Introducing Save the Hoes - A Campaign for America's Future! (Wet-n-wavy weave shenans inside...)

As the many noses of NeNe Leakes have no doubt shown us, fuckshit flung about recklessly can only beget more fuckshit (Ashe!) and for that reason, I have opted to come out of my self-imposed Caveman Valentine/Catwoman hibernation status to address the following...

Faithful fuggery: Jaysus is like soup and thangs...

Worshipper: "Jesus is like Campbell soup - he's GOOOOOOOOOOOOOD" (DEAD)

Jaysus has delivered The Blacks through 400 years of slavery. That part on the side of Nelson Mandela's head. And several seasons of Lester's teeth on 227. Yet this, THIS, is how you thank him? THIS is how we're bringing in the new year???

Exasperated sigh with Charlie Brown frustration eyes.

Though I too have felt the need to hit a mean halleleujah shoulder hunch after a particularly delectable bowl of chicken soup with Spongebob-shaped noodles, I've managed to keep my jubilance contained.

Not this heavenly soldier!

The worst part is not her reference to "carrot soup" - something I think Bugs Bunny tried to cook on a cartoon at some point ...

It's not the inherent mystery presented by her jiggling marsupial pouch threatening to steal the show ...

Nor is it the ivory glory of those lips, so chicly powdered with the finest in Entemann's donuts...

No. THE WORST PART is that I'm not entirely sure what she's communicating - is she trying to say De Lawd is good? I mean, I can't make heads or tails of it. She needs to be more direct, maybe try repeating herself and adding some of that sing songy preaching The Blacks like to do. Praise dancers might also help...

Campbell's soup has been notified. A spokesperson failed to see the humor in any of this.

Oh and this guy was pissed off too, but you know he's ALWAYS feelin' some type of way...

MC Hammer Launches Search Engine (We've got to pray...)

MC Hammer Searching for Income with New Search Engine

Damned if I didn't dream I was doing the typewriter across what remains of Ginuwine's career last night! That's the last time I watch "Life After: Light Skint Lovers Edition" before bed! Apparently MC Hammer, or Hammer, or Customer Service Agent #202 - whatever he's calling himself these days - is comin' at Google's neck.

From Media Bistro (which ain't shit for that picture, btw...)

Seriously. At first we thought Mashable been taken in by an article from The Onion, but this is really happening. MC Hammer introduced his new search engine, called WIREDoo, at the Web 2.0 Summit in San Francisco. The search engine will provide things that Google doesn’t, including what Hammer calls “deep search" a term applied both to search engine results and Hammer's career efforts over the past decade. And we don’t know what that is, but it sounds hot.

First Deion Sanders is shaming the race in all white erythang shilling DirecTV. Now Stanley's trying to bargain basement Google his way to the top.

This is a cross clutchin', standing on the promises week if I've ever seen one.

PS: I absolutely refuse to fug with MediaBistro behind this end quote:

"Now if Salt-N-Pepa would just launch a social networking site, my week would be complete."

Quietly, I hear those sisters are making some powerful moves in the shapewear industry. If you like Spanx, you'll love "Stuff Its"...

Anywho, while you were laughing at Hammer - and why not, the status of that jackal peen rat tail perched in his kitchen could launch a thousand evenings of keecackling easy - you overlooked an important fact: it was HIS WIFE, not Stanley, who was responsible for more of his fashion misgivings! Mmmhmm - the more ya know!

It's true because VH1 told me so on that hilarious MC Hammer bio movie a few years back. Stanley was happy living a lifestyle of tater tots, Oakland A's groupie hood and jiggin' for jaysus (with an occasional James Brown impression in the club for good measure) when his wife decided she wanted more than pork and beans burning on the grill.

She grabbed a throw pillow and her Singer, stitched up some droopy crotched pants and a generation of fashion fuggery was born.

It's truly a story of someone's reach exceeding their grasp; had the sister just been satisfied with his humble dreams, Stanley could have been a respectable Steve Harvey suit salesman and she could be dining on Skillet Sensations in a two-bedroom split level. Instead, she's cleaning up after 18 kids while Stanley struggles for relevance.

