2007 Rewind: Playaz Circle feat. Lil Wayne - "Duffle Bag Boy" video

I ain't never ran from a nigga neither. You'll see. As unexpectedly as the New York Giants' playoff run has come upon us did Disturbing Tha Peace's B-team come up with "Duffle Bag Boy," [watch above] one of 2007's fiercest tracks. Okay, let me stop. The DTP JV-squad having made the wise decision to blow their entire album budget on "Chorus of the Year" brought us one of 2007's fiercest tracks. Titty Boy and what looks to be Ness from Making The Band 2 comprise the woeful Playaz Circle, who would only stand a chance in the game if the world's most famous Katrina refugee decided to relocate himself to the group's frontman chair. Oh, Titty Boy, where have you been? I miss watching superior rappers carry your ass on tracks. Whether it's been Ludacris, Lil Weeziana or Chingy, we can't hate Titty Boy for finally being on the right star's bench to earn himself a piece of greatness. In my humble opinion, Titty Boy has always been the most intriguing of the DTP bench riders. I-20 is about as interesting to as a leaky faucet with a deep voice. I'd slice off my left testicle before I'd even illegally download a Lil' Fate record. We've already discussed how I feel about Steph Jones and Small Wonder and it's an even smaller wonder that Titty Boy has potentially risen to 6th man status in the event that Chingy, Luda and Bobby Valentino need anything more than a fluff boy. We profile the newly-exalted and ask him the questions you want answered in this Ron Mexico City exclusive: Ron Mexico City: Officially, how is "Titty Boy" spelled? Is it like, titties titties? Or is there some kind of clever intentional misspelling? I also know you niggas in the south like to spell "boy" with an "i." What's the deal? Tity Boi: It's [*takes time to think*] T-I-T-Y. So, one "t," right? And, yeah. I spell the "boi" wit a "i." That's how we do it down hea'. RMC: Nice. So what all went down with DTP in the past couple of years? We got members done left... Came back. You guys have been a little quiet and here you are with a smash out of the blue. TB: Well, I been makin mixtapes and gettin these hea' fresh twisses on the dreads. What you axin' 'bout? RMC: Umm... Let's start with Shawnna. What happened with Shawnna? TB: Honestly, I ain't know what was goin on with her until I saw it posted on the big green rap site. I forgot the name. Is that AllHipHop? RMC: No, I think that's XXL. Anyway, so what did you find out? TB: I found out that Shawna was leavin us. I thought that was strange because I heard her and Luda rehearsing "What's Your Fantasy?" through his office door just a couple days befo'. RMC: What about Chingy? Why is he back? TB: I honestly couldn't tell you. Dig dis, shawty. Any time you talk about another nigga fuckin with your money, that nigga should be dead. I mean, like-- Dead to you. Ya' dig? So how he even back associating with niggas that he said do bad business is beyond me. RMC: Do you believe Ludacris be actin funny with the money? TB: [*looks over at Ludacris*] Honestly, I don't know. I could see it. But this is a business, you know? So like, if that's true then Chingy is a bitch nigga for comin back to a nigga who don't treat him right. RMC: [long pause] Right. So I take it you haven't welcomed Chingy back to the barracks with open arms. TB: Nah. Nah, mane. Ludacris said we should be cold-like with him. He said somethin about makin him mad so he rap better. I think he want Chingy mad most of the time. RMC: So, about the song and the video. How did you get Lil Wayne to drop the chorus? TB: Well, Luda had already paid for the beat and he didn't really like the song we [Playaz Circle] had wrote for it, you know'm tombout? So he had told us that we needed somethin else. He called up Wayne and thang and them manager and Wayne dropped that hook. RMC: So you had nothing to do with that? TB: Nigga, I don't think I should have to be repeatin' myself. RMC: Sorry. So am I safe in assuming that Wayne didn't know that the surrounding verses would be Playaz Circle? TB: Nah. He probably thought it was gonna be for a Luda song. Luda made sure we knew that. RMC: Damn. So what was the video shoot like? TB: If you notice, we only in one, two shots with Wayne. Luda told us not to touch him or talk to him except for when we was shooting. He would smoke, do his little drank then do his thing. RMC: What was in that white styrofoam cup? TB: I don't know, nigga. Baby piss. What the fuck? RMC: I'm sorry, Tity. Oh, why don't you tell us about the model in the bed with you in the beginning. TB: Model? Oh, that warn't no model. That there my cousin, Keisha. We just used her cuz she thick, you know? RMC: [another long pause] I see. Do you normally make your cousin pour your Frosted Flakes in heels and ho clothes? TB: No, that's what I make my bitches do. RMC: [yet another long pause] So... Why?-- Nevermind, nigga. How are niggas supposed to get money by bringing duffel, by the way, the "e" comes before the "l"-- TB: Yeen't never heard of artistic license? RMC: [*laughs*] Yes. Yes, I have. TB: Alright, then. RMC: So, how do the dope boys of Atlanta get money by bringing empty duffel bags to your show tonight? TB: Who said they was 'pose ta be empty, fuck nigga? Fuck you thank? They bring us a duffle bag of work, we give them a duffle bag of money. We some gettin money ass niggas over here, you old fuck-ass, hatin-ass, broke-ass, bitch-ass nigga. RMC: Umm... So, how did you meet Ashy Larry and when did you think it a good idea to let him rap? TB: Funny. [long pause] I'm sorry. I just get sensitive when it comes to niggas hatin on gettin this money, know'm tombout? RMC: I understand. TB: We done come so far from when we wasn't able to ride on the bus... you know? RMC: Yes, sir. Indeed I believe I do. Do you believe that you can crack the DTP Starting Five in the next while? TB: I believe all thangs are possible through Him that created me. I thaink God for this opportunity. If Ludacris just let one more nigga contract expire before he sign anybody else... I have a 50% shot of taking that spot. RMC: Well, best of luck to you, Tity. I'll ask God for another Field Mob conviction on your behalf. TB: I appreciate that, cuz.

Terrell Owens Cries Like Bitch After Loss

"It's unfair, man," Owens sobbed. "So who can you take down to Cabo or Veracruz or whatever? Would there be so much controversy if it were Carrie Underwood or Mandy Moore?" I'm with you, T.O. The black stars are at Freaknik with Megan Goode and Lauren London and nobody cares. No one says Kim Kardashian fucked over Reggie Bush's sophomore campaign, right? I'm just surprised to see such vehement quarterback defense from a man who called Jeff Garcia, essentially the exact same QB 15 years older, a "fag." Even the most fanatic of NFL viewers had yet to see Owens block like this. I know they take T.O. off his medication for the game, but somebody needs to follow him around for a couple of days or something. They gotta put a tail on this nigga before he tries to make another painkiller cocktail and let his publicist "f" him in the "a" with a big, black strap-on. Here are some other important postgame comments. I'm glad Pierce and Strahan threw that little extra salt on them niggas' popcorn. Ugh, I can't stand the damn Cowboys. You know in the offseason T.O. is gonna denounce "Tony Homo" and appeal to sign with the Giants, right? The writers, yet again, don't give Elisha and the G-Men a touchdown's chance on Jeopardy. I generally don't expect much from the big, blue disappointment but their current postseason run has earned them some leeway and the ephemeral endearment of New York fans. Let's go Giants.

