Friday, November 16, 2007
I Love New York 2: Hollywood Shuffle
Last week, Miss New York tossed all law and order aside in hopes that one special man may rise to the top of the Turrur Dome. The environment of barbarism and sexual deviance created by her "stoochie-first" philosophy has her home looking like the New York Knicks' practice facility. Are you going to get into the truck? The balls on CB4 to ask all of these guys to sign letters of approval for her decision to bring Buddha back. That's like a Liberian presidential election. You don't agree with what's on your ballot, but you put that shit in the fucking box before we rape and slaughter your family while you watch. How could you expect Tailor Made to sign that shit? This is why we don't trick out on skank ass bitches. She's draining his wallet like she should be draining them balls. Not only is he bald, but he's completely emasculated before the world. Awesome. Eh, I guess he's not to be respected. The man said he didn't want to "grant [Buddha] the satisfaction of looking him in the eyes." That is some serious prison bitch self-justification shit. "Yeah, I gave him my fruit cocktail. I didn't want to grant Nasty Nate the satisfaction of engaging in fisticuffs." It’s not satisfaction to look a man in the eyes. It’s manhood. Making the scenario even more prison yard is Buddha wearing a fucking TWiSM shirt like a nigga that been in the cage since 1994. The challenge for these man-whores was to prepare their finest dish for Miss New York. The performance and presentation of which is to be facilitated by none other than Season 2 "Trick Trick" Award-winner, Mr. Fucking Boston. What the fuck are these producers doing?! Tag-lining the New York/Boston synergy with the recurring mantra: "He always knew what to put in my mouth!" That's fucking horrendous. Especially when all he did was douse whatever was lying around in the fridge with Ranch dressing and shove it in her mouth after midnight. This nigga was food-freakin off on national television! Thie fetish shit needs to be saved for Real Sex 937 over on HBO. Then The Entertainer shows us all his Eye-talian side with a call home to mom for help. “Ma, it’s Frankie. Listen, Ma. I need a nice fuckin' Parmigiana. Let me have the recipe for that cutlet thing you make when Bobby's dad comes over. Yeah. With the Pruschetta and the Ricotta and the LaMotta and the Bambaataa... Yeah. I'm making it for the mulignane broad from the television. Oh, shit. Ma. That's it! Mulignane Parmigina! Thanks, Ma. You're the fuckin' greatest!” Wait. Isn’t Mr. Boston supposed to be dating nasty-ass Pumkin? Yet he and New York are still cool? Something doesn't add up. I love how they threw in that Double Dare curveball. Niggas gotta include nasty-ass Ranch dressing in whatever they were gonna prepare? That's terrible. Everybody knows there ain't no Bambaataa in Hidden Valley Ranch. They turned this shit into a fucked-up episode of "Bottom Chef." Some of these main course ideas aren't going to work out! At least that's what a nigga with some common sense would say before proceeding. One nigga made a fucking cheesecake... with Ranch dressing in it. I wouldn't just spit that shit into a bucket. I would vomit all over the table. Maybe you'd be better off just dealing with the consequences of not including the fucking salad dressing, you ignorant bitch. Buddha said "fuck a Ranch." I don't think he was penalized, either. Then again, he can obviously get away with whatever the fuck he wants if he can manhandle the white boy and still stick around to compete. I was expecting this country-ass nigga Wolf to draw the sheath and show his dick or something. "Ummm. I don't know too much about no cookin and such. But-- I know you like dis hea'!" Just his dick and some Ranch dressing on a plate. Instead he actually makes the tastiest dish. A chicken fajita can go a long way when a woman believes you have a big dick. Unfortunately, it does nothing for your backwards, brain-dead, country ass out in public in the beeeig city. But we'll get back to that. Note: Tailor Made’s shirt says “Good Karma.” Wow. Buddha's ranch-free delights earned him the first date with New York. The program calls it a date. I call it the intro to a black-on-black porno. Buddha: Yeen't even gotta worry about that. I packs the fire hose, no question. I got references and errthang. New York: Oh, damn. Baby, you taste like Valentine’s Day chocolates. Not a Crunch bar… Not a Snickers... She said he tastes like the Whitman's Sampler from Rite Aid. Note to Punk: Your reign on the top was shorter than leprechauns. So we figured out why that porch monkey Wolf was always smiling. Apparently he was always on the brink of flatulence. Combine that with his "Southern charm;" a combination of not knowing shit, not wanting to know shit, and not caring about shit, and you sense the beginning of the end for our backwater friend. Not that New York was any classier. This simple simian really put her lips together to say Dom Perig-nun. Nip/Tuck producer Sean Murphy wanted him some black coffee. He caught that King Kong fever. "Amy... good... gorilla." Viktor Von Doom had to pretend like he gave 2 shits. There were 15 hot, white, freshly-vomited cokewhores out front waiting for him. He didn't want to waste any of his sexual appetite on the crunchy black. Back at the house our hero, Budhha, pulled a serious bitch move. Not to say that cockblocking is wrong given our current situation, but if you'll recall in episode 1, Buddha damn near elbowed It in the mouth for trying to push up while grown folks was talkin. This time around Buddha's the push-up bra. To this new level of disrespect Punk could only whimper “Oh, Buddha.” Repeat "Note to Punk:" As the feeding frenzy progresses, Tailor Made once again relies on his go-to move. After breaking the bank again for some negligee, he presents the booty to his ebony queen. Thinking this would buy him some time to whine to CB4 about his feelings for her and how much he's grown over the past couple of days, Tailor is more shocked than he should have been to have been greeted with the following response: "Fuck what’s on your mind. What’s in the bag? A pack of hair? Oh, I hope it's Indian Remy." I'd personally clean up his brain matter after he blows his head off when he finds out she wore that nig-luh-zhay for Buddha. This is how you know Punk is gay. He thinks because he dropped an "L"-bomb on her that he's got some kind of advantage. At least he recognizes that he's gotta step his shit up. I am intrigued to find out what that's gonna entail. I think he's all out of eyeliner and It is gone, so there's no one to send Larry Fishburne to the store for more. I still don't know what kind of deal with the devil Solomon Wise has worked out. He still hasn't said 4 sentences worth, yet remains on the show. New York knows he has love for her. At least that makes one of us. Did you peep how they did Wise’s captions in Ebonics? Thanks VH1! If it weren't uncomfortable enough to watch your network, I thank you for fully alienating the black audience. Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? Every negro in America will be right back on this shit Monday night. We wanna see how this shit plays out. For now we say goodbye to Wolf, who actually may have been dumber than It. If nothing else, they should have let him drop his pants on the way out. You know New York wanted to know before she sent his Raphael Saaqiq video extra-lookin ass go. I'm appalled. Is that the right word to use in this situation?