Yet every single time I consider forgiving MC Hammer for his transgressions (capes; the Pizza Head dude; countless sins against shoulder pads and velvet shoes over which Teddy Riley still weeps; abuse of Let's Jam gel and assorted other hair products) I recall the terror he unleashed upon us in the form of the "Can't Touch This" generation. And by that, I mean fuckshit like this:

Views You Can't Use: Eddie Murphy Is Winning!

THIS:




And there you have it.

There's a special place in hell for people who abuse pastry.


You know, one would think that at a birthday party for Q from 112 at Justin's in Atlanta (pardon me while I slip into a floppy Foxy Brown type hat - what with it being 1996 and all...) there would be all KINDS of fuckery to latch on to.

And if the YBF shots are any indication, there was: Jazze Pha was there channeling Big Pun; someone from the group Next had crept out of the wax museum (quoth Scooby, bowrow row row?) and oh yes Q FROM 112 WAS HAVING A BIRTHDAY PARTY, fuckery enough on it's own.

But nothing - not even the notion of this ninja's JELLO pudding pop-era sweater wth the elbow pads (I can't relive that so you get no photo - be glad.) - can top the grand shawshank that is this cake.

I'm really starting to think there needs to be some type of "pastry for the ratchet and needy" program - something to prevent candy from being abused this way.

I mean won't ANYBODY think of the Twizzlers???

I would be willing to excuse the inclusion of red rope candy, as well as the overall practice cake vibe of this pastry, up to and including the fact that whoever put those letters on there was clearly suffering from severe wonk eye (NeNe Leakes is baking now?). But there's one thing I will NOT overlook:

DID YOU SERIOUSLY SNATCH A PICTURE OFF MISS NANCY'S MANTLE AND PUT IT ATOP THIS CAKE????

Fingerprints all OVER the frame. Nobody had Windex? Hell, A BABY WIPE?

Why won't negros let themselves be great? And all this time I thought Ray J's Colombian cartel-inspired cake had the red alert coonery baked goods game on lock.

This cake rains pre-eminent fuckitude all. over. that.

Checkmate. Game. OVER.

Of ashy strippers and Miami Vice suits: I'm calling for a prayer circle 'round Chris Brown

Christ be a heavy blanket, a Xanax and a pistol. This 2012 end of the world shat is REAL. If you had ANY doubt:


What in $1.95 stripper hell? In the words of Riley Freeman: HELP US OBAAMAAAAAAA!!!!!!



Well I don't know about you, but I feel urged to slather shea butter all over my screen in a hopeless effort to moisturize that severely parched knee.

This young brother is truly truly troubled. I mean, his money can't buy better than that weave and those Rainbow boots? We need to just lift him up and annoint him. We'll leave Shontquashia's obvious spiritual needs for another day, but that tub of industrial strength shea butter will definitely be involved, as will the efforts of our Weave Ministry.

I'm just gonna go ahead let the one brother's face just say it all on this one. And from where I stand, his face is saying something about shame, ancestors, grandma nana, Dr. Martin Luther The Kang, debit cards and canola oil.

Gotdamn. I need to go lay down.

THN hits 100! (And while you were sleeping ...)

This. Happened. In. America.


Why won't Chapstick sponsor this man? It's just the right thing to do.

What better way to mark the 100th post of THN (milestones people, milestones) than with the delicately understated, classical beauty of Gucci Mane.

In the immortal words of W.E.B. DuBois: Killin' 'em with those lips, better yet those golds.

Gucci Mane, we salute thee.

Bobby Brown speaks on daughter's singing ability - A Nigga Please Moment

What's really tea on his face in this picture? Slap an off kilter wig on there and I swear he looks like Nana.


I digress. The King of Pop (spit take) and his stroke lips are back at it, prophesizing greatness for his most well-known spawn, Bobbi Kristina. That poor child never had a chance.

From From Contactmusic

In an appearance on U.S. TV show The View on Monday (07Mar11), Brown said, "She sings like a bird. She sings a little better than Whitney and she has my legs so (she can dance)..."
And the My Prerogative singer wants to team up with his daughter on record: "I'm gonna do duets with all of my kids; they all sing and dance, so I'm just waiting for the right time to strike, you know, the Brown clan."