I Love New York: The Reunion (CFBE)

What does CFBE stand for? ...--We'll get to that a little later. I almost forgot that VH1 is obliged to bring the bitch niggas back together for one last self-contained, entirely unintentional roast hosted by Carmelo's sleepy-eyed KB. I know the LaLa jokes have been beaten like a foster daughter but I'll be damned if her tired ass didn't look like she just had the baby that morning. You, yet again, are about to host the reunion episode of America's greatest guilty pleasure. You mean to tell me you ain't have time to go get you a wash-and-set? You let Carmelo do your makeup or something? The shit looks like a color-by-number drawing of RuPaul. You couldn't go see the Asians for the pre-game workup? Facial, manicure, pedicure? You ain't have time for a little "Herrowwwww, Ra-Ra!?" Caramello must got you busy in the candy factory, huh? I hope VH1 doesn't really believe that "I Love New York" viewers are necessarily New York fans. Sure, there is a subset of strange individuals that genuinely adore Tiffany Pollard as her New York character presents. There is a far larger percentage of viewers who are viewers because it is human nature to slow down and watch a 7-car collision with a very high likelihood of fatalities. The first man-whore presented was the entire case for fetal fatality. Larry Fishburne's acting coach and adviser, It. NORE's Cousin It brought a cinder block and bricks to break. After actually breaking the cinder block and bricks with his mighty retard hand, he asserted to New York, his one true love "I'm trynna show you what I could do." Please. My brother Brillo show.-- With mighty strength and skill come a mighty retardation. As the program was obviously divided into segments with specific timestamps, It wasted zero time in making me dazedly stammer to myself "Oh, my god. This nigga brought cold french fries in a box." I'd like to think I'm not alone there. Even white people had that reaction. Don't lie to me, Amanda. Speaking of abominable miscegenation, Sister Patterson is what Uncle Ruckus was talking about when he said "anyone could put lipstick and a wig on a monkey." There's no way this shit is for real. VH1 has gone full-on WWF. I mean like WWF in the 80s when Hulk Hogan, Macho Man, Jake the Snake, Ravishing Rick Rude, Bret "The Hitman" Hart, Ted Dibiase and Koko B. Ware (when whitey wasn't looking) were all trying to put their shriveled-up 'roid weenies all up in Miss Elizabeth. So, seriously? Champion is diggin Sister Patterson out?! She's a ManBearPig and this nigga look like Shawn Wayans on that Roger Clemens. I know what happened here. He caught a glimpse of them stretchmarks and it was over. He was all Ray Lewis on it. Number 52's number had been called and he had to get in there. It was sickening how Champion defiled homegirl's moms on TV like that. The whole crowd went all Springer on it. They gave him pounds and shit. Hmmm. Maybe it was closer to a Maury crowd. Without even an attempt at a worthwhile transition, as Lala has already been dickslapped several times by the teleprompter (because she's horrible), we proceed to the best reality dating character ever. In the first episode, standing among the... you know... normal men, Midget Mac had a face like a scrappy little pitbull. He saw Sister Patterson and sensed her evil. It hasn't let up. He still wants to bark on her, maybe tell her to suck his full-sized midget dick. Yeah, Sister Patterson. Slob on that dwarfy cane. Speaking of cane, they made it clear that they brought Wolf's old inarticulate ass back in front of a camera to settle that little matter of swinging the Hillshire Farms kielbasa. Looking like Flesh N Bone home on a furlough, Wolf mumbled incoherently an agreement to step behind a curtain with Sister Patterson to show her if his dick was anything special. They should have gone full-on Crying Game. Have Sister Patterson whip her shit out. "Now, that's a big dick, you ass-backwards country shit." Thank whoever you pray to that the moron didn't take his cock and balls out. Dick shows always get Sister Patterson a little antsy in the pantsy. Once she gets that syrup in her, there's no stopping that ManBear. Thankfully, she's riled up just in time to greet those low-class Guinea fucks from the restaurant. After watching the VH1 mini documentary, "A Day In The Fuckin Life Of Frankie Goombas," New York was certain she made the right decision. Could you imagine Frankie and that moolie broad Tiffany fucking in the Pizzigniolirella basement? In that town, it'd be the equivalent of Frankie boning Grace Jones. At least that's what all the neighbors who watched through that big ass window with no shade think. Frankie's dad really got it in on "Mister Patterson." I'm pissed. Why didn't I think of that? I also should have known she was a fucking dominatrix. It's the costume she wore to the party. It all came together. At first I thought she was going for some Prince, or maybe that she rode a horse to the show. It couldn't be any clearer now. Speaking of horses worn and beaten, I'm starting to feel terrible about this. Maybe LaLa's neither stupid nor a terrible actress. Maybe she just one of many inner-city youths with an undiagnosed vision problem. You can help. Join Ron Mexico City in the fight to get every kid in the projects to an eye doctor so J.J. can stop putting Diamond Crystal table salt with MSG on his Rice Chex. I don't like Punk & Buddha as the new NWA man-wrasslin' tag-team champions. Punk seems to forget that Buddha doesn't respect him in the least. Buddha seems to forget that Punky Booster played Runteldat to New York the entire second half. Millione made sure he got his face time though. I'm just upset that they so obviously pitted a low-grade contestant pawn up to Buddha just for the sake of stirring up shit. It was like that time that fan got involved in the Million Dollar Man fight and they kept him in the federation. Maybe that's how Millione gets into "the show." Noteworthy Faces in Crowd: White guy with grills, Anthony Anderson look-alike. Solomon Wise tried to deliver Tailor his come-uppance during the "I Have A Dream" speech. That's some trife shit, for sure. Too bad his aim is terrible. His shit worse than Mike Vick. It's so terrible that I couldn't envision him ever engaging in self-defense. Wise would get his shit cracked missing by that wide a margin. Not only did he miss the punch by a mile, but he overshot the landing like Chester Cheetah. He absolutely drilled the back of that chair, though. Grade: D-. Booooooo, Mr. Wise! You should have cracked Tailor Made when he spit on you. Buddha hit him for a lot less and was allowed to stay. Neither New York nor VH1 management can say shit about that. They've let this shit get Springer on every level possible. As we leave this season's reunion episode with the title "Corniest, Fakest Bullshit Ever," I'd like to take the time to recognize VH1 Celebreality's first actual success story. No, not that Tailor Made and New York are still together and madly in love at the time of the reunion episode. We've managed to avoid finding New York pregnant with Tailor Made's baby. Flavor of Love 3 is right around the corner. You deeeig?!

