Last week, I praised MTV for putting transgendered woman in the spotlight via America's Best Dance Crew. Leomi reps the NY ballroom seen as part of Vogue Evolution, ABDC's first gay and transgender dance crew. The crowd loves her and them, and you can bet your knock-off Gucci bag that every ballroom kid in NY pulls out their crafted/boosted cell phone and texts in their votes weekly.
Thank you Lil Mama.
BET has also reached new heights (or lows, depending on how you view the situation) this season. With their new programming, BET expanded its cast of reality show "stars" to include two loveable, inspirational rapper semen-receptacles, Tiny & Toya.
How many bags of silky yaky do you think Tiny had to give Toya to have her name first in the title?? Toya is tolerable. After initially writing her off as another rapper baby mama who was just the latest beneficiary of television's apparent reality show free-for-all, I've come to respect Toya. Kinda.
Then there's Tiny.
(deep breath)
Where to begin?
Ah, yes.
If Desperate HouseRenters of Atlanta's NeNe is a trainwreck, then Tiny is a mid-air jumbo jet collision...with a bunch of special kids and cute puppies on board.
Tiny is the resident albino of xtinct 90's R&B group Xscape. She shows uneducated and otherwise hopeless chicks across Atlanta and the world that the "way out" is to spread those tatted-up legs to a drug dealer and/or gun-toting rapper and pray to Saint Soulja Boy for the best results. As I've repeatedly expressed to my peers, I never remembered her being such a sloppy, garbling, country, McWretched mess. I guess back then, the emphasis was more on sangin' (and, apparently, cranking out dumpy-looking babies), with little emphasis on actual speech. All we needed to know was that these chicks would rock the latest hood styles and would sing their asses off.
Watching Tiny brings several things to mind. For one, I imagine her chilluns must pray every night to wake up the next day less and less like their mother. I was tempted to consult Google for any reported cases of strokes that only affect the bottom half of one's face.
I'll go ahead and say it: that top lip clearly has its own hearteat and publicist. As Toya would say, "it just wanna do iss own thang." A Tracy Morgan-like effect also comes to mind: there is entirely TOO much space (at LEAST two fingers)between the nose and that unruly ass top lip. And I don't trust it.
Whew.
Despite all of that, I applaud the girls' efforts to better themselves. With her two groups, the "OMG Girlz" and "Juice", Tiny's jumping back into music. Good job. Toya is allegedly engaged in a "bidding war" (her words) to publish her book. Silky Yakytastic.
the OMG Girlz!The bigger achievement is that the world now realizes that even without all necessary chromosomes or control over your top lip, you can get our own reality show. Those of you who laughed at that "touched" kid in your 5th grade class (assuming she went that far) could soon be watching them spend their incarcerated spouse's money while raising their unsuspecting, overfed kids week after week on BET.
Think twice before you chortle at the thought of that string of drool hanging on Lil Tiny's lip. SHE and her former bandmate Kandi (who stars on Desperate HouseRenters of Atlanta) have abandoned English and created their own language, apparently. What have YOU contributed to society?
*silence*
That's what I thought.
The season/series finale aired tonight on BET, making room for everybody's favorite junkie mom, FRANKIE (the preschool bombing to Tiny's jumbo-jet collision). Mo' coonin' comin' yo way, folks!
Stay tuned.
also found at Judgmentally Yours...
-chris.alexander
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nutcase chinese woman misses her flight. and i love her for it.
because in America, she'd be tasered and/or shot like 30 seconds in. the fact that they let her carry on for minutes is amazing to me.
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This is a double post, also found at my spot over @ honeymag.com, "Judgmentally Yours...". My letter to a newly famous man, the murderer of Mr. Michael Joseph Jackson.
link to article: HERE
Dear Dr. Conrad Murray,
(Note: For those of you who have been living under a rock or in the Bronx, Dr. Conrad Murray is the cardiologist who had been MJ's cardiologist. He was responsible for administering the fatal dose of Propofol that eventually led to Michael Jackson's death.)
killer of global icons
How goes it, sir?
Death threats, huh? Yea, I can only imagine...
Listen, I know you've seen better days, but I would be doing you a disservice if I didn't take a minute to share some words with you.
*gestures to (electric) chair*
Let's chat.
I guess there's no easy way to say it, so I'll come right out with it. Your days are numbered.
Whew. That wasn't so hard. Now I'll tell you why.
You must be well aware of your predicament. In short, you killed Michael Jackson. Not Tito. Not Marlon. Not Freddie or Samuel L...but MICHAEL JACKSON, the man who provided decades of joy and wonder to fans worldwide, and provided an (unattainable) example for Usher, Ne-Yo, Chris Brown, Ciara (or so she says), and countless other entertainers past and present.
As of today, Dr. Murray, Michael Jackson's death is now being treated as a homicide. This also begins a countdown until yours.
Aside from not knowing that you can't administer CPR to a person who's (1) lying on a bed or (2) already dead, you saw fit to enlist the help of others in an effort to cover your tracks. You rang up employees to have them dispose of evidence back at the office and company storage unit. What the hell would possess you to entrust your dirty work to two sisters named LaQuisha and LaQuanda?!?!