Yes. I'll be waiting on that.

I hate you so much right now: Waka Flaka Flame appears naked in PETA campaign

WARNING: Not safe for life.



From BallerStatus.com
GET ME MY SMELLING SALTS RIGHT NOW - I can see it's gonna be a looooong year.


To quote our prolific Lady of One Million Facial Ticks, Nicki Minaj, I doth say: Ew.
I mean, bless his heart, but Waka Flocka isn't exactly a Ford Model. And I say that to say that his situation from the neck up was already tenuous at best. Between the hair and the lips and the brow and the whole being as tall as a cell phone tower thing, he has a LOT going on.

But ninjas just HAD to throw in the Spongebob Squarepants hips. Nevermind that I'm simultaneously cramming to understand how that little corner of bling is protecting my eyes from a far more aggregious assault - yet singing "Can you feel it, brand new day!" inside that they are indeed protecting my eyes from said assault.

Meanwhile, am I the only one who feels like this could be an LA Fitness ad? Waka got a body like a tube of toothpaste. How you just not have ANY muscles - even the ones required to walk? Put a coat on!




Think about how many groupies came home, dropped their draws and waited patiently in the bed for THIS to round the corner.

DO NOT WANT.

I suppose I could support this young negro scribe for taking a stance against animal abuse – but I make a point not to get mixed up in too much ball queen drama, so instead I’ll just sit in the corner quietly sipping my Shirley Temple and wait for Michael Vick to bust through the door and CAT this ninja for the open shade.

Ink not Mink eh? Expect Gucci to pass on the sentiment AND the campaign.

And the world breaths a collective sigh of relief.

Mike Tyson and his pet pigeons get their own show (Hands Jesus Kleenex)

Getty


Soooooo, at the point at which you have a tattoo on your face, it becomes pretty safe to say you might "have some shit with you" if you know what I mean. Thus having a pack of killer pigeons might follow according to some sort of Nebulian, solar logic.

But exactly why Animal Planet would sign up for this fuggery is a question for brains much veinier than my own:

Animal Planet has long been a network about people and their pets, so why not boxer Mike Tyson and his pet pigeons? The animal-oriented cable channel answers that question with “Taking on Tyson,” a new six-part series about Iron Mike and his beloved birds, premiering March 6.

Oh ok. *strokes beard and handlebar moustache* And yet there's more:

Ever since he was a boy, Tyson, 44, kept pigeons as pets. In fact, legend has it that the first punch he ever threw was aimed at a neighborhood bully who killed one of Tyson’s pigeons (reportedly by yanking off its head) and threw it in his face.

Let me just say that I have officially become the most evil bitch in the Western Hemisphere for thinking I should have BEEN done this to several people. Think of all the pigeons I had access to, and how many situations in which this would have been totally appropriate. *smashes fist into hand*

Anyways, I'm thinking we might want to dig up Aristotle and them to ponder just what might be going on with Iron Mike. Only his relevance faded sometime between the depature of assymetrical haircuts and the arrival of patent leather shoes with sheer ribbons (I will be SO ready when those come back)so I'm officially over it.

And you should be too. Only you will scoff at this posting and then rush home and TiVo the show. And then come March 6, you will close your bedroom door and turn up your Solja Boy music really loud and pretend you're in there rapping in the mirror the way you do sometimes but really you're in there watching the show and weeping over how sensitive Mike is with his birds. And then you'll go to work and be all "As if!" all the while knowing that you are now hooked on "Mike Tyson's World-o-Birds" or "Mike Tyson: Bird Whisperer" or "Mike Tyson and his Bird Wives" or whatever this shat is called.

It's all good. I'm addicted to that WhirlyWords app pretty terrible. We all have our crosses to bear.

Kidney transplant sisters released from Mississippi jail might be headed back behind Newports, pork rinds (Eff. Life.)

Sooooo, remember those ladies who were like, in jail for 10 million years or something because they stole a pair of draws but it was really because they were black and then they got out and the slaves all sang and the massa bought out a big pineapple upside down cake? This happened like, last month. Well whatevs, them batches is going back to jail!