2007 Rewind: Beyonce feat. Fabolous - "Get Me Bodied (Remix)" video

Yeah, I'll body that shit. In another pretentious display of Dreamgirl solidarity, Beyonce and her stable put the dicks down for a moment to combine in the bourgie eveningwear dance party that is the "Get Me Bodied" video. [watch above] I know this is not how it airs on The Negro Channel, but I figured it wouldn't do any harm to give 'Loso some shine. That is, unless Pastor Mase is still bitter. They need to find who did Queen B's wardrobe and charge them with war crimes. Yes, I compare that hideous dress with such horrendous acts against humanity as American slavery, the holocaust in Nazi Germany and mass slaughter/genocide in [insert African country here]. I hope this isn't their ugly-ass House of Dereon line because they got Beyonce lookin like something Captain Kirk would fuck on Star Trek. With that said, Beyonce could be green, scaly and in the late stages of a nasty bout with Hepatitis C. I'd still hit it. I've always been confused by the style of weave Beyonce chose. That shit defeats the purpose of weaving. One, you're not fooling anyone with that balero (ball-in-cup game) extension. Two, you end up looking like one of the Snorks. Oh, you know the damn song. Seriously, though. I can't even use it for leverage if I hit it from the back. It's completely fucking useless. If I wanted to fuck a Snork, I could tug as hard as I wanted. Sigh. It's nice to see Kelly and Michelle supporting their great matriarch. I say that like they don't spend 14 hours each day waiting by the red phone in the Dreamgirl house labeled "Beyonce Hotline." Solange is still in the house, so she knows she has to dance if she wants her allowance. That shit gotta stretch now too, Boo-Boo. Shorty got baby clothes and strained carrots to buy. Can't just blow it all on her boyfriend's Hennessey XO, Cush and Trojan-ENZ anymore. I cut on Solange a lot, but I love her. Obviously she's not much different from the rest of us. Solange wakes up to find empty, but obviously used ENZes on the other side of the bedroom in the morning too. Oh, don't act like I'm the only one that's been there. You could silence a .38 special with one of them shits. When you're ripped off that Hen-rock, the ENZ got to go. You know what else "got to go?" That aluminum slave in the cage. As usual, the choreography is exceptional. That's the video's saving grace. That and the fact that Beyonce's dancing with Mark Jackson. I can't with good conscience give the thumbs down to a clip that contains a Kid 'N Play kickstep. Correction: I can't with good conscience give the thumbs down to a clip that containts a Kid 'N Play kickstep in 5-inch heels. The way these clumsy bitches love to fall on their asses during performances, one of them is due for a timber. They jumpin around in them heels like we ain't seen any of them eat shit on national television. See that, Solange? Next time you get knocked up, yeen't gotta go and marry the nigga. You could just... perform somewhere and take care of that. You can initiate yourself as a full fledged Dreamgirl and take care of your "little problem" at the same time. Get 'em bodied, girl! They can't prove shit.

Chris W. Bosh's All-Star Appeal

Damn. The NBA got niggas sinkin to new lows for them, huh? Why the big Ying-Yang Twin gotta be G.W.? I guess if he were Chris W. Bosh he could just steal the fucking votes then.

Lisa Stansfield vs. Taylor Dayne: Who's The Blacker White Singer?

I tihnk it's high time I explained this week's poll question. Last week on Funkyminds, Jackpot had a post cataloging white chocolate. I took particular offense to the exclusion of one Ms. Lisa Stansfield. Granted, the list was exploratory in nature and by no means a definitive or even a thoroughly collection of any kind. It was just another one of Jackpot's post-lunch Itis-nap brainchildren. I still thought it criminal negligence of the highest degree to have a list like that, cite Taylor Dayne, and not even have Lisa Stansfield wander through your brainforest. That's like letting Jermaine Jackson sing lead and relegating Michael to backup. Exhibit A: Lisa Stansfield Tears Down Arsenio That's right. What's blacker than performing on "The Arsenio Hall Show?" You tell me. Taylor Dayne is absolutely terrifying. She looks like a blow-up doll. Blowsephine may be a tad more niggerish than Lisa Stansfield, but she don't got an iota of Lisa's soul. Not a single black-eyed pea's worth. Exhibit B: Even "The Man" Needs A Taste We ain't even discussing "All Around The World." That shit was so hot Barry White had to ignore his doctor's orders and slob down a slice of that angel cake. "She bad. She bad." Mmmm. Fuck with that, Taylor Dayne... with your plastic face and pornstar handle. Is that even your real name? No, it's not, Lisa Wunderman from Baldwin, Long Island. That's Barry there. He's lookin at Lisa like the chicken strip box! He'd pass your ass over like cauliflower. The real Lisa sings "All Around The World" with Barry White. Lisa Wunderman (from Baldwin, Long Island) would be lucky to sing "Tell It To My Heart" next to Alfonso Ribeiro. By the way, if you havent, you absolutely must see this. So yeah. Ummm... Vote for Lisa! --The one that rode with her natural snowflake name and still brought the soul to Londontown, that is. [Click here to read Jackpot's Taylor Dayne campaign]

The Boondocks Catch-Up: Stinkmeaner Strikes Back

"What's good, nigga?!" Ah, if only niggerdom and variations of niggardry therein could ward off the devil and his minions. If only we could, in fact, keep the devil down in the hole. Maybe then we could save our wayward, darkened souls. Sheeeeeeeiit, I'm writing that down! Soon you'll hear me sing that in the church house. Today's catechism comes from the book of Mexico. Please turn with me to the fourth chapter. In the seventh verse the word of hate reads: "Niggerish hands are the devil's workshop." Remember what I said, children. More memorable still is the advice of our people's presiding North Star. Ghostface Killah clasps both hands, still crusty, to offer an oracion of guidance to Huey. You can't kill an idea. You can't fight ignorance with violence. And you most certainly can't get 2 cracks for $9. Tom's possession by the spirit of Colonel Stinkmeaner resulted in a barrage of shit-talk that I still incur almost daily. "Oh, yeah! Look at you! You was poppin' all that good shit a second ago. Then you got kicked in yo' chest." It was also fun to hear Cedric Yarbrough get Rick James wit it. "Yeah, I remember grindin my feet in Eddie Murphy court." Despite how juvenile, my favorite quip of the episode comes during Grandpa's quest for booty with the hot forgein woman. "Did you tell her you got 2 sets of genitals? --A vagina and a coochie?" A nigga moment can take life, stunt growth and destroy opportunity. However, it'll never stop a negro in pursuit of booty. I'm glad Reverend Ruckus returned for an exorcism. By providing the same type of spiritual cleansing that his beloved white man has bestowed upon us for centuries he only brings the prophecies of the god and prophet Dennis Coles to fruition. "We must use these tools that the great God has given us to fight niggers." While most walked away from this episode with clarity, I left a little confused. This is not because I believe job applications and workboots to niggers are like holy water and garlic to Eddie Murphy in a perm wig. I now can't discern who channels the spirit of Stanley Crouch more, Uncle Ruckus or Stinkmeaner.