Of COURSE they'd give conflicting stories. Those broads were damned and destined for nothing short of implosion from birth with those names, but that's besides the point.
A word of advice: If you're going to kill Michael Jackson, the ONLY next step is to then, immediately, kill yourself. Do NOT pass GO. Do NOT phone a friend.
To date, between 12 and 15 grieving fans have chosen ending their lives as the best way to deal with the pain. What will stop the same lot of folks who piss on themselves, faint, vomit, and spontaneously combust at the mere sight of Michael from putting a bullet in that skinny little head of yours??
Some things you just don't do. You don't smoke Auntie Claudine's last Newport then ask to use her WIC card. You don't trust colored people with colored contacts. You don't support BET. And you you don't kill Michael Joseph Jackson.
I believe it's worth mentioning that this is THE one instance where LaToya's nose is not to blame for tragedy in Michael's life, but I digress...
Expect not an ounce of pity from anyone. You've also made life hell for your family, I'm sure. It must suck to be the sibling/father/wife/friend/mailman of the man that killed the King of Pop. Can you imagine the shame you've brought to the woman who pushed you out of her cursed 'gina all those decades ago?!?!? If she was smart, she would have put you in a leglock and strangled that ass at birth when she had the chance.
You win some, you lose some, I suppose. And, as the song goes, you just lost one. I'd tell you to go f*ck yourself, but that's the one thing you did do correctly. When you get to hell, save a spot for R. Kelly, mmkay? Thanks.
Judgmentally yours...
chris.alexander
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hear ye, hear ye...
the kid is now a featured blogger on honeymag.com!
much love to Charles Wade for the recommendation. i'll be contributing regularly over there, so be sure to bookmark it/join and check back for updates.
without further ado: Judgmentally Yours...
go and comment regularly PLEASE.
love, peace, and zebra cakes.
later bitches.
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happy friday kids.
so, here's one of my favorite blogs from last winter. i introduced the world to the object of my infatuation, miss "wind & fire." please proceed with caution. her overwhelming glamour and brilliance may make your heart explode. and i shall not be held responsible.
enjoy!
-------------
First off, let me welcome you to my 24th year of life. I thoroughly enjoyed my birthday, and had a very productive day. I had an excellent workout, worked on choreography for a few hours….
…had a fruitless talk with a manager (big, dramatic eye roll), and saw a few of my favorite people on this earth. Good times indeed.
If this coming year are anything like the past few weeks are, I am certain that I’ll have an amazing year. The people that have been placed in my life have had a tremendous impact on me, some good and some bad…but all very necessary.
Some people alter from the course of your life at first sight. Take, for example, the superfly ass specimen I cam across (read: ran down the train platform to have a closer look at) while on the way home.
Consider your life changed.
Now. When This pretty young thing flew past me on the train, my mouth dropped and my heart fell out of my ass. Very few times we are so overwhelmed by a being’s beauty that out breath is ACTUALLY taken away. No words from Alex, only action. I felt compelled to capture this woman’s wonder to share with the world…to give other helpless, lost broads out there something to aspire to. So, I sprinted down the train platform so that I could behold this precious lamb of God. Fuck Beyonce, Tyra, and even Rihanna….THIS is classic, effortless beauty.
I shall call her “Wind & Fire.” There’s nothing Earthly about whatever it is that she exudes, that’s for sure.
Who else do you know that can jump out a window, have their hair (see footnote) get stuck in the air, make all the nail polish fly off one hand, and apply eye shadow with a pink crayon ALL before hitting the ground??? …and STILL look better than any of those so-called “Top Models” you see on TV…with minimal effort??
Surely not that floozie Beyonce.
Hmphf!
What do YOU know about blue nails on one hand,
purple lipstick,
a casually-placed (okay…askew) red wig
and shopping sprees at “BALLERS Clothing and Shoes”???
And what do YOU know about wearing your “going home to be with Jesus” makeup at ALL times JUST in case God calls you home unexpectedly, and to keep yourself one step ahead of these bargain bin skeezers on the block??
Not a damn thing.
Wind & Fire is READY for the runway, the magazine cover….AND the damn coffin. She’s even practicing her legendary, sick ass couture coffin pose while you silly broads listen to ipods, read BOOKS, and other nonsense.
Meanwhile, some of you are still walking around with kinky twists (YEARS beyond those few months in 2005-2006 when they were actually fashionable), unibrows, mismatched, multicolored weave, AND brown gums!!?!??
You want folks to take you seriously…
…AND you expect a man to put a ring on it??
HA!
What do you have to say for yourself?
Good luck, you poor, lost souls.
It’s 2009. Ladies, step your game up. You’ve been warned.
_______
**“their” is used loosely. the jury is still out on whether store-bought hair can actually be considered your hair.
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"ju like mi eyebrows?"because last night while being a fatty in the drive through, the MexiCoon cashier told me as i drove off (VERY seriously, and nonjokingly):
"okay my friend. have a night good."
...thus, making my week.
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