From CBS:

There's a "complication" in the case of Mississippi ex-convicts sisters Jamie and Gladys Scott, who won their release from life prison terms on the grounds that one sister would give the other a kidney.

What is it? What could it be? Was there a loophole in the legal work? Is some racist judge accusing them of stealing Slim Jims now?

Nah boo. It comes down to Newports.

Jamie Scott said Wednesday that a doctor said she has to lose 100 pounds to receive the transplant. She said would-be donor Gladys must lose 60 pounds and stop smoking.
Barbour hasn't said whether he'll send the sisters back to prison if the transplant doesn't happen.

*In Martin Lawrence voice* Hole up. Hole up. Didn't I march for your ass with the signs and ERYTHANG? So now you basically telling me you have to curb the honeybaked ham sammiches and put the brakes on the Virginia Slims or your asses is going back to the jaily jail? AFter I wore down my loafers???

Looks at sisters:


Looks at honeybaked ham sammich:




They're going to jail



(Note: You KNOW I'm gonna use that punchbowl jawn whenever possible. I. Love. That. Shat.)

Ja Rule recording new album, filming new reality show

I'm emphasizing "new" because I want you all to realize that I am indeed, NOT speaking to you from a vortex in the year 1999. With that said, I encourage you to slip into a Gordon's fisherman outfit, because this shat is about to get chest-deep.

So um er, before Ja Rule goes off to jaily jail, he has a few things he has to wrap up - one might assume settling affairs concerning his position with Cinnabon and ensuring all his small man clothing is in storage. Well one would be wrong.

Ja Rule is makin' moves son!

From AllHipHop:

Rapper Ja Rule is working on a new reality show, as he prepares to surrender to police in March, to start a 2 1/2 year prison sentence.
Ja, who is currently in Miami putting the finishing touches on his album Renaissance Project, is also busy filming the untitled reality series.

To quote Scooby Doo, bow rorrowoworrowww? New reality show? Hell, NEW ALBUM? Alright, which one of you wanted some more Ja-rhymes? Raise your hand up, it's ok. We won't judge you. But we will have to thrash you.

"My reality show, I like it because it's showing a strong black family going through a tough time," Ja Rule said. "And how we band together as a family and how my wife and kids, my moms and her moms, bond together during this tough time when I have to go in."
Although the series will deal with Ja Rule's upcoming bid, the rapper said the main focus of the show was about "black love." "It's really a good show and it shows black love in a good way," Ja Rule said.

*swan dives into casket*

And THAT is how you start your Wednesday!

Man accidentally kills wife (after he wrote a letter about killing her) behind STD

I'm gonna spare you the suspense and say from the jump:

Dude didn't have The Clap after all.



From The Baltimore Sun:

Four days before Cleaven L. Williams Jr. stabbed his wife seven times on a Baltimore street, he wrote a letter outlining plans to kill her, according to testimony he gave in court Monday.

"I figured that I had a [sexually transmitted disease] and I contracted it from my wife," Williams said, explaining that he wrote the undelivered letter because he was upset. "I write a lot, that's my vent."

Ummmmm yeah. I write a lot too. Grocery lists. Journal entries. But in terms of writing letters about killing my (in)significant other for giving me The Clap, I've managed to keep those down to a minimum.

Williams is charged with murder in the death of his wife, Veronica Williams, who received a restraining order against him moments before he attacked her in front of several witnesses on North Avenue on Nov. 17, 2008. She died three days later.

Well damn. I mean. Damn!

He also acknowledged that he was the attacker, however, saying that when he came to, he saw that they were "both lying in the street. … I realized that I stabbed her."

Oh well then shit, this guy is totally innocent! Can I tell you how many times THAT actually has happened to me? I woke up in the middle of downtown Baltimore, near Lexington Market, covered in blood and realized I had stabbed quite a few people actually. Luckily, Saiontz and Kirk and them helped me out but sheesh, talk about a bad case of the Mondays!


PS: I'm gonna reckon that naming someone "Cleaven" is pretty much ensuring that sooner or later, they're gonna have an unfortunate knife-type incident.