Missy Elliot's Doritos Commercial Spot

I know this ain't nothin' new but... Bitch back fuckin' with them Doritos, huh? I thought she was gonna keep it off too. For shame, Missy. "I know what it need. It need some pickle juice." Hee-hee-hee-hee-HOW!

Happy 2000-Hate!

Hope your new year is going fan-fucking-tastic. I'm sure your resolution was to have yourself some unprotected sex with a stranger. I know she doesn't, but it always sounds to me like Alicia Keys says "Niggas say what they like./" The hate is strong. I hope you're ready for a full calendar year of this independent hateration. May this year bring you everything your heart desires. --Or Herpes. Or a baby or something.

2007 Rewind: Yung Berg feat. Junior, Jim Jones & Rich Boy - "Sexy Lady [w/remix]" video

Some special people need to be addressed before we let a Mexico-shortened 2007 go. When I first saw this video, I said "Oh, my." I said "Oh, my... That's a fucking baby gremlin. Kill it! Kill it now!" Little baby gremlin niggas? Really, Sony pop R&B machine? That's what's hot in the streets? Fuck it. Let's just manufacture pit bulls that we can't kill. Dead all the confusion. The funny part is that he really thinks he's fucking T.I. when he actually looks like someone raised one of Michael Vick's dogs as a son. Be wary next time you see a nigga walking a pit bull with a doo-rag on. And who knew when they recorded this record that soon the lame Vick-related punchlines would bear an entirely different significance? Bringing the little nigga back to the realm of humanity, my good friend El Diablo hit it on the head when he told me "Yung Berg looks like a JV point guard." Is that Matt Barnes on the hook? The video: Same recipe as always. Add sugar, 2 scoops of stooch, 1 mini-rapper with Napoleon complex, 1 light-skinned R&B nigga. Shake well. Rush to BET offices with duffel bag full of $20 bills. The remix reveals the Lil' Fame in Berg. The director took far less precautions to make him look less gremlin. Jimmy, you stink. Pull your damn pants up. Ray Charles is a terrible rapper.

Roy Jones, jr. Visits Knicks Practice

I don't know what the fuck he talkin about. That nigga don't defend either. Maybe he's vying for that vacancy at point guard.

The Boondocks Catch-Up: "Thank You For Not Snitching"

"Suckas really shouldn't play. I hit 'em with the Hennessayyyyyy!" Fuck snitching, Thank You For Bringing Back Gin Rummy and Ed Wuncler III! I remember reading a Boondocks strip in one of our local tabloids when Bluetooth headsets started to pop off. Tom was wearing one and Huey made it a point to inform him that he looked part-Rihanna-- I mean, Klingon. I too refuse to sacrifice my dignity for fashion or technophilia. Once again, I am well pleased with the program's take on the cultural phenomenon that is the persecution of snitches. We've had snitches since the white man came over with the boats and the gun powder to steal us from Africa. We had snitches to the kings who sold us to the whites with the gun powder. Abel snitched on Cain. Judas snitched on Jesus. Nicky Barnes snitched on everyone. I grew up surrounded by the drug game. While the mantra remains that there's no honor among thieves, I've grown to observe quite the opposite. Snitching as it pertains to said game is a first-degree violation of an ethical code that makes the whole show go 'round. The violation primarily entailed giving niggas up once you got pinched. Despite how loosely the term is used today, this decree did not include civilians. While you surely wouldn't be safe if it were common knowledge that you had a high score on Crime Stoppers, informing the police on the whereabouts of your local child molester, i.e. Cam'ron on "60 Minutes." is NOT snitching. I repeat... NOT snitching! According to Huey Freeman, 1 in 12 black men are active and working police informants. I'm not sure where he gets his fact from, but if so, that's no more than a third of the percentage of black men with razor bumps in the post-Gillette Mach 3 era. That's not all that bad. As we all know, the authorities are looking for Mach 3-users whenever some shit goes down. White woman drowns her kids in a lake in broad daylight, somehow a Mach 3-user's face is plastered across every television network and the local neighborhood watch has militarized. Best believe the streets are fully militarized already. Niggas damn sure know how to destroy each other with ironworks. Unfortunately, when police cooperation is both appropriate and necessary, our brothers in blue don't effectively protect witnesses. I'm not talking about the rat bastards sitting in protective custody in Clinton Correctional Facility who thought selling crack was cool until he got popped. I'm talking about the 12-year-old who saw his classmate get murdered in an alley and won't make it to testify. We're expected to help the pigs "do their job" (translation: "collar a nigga") and they won't so much as uphold the former of their creed. They'll serve you a magazine of hollows while you're trying to parallel park though. You'll be just laying there bleeding with somebody standing over you talkin 'bout: "You know you done fucked up, right?"

Fuck A Christmas!

Happy Kwanzaa, everyone! Harrrrrrumbeeeyyy! This Kwanzaa we're getting The City all good and lined up for 2008: Year of the Hate! I chose that name because it rhymes. Thank you, Robin. Your long-overdue Boondocks blogs are finally on the way. As are brand new music video posts. We's even gonna have podcasts and a store! What are we gonna sell? Hmmmm. You wonder. BOY, STOP! We still got that hot sauce.

