It’s the most wonderful time of the year, when people are encouraged immensely to boost their calorie intake, credit card debt and alcohol levels (so long as they’re not driving; we frown upon that). It’s also the period in which each of us can do a little inventory—namely in the form of New Year’s resolutions—and figure out how to make our next year better than our present. Some people frown upon this practice, but those people are annoying and joyless.
With that in mind, I’m here to share plenty of resolutions and hopes for the New Year—only none will be directly related to me ’cause that’s not your business.
1. Rachel Dolezal will get the hell on somewhere with her white self.
I don’t want to hear this woman’s name ever again. She is white with weave and an aggressive tan. She thought she was going to be some transformative figure with her shtick, but at this point, all she’s done is add names to black folks’ enemies list and get put on blast by the co-hosts of The Real.That’ll be cute for a future episode of Oprah’s Where Are They Now? In the meantime, go be white in private, Fake-Ass Freddie Brooks.
2. People will stop pretending that Jaden Smith is a philosopher.
Some of your cousins give this lil’ boy way too much life with that psychobabble he spouts. I’ve read that Jaden has secured a book deal, so this post does seem moot. However, I have high hopes that enough folks will finally realize all this teenager does is mouth off a bunch of religious texts from Jesus, Buddha, Muhammad and Xenu that were tossed in a Crock-Pot and cooked slowly—like some stew that you think is good for you but will only prove to ravage your stomach (only in this case, it’s your brain).
3. Donald Trump will become the GOP presidential nominee or, at the very least, the Ross Perot of the 2020s.
I’m not voting for that fool with the foolish hair, but I am firm in my stance that he is nothing more than the modern Republican Party set to a higher volume. He is no less bigoted or unserious than his competition; he’s merely more entertaining and appealing to their core audience. He’ll also ruin any chance for a Republican to win next November. So, go ’head with your bad (head of hair) self!
4. Frank Ocean will release a new album.
Even Adele is like, “Damn, homie. What’s good on that new project?” I’m paraphrasing, but the point is, she feels me and is, also, tired of the wait.
5. Kanye West will finally release his new album.
I’m less excited about this, majorly because it will lead to Kanye talking in public, and I’ve made clear my thoughts on the David Koresh of rap’s racial musings. But I’m still curious to hear what he’s been working on.
6. Rihanna will drop Anti.
I love Rih-Rih, but this has got to be one of the biggest mishandled projects from a major pop star in recent memory—and maybe ever. That aside, I need new Rihanna music in my life. My workout has not been the same, and the same goes for my body-roll-drop combo. Like, sis, stop playing with my spirit and hand over the new-new already. If the masses don’t like it, just go back to your usual and drop 17 more albums by the end of this sentence. I miss you; mean it.
7. The physical fighting will stop on The Real Housewives of Atlanta.
I watch Love & Hip Hop, so I’m obviously fine with my glorified soap operas sometimes giving me teases of UFC. However, not if it doesn’t fit the premise of the show. The Real Housewives of Atlanta is supposed to be about rich women—real or imagined, in some cases—who co-exist in the cattiest of ways. Cattiness is fine, but in the past two seasons, I’ve seen kicks to the stomach, punches thrown in the air and other antics that recall the let-out of a hood club. I don’t like it. I want them to take it back down to level 5, versus their current wave, level 57.
Read the rest at The Root.