Small screen fuggery: Love and Hip Hop debuts Monday (clip - and community shame - inside)

Love & Hip Hop |Olivia Longott |Somaya Reece |Mashonda Tifrere

“My name is Chrissy and Jim Jones is my man.”

Jesus keep me near to thee.

Well don’t just stand there with a KFC Mighty Wing in your hand and a Q-tip hanging out your ear -- dial up Red Cross or toss a bucket of cold water in this bitch face or shake her real hard or something – that was a cry for help if I’ve ever heard one!

From The Root:

Love & Hip Hop, premiering Monday evening, will follow the lives of four women bonded by their connection to the hip-hop world through their men and their careers.

I'll just go ahead and addend that to include that the four women are the girlfriends of Fabolous, Jim Jones, Some Other No-Count Ninja and oh yeah, (N)Olivia, that G-Unit broad 50 and them tried to shazzam us with a few summers back.

To quote a panelist at a recent forum I shaded attended: This is nothing but a trap from Satan!

In the era of Basketball Wives, Football Wives, Housewives of Atlanta, New Jersey, Beverly Hills, New York, North Kakalakee and Sri Lanka, I guess it was only a matter of time before a “Sidepiece Jump Offs of Washed Up Former Rappers Currently Workin’ Down At The Carwash” type reality docu-soap popped off.

And yet, for some reason, my soul won’t let me believe a person would voluntarily have sex with Jim Jones. Not without some sort of body condom. I won’t act like I haven’t shook my bon bon to Pig Pen’s musical stylings in “Blow Your Smoke.” I just don’t want that ninja standing next to me.

He looks like he smells of vagrancy, Black and Milds, cheap cologne, E&J, lint and booty chips. In that exact order. AND I bet the back of his neck is dirty all to be damned.

But I digress.

There are some fairly grievous offenses here, not the least of which being (N)Olivia’s presence overall (Side note: there should really be some sort of G-Unit recovery program. 50 Cent is about as bad as P-Diddy when it comes to tossing former “stars” against the wall like a well-used condom, but I guess he’s busy trying to figure out how he’s gonna keep his own self in men’s camisoles nowadays. Meanwhile Young Buck is busy worrying about the future of his anal cavity... ).

Then there's the entire weave situation (it’s generally bad when your hair resembles spun sugar or one of those Italian pasta nests).

And let's not forget said Jones jumpoff trying to mollywop a broad in a random Den of Despair strip club about two minuts into the clip, all whilst sporting a halter top and a Jolly Rancher red bra that gives all kinds of “I got it at Ross” tea.

Those are all just the basic offenses one expects at this level of coonery.

The truest fuckery emerges when Jim Jones describes his employment as a hustler – which he spells, for the record “H-U-S-L.”

This promises to offer a smorgasbord of coonery the likes of which might very well raise Coretta, Martin AND Malcolm from the grave.

*Tosses hands up and walks away from life *