Jamie Lynn Spears Agrees To Marry R. Kelly

"Once again, it's on." - Treach By Ronaldo Horacio Mexico, Dissociated Press Writer ORLANDO - A matter of mere days after announcing her pregnancy at American Girl in Atlanta, 16-year-old actress Jamie Lynn Spears reveals that she is marrying her unborn child's father, embattled R&B star Robert "R." Kelly. Kelly, 40, on campus fulfilling his directorial contract to score and arrange all music for the 2008 Kids' Choice Awards, has obviously made time to touch more than just the shiny buttons whose labels he can't read. "She's like an angel. I can't remember the last time I've drawn such inspiration from something so lovely and pure. At her best she is loved." Kelly explained. "As far as the baby goes, that's a part of life. I really don't know why everybody trippin. It's not like we ain't gonna be able to feed the little nigga." Kelly further failed to comprehend the cause for public disenchantment with his engagement to the adolescent. "Everyone's acting like they're never seen an interracial relationship before. I mean, it's 2007, people. Real talk," Kelly persisted. Despite the negative attention and media frenzy surrounding the "Zoey 101" and former "All That" star, Nickelodeon top brass is not as concerned as one may expect. "Of course we only wish the best for Jamie Lynn and her family during this difficult time," said Corporate Communications Executive Vice President Dan Martinsen. "However, this is also an excellent opportunity for our network to continue to serve young people everywhere by having Jamie Lynn star in a SNiCK special on the issue of teen pregnancy." Most detractors believe the move is exploitative in nature. Still some believe that the proposal is an underhanded attempt to resurrect the cancelled SNiCK series "Roundhouse." "We'd welcome and appreciate Mr. Kelly's support and/or participation for such an initiative. We're also securing venues for the upcoming R. Kelly & Jamie Lynn tour that is yet-to-be-named." Martinsen would continue. Rival teen-show queen Raven Symone wasn't without comment regarding Spears' situation. "Yeah. That's because she's a nasty bitch who will open her little redneck mudflaps for any trucker with extra beef jerky snacks," asserted Symone, 21, "I'm 21 years old without any children, venereal diseases or questions of my character. And if I'm gonna fuck some dude, I'm at least going to ask him to pull out or swallow it or something." When asked what she thought about Nickelodeon potentially developing a SNiCK special on teenage pregnancy, the plus-sized actress exploded. "Lord Disney would never run some immoral, godless shit like that. I'm surprised any network would allow itself to be dragged down to trailer park level that way. It all comes from their hometraining. Their mother [Lynne Spears] did wrong by them girls. There's just no need to endorse that type of behavior and lifestyle." Lynne Spears, whose parental miscues always make front page news, hit redneck mothering rock bottom sometime last month when she agreed to drinks and a friendly hand of poker with R. Kelly and Japanese businessman Kyoko Fujiyashi. Lynne Spears ended up losing Jamie Lynn's parental rights to a straight flush. "She thought she was cute when she caught that nut straight on the turn," Kelly recalled. "I knew I had the low straight, but they was all clubs. I'm the king of the clubs! I told her somebody's girl was at this party! She was coming home with me too. Come on. I had to give it to her. Chi-Town!" According to Kelly, the arrangement has already produced over 30 Nickelodeon-ready singles that should "bust open those little kids' shit." What remains to be seen is if Jamie Lynn and Robert will stand the test of time or go back, back, forth and forth.

I Love New York 2: Finale Sunsplash!

Dem a call us piraaaates. Dem a call us illegal protesters. Just because we blog what the people want. Welcome to Jamaica, where slavery apparently still exists. "I don't know what the hell I'm going to do on this plantation." - New York Really? So you don't like the plantation, Miss New York? Eh, don't worry. You're already a slave. Not no classy slave like Thomas Jefferson's bitch. No, you're that sweaty, broke-down, back of the chicken coop slave with wheat stalks dangling from her nappy mane pretending to be blond like massa's wife and daughter. Yes. I said it. "Tailor Made buys me nice gifts. Buddha got me a teddy bear with a hole in it." - New York I liked the empty box from Tailor Made. He is the cheesiest, corniest, end of "Pretty In Pink"-stealinest rich bum I've ever seen, but that one was clever enough for Fuckwheat. I also love how the program centralizes on Tailor Made's jealousy. You can't stand to see New York with other guys, yet you are a contestant on "I Love New York 2." Yes, that makes a ton of sense, hairplug. I knew Tailor Made was a bitch, but I did NOT expect to see him howling and crying like his first night in federal prison. He's stir crazy after a couple of hours? No, he's just crazy. Yet, who's here to console Taylor Dane? Ah, yes. The ManBearPig who unloads the most ridiculous notion of the entire series. "You are part German, right? You call upon your German ancestors... Your descendants." - Sister Patterson Wow. A black woman just implied that a white man should use Nazi tactics on her offspring. Did you guys notice how nice Tailor Made's dad was? He's trying to escape that public relations disaster he inherited from his folks. Shit, even the pope was Hitler Youth. ManBearPig then gave Tailor the official Hilter-Rommel pep-talk. I'm pretty sure that's how they did it behind closed doors. I don't know how well that's going to work. Tailor Made looks like he's got a little Ricky Ricardo in the tank. So, listen. I got niggas jugglin fire. I got slaves. I want this night to be perfect. All she was missing was that Buddha dick. Oh, who are we kidding? She's already 2 months pregnant by him. Tailor Made's cliff jump symbolized the dropping of his balls. It all comes full-circle. You dive balls-first into a Jamaican woman. Then you dive balls-first into Jamaica for a woman. Let's stick with balls. Sure, you're got a ton of money, but it takes some hairy coconuts to go buy an engagement ring like that. No, it doesn't take balls to buy an engagement ring for New York on a nationally-televised reality show. It takes balls to purchase or otherwise carry anything worth more than $50.00 USD anywhere on the island of Jamaica. If either of those cliff jumpers peeped that ring her splooge-covered finger would be in the chicken foot soup pot. With a DG Kola Champagne on the side... Maybe a bottle of Ting if they're feeling freaky. If you missed the broadcast, thank EweToube user "tanishaw" for the complete final episode without interruption. Seen. ..and there it is. She chooses Tailor fucking Made. How Buddha didn't realize that the ring wasn't for him was a testament to just how self-centered he is. The balls have come full-circle and now comes the g-g-gullibility. In a strange way, Tailor Made and New York are perfect for each other. A whore needs a trick. They've got a two-way street going in that regard. New York goes on the dollar stroll and Tailor Made once again gets to ride the Hershey Highway. All's well that ends well, I suppose. Can't wait for the reunion episode... and the third season. You know this shit ain't gonna last.

I Love New York 2: The Stooch In Review - "The Final Four"

