I'm gonna put down my goblet of cranapple and level with you: I had zero intention of posting a daaaaaamn thing this evern, especially since I see that certain ungrateful negreaux (this means you man in the mirror) fall way off when a sistah isn't supplying you with a continuous stream of coonanigans.
Mmmmhmmm. 75 hits when I conjure up tails of weaves gone wrong. And one hit when a batch takes a nap. Shat like this is why I'm joining the Klan.
But 'tis Black History Month. And I have duties to find gems of fuggery for the masses. It just so happens that today, care of Miss Jia and my fave Crunk and Disorderly booka Freshalina, I have happened upon a trove indeed.
Now, and I remember when there used to be something called scripted TV. But nowadays all it takes is a wonk eye and a bad quick weave (hey NeNe!) and you're a "star." And THAT is precisely what's to blame for Baltimore Inmate Housewives. And I swear to Big Baby Osiris Jesus that I wish I made this up.
I ABSOLUTELY demand that you direct your eyes to the background ambiance. Did someone just empty their purse everywhere in that house? It smells like catfish and coconut hairgrease in there. That's not an interrogative - I'm presenting that as a solid, verified statement.
Not to be outdone by the likes of Charm City, VH1 is polishign off some elite jungleboogie fuckery - and you KNOW it's real when Mashonda AND Olivia are involved.
I almost peed - did this heaux just ask Jim "Keep soap alive" Jones to marry her? Jim "15'oclock Shadow" Jones? Jim "Bump be gone ain't do shat for my throat" Jones?? THAT NIG????
I refuse to address his basso profundo-voiced moms besides saying that I want to see her, Frankie and Alan Iverson's mama in a cage match IMMEDIATELY.
Negrodamus told me that this will be the most outrageous February yet. And if this continues, I may end the month in adult diapers.
Don't judge. They'll be kente cloth.
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