Tyler Perry's latest missive against the Negreaux AKA More Madea!

And this is why we as a people can't get ahead.



At some point, the estate of Weezy Jefferson is gonna want some guap for the repeated and unauthorized use of her figure for this character. Real talk.

Now, having met Mr. Perry, far be it from me to imply that the man is gay. Sure he spends a LOT of time in dresses. Don't we all? Sure, he seems to enjoy donning fake breasts with some level of frequency. Don't we all?

His transgression is not being a closeted rainbow tribal priest (closeted used lightly...) No, his transgression is being a purveyor of monkey antics.

But hell, with the Wayans brothers out of commission, somebody's gotta do it.

Will you see another Madea film? I mean, I'm there no doubt. But I'm just askin what YOUR plans are!

*harlem shakin' That's why there's Madea! That's why there's Madeaaaaa!*

A storybook romance: Shaq meet Hoops! (ointment please...)

From Necole Bitchie

I'm gonna give you a few moments to compose yourself.

Then I'll just hop out on a limb and say you have to be one rattlesnake of a nasty hoe to consider having sex with Shaquille O'Neal as a full-time or even part time, or even semi-quarterly vocation. I mean, the man's femur is the size of your spine. He has boogers the size of crepes. I'll leave the rest to your imagination, but suffice it to say, if you value your womb and fallopian situation - and perhaps even your kidney scenario - this is NOT a good look.

Then again, Hoopz is probably time enough for him in the bulky uterus department.


Let me tell it, this "woman" gives far to much Arab man tea for me to accept her XX status. But that's neither here nor there. I'd like to go ahead and give a shout out to Flavor Flav for transforming her into the world-renowned celebrity she has become. I know her career will amount to more than pogo stick rides soon. I feels it in my bones. Now if only she can stop lookin' like Mumrah...

Though I can hear you sniffling into your grammy's handkerchief behind that photo alone (the knuckles will set. you. FREE.) I'm gonna have to ask that you take just one more step into the light and review their "meeting" as told to The Boston Globe, which is clearly hanging on by a thread more slender than Teyanna Taylor's odds at a non porn-related career lately:

Hoopz, 28 (STOP) met the 38 year old Diesel (who is almost 2 feet taller than her) numerous times while on the scene ("on the scene" Girl I guess). It wasn’t until she was visiting a photographer friend in St. Louis that she saw an autographed poster of Shaq on his wall. She mentioned to her friend that she had met him a few times and that friend texted Shaq and told him Hoopz said “Hi” (Translation: Hoopz said remember Cancun?). Shaq immediately texted back and asked him if she had a boyfriend and the friendship began from there.

I for one am always impressed by tales of oral sex turned storybook romance. It continues:

Their first date was in Las Vegas (the two were in town for two separate events) and they immediately hit it off. “I knew he was a goofball. We’re the same. We’re both goofballs.’’ He then visited her home turf of Tennessee (where she had moved with her last boyfriend before they split) and the two went fishing, visited the Waffle House and she made him listen to her favorite musicians like Brad Paisley and Taylor Swift.

Is it me or does this ho keep a suitcase packed by the door? Girl don't hate - you better be ready to make that move to Albuquerque if the money's right.

It was a culture shock for Shaq but it ended well and solidified his relationship with Hoopz who made turkey for his mom and three kids on Thanksgiving and ran around Boston with Shaq dressed as a pimp on Halloween. Shaq describes Hoopz as his “first male best friend besides my mother”.

First male best friend, besides my mother? *tosses University of Maryland degree into flames* clearly I didn't go to the right school because that made zero sense to me. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, you will NOT drag the name of Waffle House into this.

Jaysus told me from the other side that this tragedy will be taken up on judgment day. For now, I just want Shaq to hit those harsh lookin' knuckles with a double shot of shea butter, so my heart can go on.

Red Alert Coonery: Cocaine, meet pastry

Photo care of Necole Bitchie

I knooooow you see it. I'm so tempted to just slap this photo up here and allow you to self-tragedize. But that would be neglecting my duties as sergeant in arms against the spread of foolwangary and a publically elected documentor of coonanigans (Trademarked).