It's only fair that we give proper shine to the four finalists of "I Love Flavor Flav's Leftovers 2." (In order of departure) The Entertainer: Frankie the Entertainer really showed his garlic knots before his time was up. He held the Guido back for as long as he could but the arrival of his parents was the marinara on the fettuccine. His pops was cool; far cooler than I'd expect from, you know... Eye-talian guys. I saw "A Bronx Tale." I could only imagine what kind of parmagiana Tony Ravioli would make out of his talking eggplant queen. ManBearPig may have been right on her assessment of Frankie as unstable, volatile and threatening, but she had no reason to foul on his parents the way she did. Susta Patterson ultimately said "Fuck you, Frankie and the Olive Garden you came from." What ultimately did him in was that he worked for fucking UPS and lived with his parents. There wasn't any amount of toe-sucking that was gonna make up for the fact that he was some kind of triclops gnocchi monster trapped in the basement. With that said, New York and her mother set black women back farther than the "Tip Drill" video by lambasting The Entertainer's parents with a unified front of indiscriminately disrespectful behavior. They were one head short of Ugly Bitch Cerberus. Throw Dionne Warwick up there and you got three heads. I'm sorry. New York is gonna look like Danny Glover when she's her mother's age. I don't know if there was some Reparations sentiment behind that shit or what. Them bitches acted like they found the family that used to own them back in the 1700s. I thought it was pretty cold to make the parents stick around for the elimination to hear those terrible things from that delusional, battered stripper. I never noticed his third eye until the clip show. Then I became more frightened than Sammy Davis, jr. walking through his neighborhood without Sinatra and Dean-o. Ron Mexico enters your establishment through the fucking front door, you hear me? Punk: I guess Punk leaving second-to-last afforded him the ability to do what he really wanted to do with his lawyerin' degree and frosted-tip S-Curl. But really, Punk. What the fuck, holmes? What, you on SMACK DVD as a manwhore for hire, David Otunga? Whose dick did you plan to suck in that limo? "Look at me! I'm taking Moet to the head! I just bagged Buckeey. That wasn't hard at all." I wonder who everyone at Ciara's party thought this man was. This party wasn't long after the show first aired, right? Eh, I'm sure no one could tell. Punk probably ended his night doing a line off Ne-Yo's dick. I ain't never seen so many shots of a nigga dancing by himself with a bottle of Mo'. Before we all found out he was a party boy, Punk seemed like the safest, most responsible option of all of the guys when he wasn't a greasy cocaine gorilla. Unfortunately, Tiffany doesn't want anything to do with anything rational, responsible or safe. She bought the Spalding Never-Flat titties. Her nipples twist out to little silicone pumps. It's truly horrific. Speaking of nipple twisting... --So his mother's an old Jewish lady? I'm not seeing the resemblance. I see it between the mother and his sister because they look like the same type of touchdown. That would mean that she did, in fact, climb that gefilte fish up onto the African soupbone at some point... which is hysterical. His name is Otunga. That sounds pretty African. He's light-skinned enough to have come from a white woman via natural birth, though. I'm guessing he's the type of privileged African halfzie that could go to a good enough school to do the lawyer thing. ...or they're just adopted. P.S.: You should have let that giant deadly dodo bird rip New York's intestines out. Buddha: Buddha's dad was pretty much exactly what I expected. He's an Uncle Ben-ass, preachy-ass, self-righteous Farrakhan style motherfucker. I guess the bean pie doesn't fall too far from the mosque. Strangely enough, the G-Unit wifebeater model's game wasn't apparent to our veteran judge of character. Miss New York ate up every monosyllabic word he threw at her as long as it came with that chocolaty velvet fog of his. He almost fingerbanged her at the dinner table in front of Punk and Taylor Dane. Luckily for New York, she denied his appendage entry as it probably just came out of the cank stooch of Miss Vietnamese. You don't want too much going on in the petri dish. You don't wanna end up with a Princess Clara. I don't know why Punk and them thought he was flirting. That little Asian girl is part of the room package. Buddha's analysis of New York's preferred erotic stimulus was pretty damn accurate. Homegirl gets off on drama, not penis. With that understanding, one would have thought Buddha had the competition in the bag as he provided more than one man's share. Unfortunately we're dealing with a capricious, ignorant pill-popping cum muppet and the producers that control her every move. Say hello to Mark Cronin and Cris Abrego, everyone! We might as well. They've kept me in business for over 2 years now. Tailor Made: We'll give Miami's big winner and Jamaica's big loser the due he deserves when we put the touches on this series later today.

**Newsflash** New York Chooses Tailor Made!

Like, FORREALS! [much] more to come...

Snoop Dogg's Father Hood: Welcome 2 Tha Dogg House

We interrupt this "I Love New York 2" overdose to bring you this very important announcement: I mean... it's almost like when Thugnificent moved to Woodcrest. What a terribly scripted intro. I haven't seen acting that bad since the last time I saw Snoop Dogg acting. He should have shotgunned that little tar baby of his. I wonder how many times she's walked in on him "working on music, baby." What? You don't smell that music, mane? Yes, as expected, Snoop Dogg is high at all times. Also, as excpeted with Snoop Dogg being a black man, he absolutely abhors going to the doctor. This nigga don't watch "Grey's Anatomy" or "Scrubs" or nothin. What's unexpected is that a crip-ass, murderin'-ass nigga such as Tha Doggfather is afraid of needles. I guess for his frame a needle puncture is like a .45 shell wound. This nigga officially falls into the category of sickly. He ain't like needles since that time he saw his uncle nod off on a bad bag of chunky. Was it me or did his doctor's office look like a porn set? In fact, I seen his doctor on MILF Hunter. Everything she said on camera came out sounding as if she were offering to wax his jimmy like she needed the rock and Snoop was G-Money. Surprise! The black man is stressed out with high blood pressure. 9 out of every 10 black men hear the same diagnosis whenever they finally drag themselves in to see a doctor. These kids are some lazy, ridiculous fucks. Let me get this right. This big, sloppy Eddy Curry with and extra chromosome motherfucker they got in the house doesn't clean up after himself? Isn't he like-- not even their child? Oh, hell-to-the-no! Big Anthony better get his ass on all fours and ride Snoop Dogg's high-yellow offspring to the bathroom cabinet like Falcor. Just because you have a cleaning lady doesn't mean you have to be a lazy, nasty fuck. Apparently these children lack the guidance of an appropriate father figure. It doesn't look like they are getting much out of the hypersexual smoke cloud in the garage. Snoop better check his bitch. He might be raising a couple of Layzie Bone's kids. I love Snoop's little "high-as-hell" dance for the commercial segues. Wow, Snoop really is a fucking dog. Every time you see him he's ogling some girl. That poor little Japanese girl was terrified. Snoop should know better than to just run up on her like that. Play it cool, big homie. That's why they sell her soiled drawers in the vending machine in the lobby. Snoop's libido and surley chronic-induced verbal diarrhea led me to a moment in the show that made me embarrassed for black people. If I were in that yoga class with them white folks and when told to "open our hips" some nigga like Snoopnificent says "I got somethin to open your hips up," I'd be as red as a brown nigga can get. I'd be burnt sienna. Sure, I'd be thinking the exact same thing, but I wouldn't be disrupting class with it like I did in 4th grade with the Nice 'N Smooth lyrics. "Sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick./" Then I added on some shit that rhymed with dick. Ms. Gibson heard me and tossed my black ass like an unruly slave off the Amistad. After Snoop realizes that yoga isn't going to work and he doesn't wanna keep paying for his bodyguard's sweat damage to the hardwood floor, he runs back to his doctor for another suggestion to relieve his Nigritis. He's excited as hell about the Eastern Medicine suggestion. "Yeah, Doc. I'm more into Eastern medicine. That Chocolate Thai with a massage with the happy ending. You know what time it is!" Indeed we do. Snoop better be careful they don't make his ass the next Flavor Flav. Parting Shot: Snoop need to stop smokin all them damn blunts and get to beatin some ass. Rev Run's kids ain't nasty like that. Maybe he needs to watch these new episodes of Run's House after his shit airs.

Soulja Boy TellEm: I Got A New Dance For Y'all Called "The Sweet 'N Low!"

