying to incorporate themes that appeal to them in your ads, but who wants to hear T-Wack rap to you about job creation and education reform?

Not I and neither did any of the young people who didn’t bother to show up to vote for Farouk. I think this guy’s story of coming to America with $71 and building an empire based on hair care products is admirable, but he looks lame, out of touch, and simpler than a game of peak-a-boo for presenting his story in the form of a dated rap song.

But sadly, I have a feeling where Farouk and others get their inspiration from.

Anyone else sometimes get the feeling that they might have to leave the room whenever the commercials start running because a Soul Train may break out? Or a testimonial?

Thanks to McDonalds – among others – I hear raps, scats, and all sorts of croons trying to sell me everything from a truck to a chicken nugget.

On the other hand, yesterday the Bob Coastes of fuckery, Freshalina, posted a video that reminded of something:

Some people like these advertisements. These Negroes did this on their own accord so I have to acknowledge that hey, this stuff does work on some people (go test group leaders, go).

Which leads to this:

“Mac Snack Wrap with the swag of a Big Mac?”

I appreciate the outreach, but do these companies know that they don’t have to lay it on as thick as gumbo?

Wait, just in case any of you reading this blog works in advertising and marketing please don’t use the phrase “thick as gumbo” in a future ad. Next thing you know Mars will have up billboards off local car washes that read, “Not thicker than gumbo, but thicker than a Snicker.” I don’t want to be held responsible for that.

Look, I didn’t throw a fit about the chicken nugget sing-a-long commercial from a few years ago and for the most part I laughed at Farouk’s ad. But upon further reflection for this post I’m realizing that more and more people think they have to “blacken” their stuff up for black support.

Yeah, the infusion of some color and our commonly shared themes is cool. Using the word swag in an ad is not. Using the word swag period is questionable.

The ends justifies the means, but I really don’t like to be pandered to at great length. I don’t think it’s racist, just a little lazy in some cases.

With that said ya’ll can tell me: Are some of these ads annoying to you, too, or should I go sing that chicken nugget song and shut up?

I suddenly have a greater appreciation for “Walk The Plank.”

I was sent “Patron & Brugal” over the weekend. My mouth instantly craved for Ciroc and Simply Lemonade after reading the title. But to be fair to the artist, William Haze, it might not be all his fault.

The only thing I know about Brugal is that a friend – who at the time I wanted to be more than a friend – had a Dominican boyfriend who left a bottle over that I’m assuming they shared. And before you ask no I wasn’t offered any. I’ll let you rate that on your personal shadeometer on your own time. But, basically I’m already left with a bad taste in my mouth without actually ever trying this brand of rum.

Wait, who am I kidding. Satan could piss Hennessy on me and I’ll be damned if I let that ruin that brown for me. I suppose the same can be said about any potentially good alcoholic beverage. Still, given that I’ve already had a bad introduction to Brugal I need a reason to give it another chance.

This song ain’t it, pimpin’.

I wish I could blame not knowing what in the hell William Haze is saying, but that’s not it. Half the time I never know what Gucci is talking about but I jig, get it big anyhow.

But the beat for this song is irritating as hell. It sounds like something they’ll play to death on LA radio. If you didn’t know already, most LA radio stations stick to Top 40 which means pop-heavy “rap” tracks like this nonsense will be played to death. Boom boom boom my ass.

Of all people to call Haze tapped MIMs? Anything with him on it tends to sober me up at the club. Do you all remember how much they played “This Is Why I’m Hot?” I wished frostbite on many a DJ. I don’t want to knock Fred Flintstone head’s hustle, so I’ll just say I hope he was compensated quite nicely for this track.

I’m going to guess that with the inclusion of MIMS on the track Haze intended to bring black and brown together under the love of various forms of Latino liquor. The “Ebony and Ivory” of club music, if you will. Unfortunately, this is the type of song that could start a race war.

Tensions are already high in certain regions of the country. Wack songs won’t do anything but further aggression. Maybe they should’ve called Pitbull and Plies for a track called “Dick and Doritos.” I’m sure that would’ve been better than this.

Maybe I’m going to have to find a Dominican to put me on game, but as of now the combination of a strong rum and tequila sounds like a battle royale in the belly. And this song, well, it seems like it’s only prepping you for the hangover sponsored headache that’s to come.

As much as I hate this song, I can already tell it will be blasted to death out in Cali and other parts of the country with similar demographics. Shame on everyone in advance.

1. Was this performance a skit or did J.Lo mean to sound like a cat with throat cancer on purpose?

2. Although Wacka Flocka Flame might be telling the truth when he says he’s always reading, is it wrong to still think he talks like someone who only reads coloring books?

3. Why are people still denying Beyonce’s vocal ability in 2010?

4. Who else can’t wait until Alicia Keys goes back to soul light music?

5. As technologically breathtaking as it was did anyone else find themselves laughing while watching Avatar?

6. Toni Braxton still seems to be stuck on the sex kitten bit. Is she trying to be the Blanche Devereaux of R&B?

7. How much longer do we have to keep entertaining the Tea Party Movement?

8. Considering he’s about as hard as RuPaul with Melyssa Ford in his lap, isn’t it funny to see Omarion play a thug?

9. Is it safe to talk about how awful Wyclef has been sounding lately or do we still have to be polite and play deaf?

10. My mama has finally found me on Facebook. Has yours?

11. How did “How you doin’?” morph from a stereotypically way to call out gay men into daytime TV’s sweetest catch phrase?

12. Can the ground please stop moving?

13. Can the same be said of Quentin Tarantino’s tongue whenever he decides to start speaking in his “blaccent?”

14. Why won’t the mainstream press give black women a break?

15. Be honest: Have you been working on perfecting your Nicki Minaj impersonation, too?

16. How afraid should we all be about fast food restaurants now gleefully put huge posters that read “We accept EBT?”

17. Fellow Toyota customers, are you making this face, too?

18. Who else is over the cell phone pictures of celebrity crotches leaking to the Web fad?

19. When is the last time you’ve hit someone with the flex?

20. Are you happy that I’ve finally posted video evidence of me jiggin’?

Bonus: How did you discover The Cynical Ones? Just curious. =)

And since [the man] took away my health insurance, I have to save. I’m driving a Camry, folks. I could be riding dirty so unless I take my brother’s advice and fake an accent in an emergency room, chances are I might need to worry about a potential bill.

That said, if you’re wondering what I’m doing in the meantime I’m still writing.

My most recent piece for AOL News deals with homophobia in Africa. A lot of our fellow black people are out there being persecuted among several nations. If they’re not being jailed for simply being who they are, they’re being slaughtered for it.

And indirectly, many Americans are helping facilitating this criminalization of homosexuality.

If you know you can’t stand gay people and don’t want to read this, no worries, I’ll be back to scolding Wacka Flocka’s English teacher in no time.

However, if you’re open to hearing a different perspective on the matter I invite you to read this piece. Then retweet, Facebook, and email it.

Click here to read it.

Thank you as always.

P.S. It’s OK to drop some coins in that donate button. Treat it like the tip jar at Magic City, please.

And I do have archives, which you should all read. You can tell how far I’ve come along as a writer. Uh, or not. Your call.

Now let me go back to scouting potential corners.