I'm just saying. This is a rainbow district mating ritual. "Sssssh!-- ...and the African-American Salad Bird spreads its MiAKA feathers to attract a mate." Oooh. I must be gettin mad. He got him some bathing apes. Is this guy the A-rab he says he's going to "pass it to" on one of his previous classics? This shit is like a Mad TV sketch of itself. I am truly amazed by this divine caricature. I feel like I'm watching a car wreck. Not because I am watching a gay man perform, mind you. I love me some homos. No homo. I'm just saying that I am watching a closet case unable to hold it back, and that has to be some painful shit. BET Afterschool Special material. No, they don't exist. But if The Negro Channel wants to talk paper, I'll write some up. I'll start with "Real Talk: The Souljaboy Tellem Story." Damn, homie. And I was just about to discuss Bow Wow and Omarion's prison honeymoon, "Face Off" and the forthcoming BET reality series. Shit. I probably will anyway.

I Love New York 2: The Stooch In Review - "Actors Need Love Too, Baby!"

Before we explore how many derivatives of female genitalia these freaks saw in their ink blots, let's get these out of the way. Buddha, you on "Hell Date!" ...and you're gay! While the gentlemen were given over for psychoanalysis, the show behind the show was our forceful re-introduction to Miss New York as the undisputed queen of synthetic drama. Yes, synthetic drama differs from organic drama. After finding out Buddha had previously been a contestant on *GASP* reality television programs, CB4 goes ballistic on our boy, Ezra. The funny part is how he tried to differentiate the firmaments of garbage that "Hell Date" and "I Love New York 2" reside within. "Come on baby, that was just some old BET bullshit." That's low of VH1 to even go there. Like I Love New York is fucking Dateline. I Love New York ain't even To Catch A Predator. Then, where does "reality star" Tiffany "Janice" Pollard get off shitting on Buddha Man for working the same circuit as she? Fuck you, sexpot muppet! She'd be a spectacle regardless of Flavor Flav. If she didn't make the cut for "Flavor of Love" she'd be getting paid to fuck on stage in a Russian bar. Gorilla suit optional. On the side of virtue and giving these sociopaths the benefit of the doubt, “Actors need love too.” Unfortunately for Punk, no matter how much S-Curl, coke and steroids he brings to the table, New York isn't really down for his sweet ass. He should have ran behind his lover, Pretty. As we get down to the real business of the program, that being finding someone to diss New York in time for the reunion special in 3 weeks, Mr. Wise obviously had to go. His Charlie Chaplin of the Ghetto routine having run its course, homie can leave this program as the greatest anomaly in Abrego/Cronin history. At least Mr. Boston was interesting, you know? [More catch-up to come]

I Love New York 2: The Stooch In Review - "Girlfriends and Sisters"

Alright guys. Sorry for missing a few of these, but here we go. How funny was this shit? Before "The Parent Trap" came this year's "Ex-Girl To The Next-Girl" episode starring Tailor Made, Buddha, Mr. Wise, Frankie Goomba the Entertainer, Punk and Pretty. I don't think they could have dreamed of a more eclectic and entertaining collection of ex and "okay-with-all-this-fuck-shit-so-long-as-we-get-paid" girlfriends. I had 2-to-1 odds going that Mr. Wise's ex was gonna be a chocolate animal woman. She didn't have to fluff up his chocolate stick all unprovoked like that. In doing so, she revealed herself as a helper character. What I did NOT expect was Tailor Made's Jamaican bumboclot he married. Sure, you can like black women. Shit. A man ain't a man until he split the dark oak. The Jamaican woman, however, is an entirely different animal... er, umm... tree? As soon as I heard that accent I got flashbacks to getting my ass whipped in ways they'd lock a bitch up for in the States. This must be where his penchant for punishment comes from. He's all about the sugar cane beatings and Blue Montain Curry Powder in his tossed salad. Entertainer's woman was... sizeable, yes. No, she wasn't no 300-pound, half-Arctic seal-lookin broad. She was just Jersey. That's how they get down out there. Those bitches are at no shortage of meat-and-cheese pasta. As long as she's not some racist fucktard from the interior it's really all good, people. What was not all good was how homegirl dropped the nail that would eventually be driven into his coffin. There is no way New York is ending up with some package handler that lives in his parents' basement. "Nigga, please. You work for UPS." - Biz Markie "Don't be mad. UPS is hiring." - The Notorious B.I.G. "Special Delivery!" - G-Dep (now working at FedEx) Buddha's ex-girlfriends are all either still in the hospital from dicklash or have restraining orders, so his sister had to come out. Pretty's ex-girlfirends couldn't make the trip to Los Angeles to be on television because they were all... um... in the Astronaut Training Facility... in Atlanta. Yeah. That's it. So, his sister had to come out too. Keeping true to the "Flavor of Love" franchise format, New York and ManBearPig have face-to-face, woman-to-wildlife time with the contestants' loved ones while some special, secret, trustworthy guests of hers "interrogate" the men. I don't think anyone was surprised to see detectives Chance and Real on the case. We were due for a Stallionaire cameo, weren't we? High out of their minds, Chance and Real get the job done with interrogation questions like: "How did you get that scar across your lip?" "Snitchin!" "Why are you going bald?" "Do you strip, homie? Do you dip, homie?" I was hoping he'd expand on that one and ask "Do you spin the package around while you do your little dance?" While the weed cop/sherm cop routine worked on most, it backfired on perhaps the least likely contestant. Punk wasn't having any of that bullshit. He may be a little effeminate, but you won't be Punking Punk on national TV, especially when you look like Cam'ron and Jim Jones after the doctors told them there was nothing more they could do. Unfortunately for Pretty, he didn't corroborate his story with his co-defendant. There is a clear and cut problem when you say your mother and sister, whom you are inseparably close to, know every woman you've ever dated, yet your sister says she's never met a single one. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, that could just have been a situation of sister-girl lying to protect brother-man's privacy. However, the ties, the glitter pen, the bounce in his step and the sugar in his speech lead us to believe he's more than likely hiding the sausage if anything. Pretty's trapped in the closet!!! When New York approached the door to open it, Pretty pulled out his Beretta. "Pretty, do you know what time it is? I gotta meet my mo--" "Fuck yo' ass, bitch! Sorry, mama. Why the fuck everybody think I'm gay?" A nearly-outed Pretty wasn't the only one to pop off and be asked to leave the rent-a-mansion. Chance blew his chance at being invited back into the house by getting back on his Dipset shit. We all know the type. Famous will bark and fight the air knowing damn well he don't wanna get a mudhole stomped into his ass by one of these gargantuan negroes New York got floating around this time. Shit. Opening day looked like the clearance sale at Western Beef. Some of the niggas were even branded. While Pretty excused himself before the top on his Pringles got popped, Mr. Wise's sorry ass had to be dragged out in the next episode. Someone please explain to me how this man was able to get to the top 5? Was New York feeling his songs or some shit? I never understood his appeal. Ah, well. There are plenty more tar babies out there in search of the banana for their tailpipes. Too bad your "rap career" will always be affiliated with you publicly trying to fuck Man-ManBearPig. I'll hit you guys later today with the rest... AND what I thought of Snoop Dogg's Fatherhood!

The Boondocks Catch-Up: Let It Burn!

"So many days. So many hours... --And the installation is freeeeeeee!" Sometimes you're out to dinner with your woman and Tyrese sits down at the table next to you. Sometimes your woman gets to her "Sweet Lady" fantasy happy place and shows Tyrese all 32 teeth and vaginal smile. Sometimes you gotta head home and take the L. It's a perfectly normal and realistic occurrence. Wouldn't let that shit happen to meeee, though. If you'll remember from "The Passion of Ruckus," Tom hates Usher... and Kobe. So this is akin to me having (a purely hypothetical) Mrs. Mexico taken away from me by... I don't know... Some little gremlin motherfucker like Cassidy. The funny thing is, you gotta let a bird fly. Sometimes another player knocks your girl off the strip. What you gonna do? Sit around and cry about it? Confront the player and catch a 15-yard penalty regardless how it plays out? Shit. You don't even confront the pigeon. "Now, now. There won't be any of that." Eddie Murphy's anecdote alludes to a bitchmade, square-ass nigga who got the game fucked up. A true player shouldn't have to shackle or beat a bitch. We'll explore this notion a little further later. White woman sure do got a big heart. She just wanted to be entertained by that negro Ron Mexico column and went home with a face full of man mustard. She came for the Throwback Thursday and left with the whole package of Toll House cookie dough in her mouth. This discussion is a scenario in which my inner Riley doesn't prevail. It doesn't matter if you lose your woman to T.I. or Gary Coleman. You lost her. Somehow your ho that you were supposed to have locked down done got the notion that licking Gary Coleman's ashy balls was better than life with you. With that said. I think we all have a short list of people that we would leave any relationship for. Fuck. Gary Coleman is on some woman's list. I'm sure of it. Needless to say, Tom DuBois "doing the music video thing" to Usher's "Burn" was incredible. Cedric Yarbrough puts in strong performance after strong-- Car! --um, performance, but McGruder got a little extra out of Jones.E this episode. Let it be known to all that I have incorporated "Sexy-Flexy-Ass Nigga" into my active vocabulary. I do thank The One World God that they brought A Pimp Named Slickback... back. He and I are Charles Xavier/Magneto on this issue. While APNS believes Chronic Bitch Dependency, or CBD, is an illness of some sort that can and should be cured, Ron Mexico believes that CBD is genetic and we should allow those who "suffer from" it to continue to fall victim to natural selection. Who's going to break their pockets on the bitches and hoes if we "cure" something as natural as Advanced Trickin' Syndrome? Then we'd all be "sans trique" as the French would say. Who would we be able to get over on? I found the dream sequence hysterical. You know. The one where Tom reminisces on he and Sarah's "happy" life and we see that she's been bored beyond the help of her Magic Bullet. Something inside me wanted to yell: "Told you 'bout messin with them white girls! She on the couch thinkin about Chad Pennington!" Until I decided that Julie probably wouldn't fuck me if I said any of that aloud. It was bad enough that I had her watching "I Love New York" and making my popcorn. With all that said, had I blurted that shit out, I'd have to... you know... let a ho fly. "You better make that G4 work, bitch and stop playin' with me." - Quote of the Episode! This is why you don't confront the player. Thomas got the appropriate result for slapping Urshurr. It ain't Urshurr's fault your snowflake is diggin him. You know the name of the game. Your bitch chose Sexy-Flexy! Tom's just lucky she didn't take his ass to the cleaners like Strahan and bounce with the mulatto. That's all you're setting yourself up for anyway when you get married. Lesson: Don't get fucking married.

Rest In Peace, Pimp C!

Damn. As if my week wasn't fucked up enough already! I'm seriously heartbroken right now. Diamonds up against that wood.

Mets Turn To New York Streets For Pitching Help

By Ronaldo H. Mexico, Dissociated Press Writer WASHINGTON HEIGHTS - A day before baseball's winter meetings begin New York Mets General Manager Omar Minaya believes he may have found a solution for his club's pitching woes. Strangely enough, it doesn't involve trading for American League aces Johan Santana or Danny Haren. Minaya, whose surprisingly smug demeanor in the wake of last September's monumental collapse continues to baffle reporters and fans alike, responded to questions about plans to bolster his team's pitching staff yesterday afternoon during an appearance at the Mets' Clubhouse store in Midtown. "Actually, I am going to a series of very important meetings addressing our pitching needs immediately after I finish scaring these children." Minaya told reporters through an interpreter while cradling a traditional Dominican storybook. "You all are more than welcome to follow me if you want." The Mets executive then murmured a remark that best translates to "No sweat from my balls." Minaya led a handful of sports writers to the Broadway subway line, emerging 20 minutes later from the 145th Street station of the 1 train. After a brief lunch at El Caridad Restaurant he walked his ever-curious flock across the fabled land bridge that has become a rite of passage for now millions of displaced Dominicans. "Welcome to Riverbank State Park. It's getting cold, but you'll still find the hardcore Dominicans out here playing." Hardcore Dominicans they would find indeed. On a 30-degree afternoon and lacking traditional equipment, the gladiators of turf and concrete engaged without regard to the unkind elements. Rudelvyn Santana, whose 94-mph tennis ball rang up 11 inebriated weed dealers also earned him an invitation to a Mets winter league affiliate. "I guess iss the sang chee [same *explicit*], ju know?" Santana bravely questioned without the help of an interpreter. "I put Manny [Ramirez] on his ass right here last summer. Nobody see." The Mets hope Santana can replicate the fortunes of the Cleveland Indians, who three years earlier found a sockless wunderkind on this very astroturf. Most baseball fans are well familiar with Fausto Carmona's sinker. Most aren't familiar with his Wilson tennis ball or blue Super Bounce. "There are just as many Dominicans here in West Harlem as there are in all of Santo Domingo. I let Carmona get away a couple years ago." Minaya said just 2 days after trading top outfield prospect Lastings Milledge to the Washington Nationals for a plate of mangu con salami frito. "From this point forward I plan to take full advantage of my proximity to this overlooked wellspring of talent." Area residents can expect a sharp spike in tennis ball sales from the Rite Aid on the corner of 145th Street and Broadway.

Congratulations, Bone Thugs -N- Harmony!

Despite one member being incarcerated and the other on a 4-year crack binge on the sun, Bone Thugs -N- Harmony as a collective has once again emerged to societal relevance. Their victory last night at the American Music Awards for Best Rap Group, Enslemble, Minstrel Show or Duo certainly warrants some praise for the hardest-working potheads in the Hard-Ass R&B business. As you all know, "Lil' Love" is probably the single that pushed them over the edge. I know Akon's feature on "I Tried" didn't hurt, but Mariah Carey might as well just cut the bullshit and join the group. She can be Bizzy's official replacement, Slurp-N-Bone. Anyway. Congrats again to my favorite rap group from my high school days. Good to see them still puttin in that work and paying that child support. R.I.P. Eazy-E. Use your condoms, children.

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?