Soooo, I was in the midst of my normal morning routine as of late - downing of a mug of vodka while mumbling bitterly about The Man and perusing the latest submissions for Coon of the Year, when I stumbled upon the above photo, snapped at Ray J's 30th birthday.

Ray J. Yes, that. We won't delve into how he remains relevant anywhere on planet Earth; I will leave these mysteries to be solved by the likes of Stephen Hawkings, who has recieved a detailed WTF query.

Anywho, I was just about to move on when something about the cake caught my eye: Are those cocaine bricks atop the cake???

Nevermind that this fool would be summarily ground into a fine powder and distributed by the likes of Gucci Mane iffen he EVER set foot in an establishment peddling such bricks. (I won't even begin to address the "Pure" sign...) Nevermind that he has no familiarity with the monetary currency represented on the cake.

No, those are the obvious offenses. The real question is who made the cake? I thought Desserts by Latrell was closed?

And at this point, dear readers, I shall fold up my laptop, fold myself into 44 pieces, and await the mushroom cloud.

I suggest you do the same.

Special Delivery! GDEP go to jail, do not pass go!

Yes, I too had to scour my memory banks.

We'll just overlook the fact that GDep enjoyed approximately 22 seconds of fame before retiring to a career as a Frosty technologist - especially since, in Bad Boy years, that makes him one of the longer lasting artists.

Instead we'll just pretend it's 2001 and this person remains a star - otherwise this would just be a posting about another shiftless negro who shot some fool in an argument that was almost certainly linked to a Jesus piece.

From WSJ:

Onetime Bad Boy rapper G. Dep pleaded not guilty yesterday to killing a man in 1993. That's just "procedural," since he walked into a police station and confessed to the crime last month, "likely...while under the influence of drugs."

Well there you have it. I know I've confessed to murders that I didn't commit under the influence of chamomile tea or some other powerful narcotic.

As you were.

Triple wide mouth yawn: The latest chapter in Weavepocalypse 2011

I don't really have a whole lot to say about Lil Kim taking the stage to declare herself and Mary J. Blige will now be involved in a diss track against Nikki Minaj and Keyshia Coles (caught-you-sleepin-in-church side eye)- mostly because I'm busy thinking up concepts for my own diss track against all of this tomfoolery.

Now someone help me hot glue some foam and mattresses to the inside of my garage so I can pop this thang off Hustle and Flow like. Expect copious references to peroxide.



(Is it wrong that I didn't know the blonde item was a person until about 35 seconds in?)

Damn damn dammmmmmmmmmn: DMX gets a year

I was so busy pressing my edges, I didn't even notice we had another Negro soldier down.

DMX Gets One Year in Prison


(I will NOT talk about why his hair resembles the fur of a very well-loved teddy bear OR the James Evans hairline OR him suddenly being a Baby Boomer. You can't make me.)

Court officials in Arizona say the rapper known as DMX has had his probation revoked and is heading to prison for one year.
The Maricopa County Superior Court issued the ruling Thursday against the rapper, whose real name is Earl Simmons.

Is anybody seriously surprised by this? In addition to having caught the train to Irrelevancy Land years ago, he's obviously been divorced from his sanity since the '90s. You love him. You want a comeback. IT AIN'T HAPPENING. Negro's nuttier than a Whatchumacallit and deeply committed to Mission Self Destruct. Lauryn Hill syndrome. I might try it some day - it looks like fun, except for the whole becoming a mockery of your former self, losing your money and dying in pissy draws in a van down by the river in Cleveland part.

Former glory AKA "Can't nobody sang like Eddie Kane" game proper!



Think you gotta let it go - look like another (drug) TKO!

Long sigh: Brothers in Ohio Fight Over Chicken

Judge not lest ye be judged: Who among us hasn't thrown a bow over an extra crispy thigh?? Read this and find yourself quickly enraptured in a dramatic tale of family strife (spoiler: The mom and her trifling ways are COMPLETELY to blame for the stitches and short term memory loss this poultry pounding surely triggered...)

An Akron man suffered severe head injuries after police said he was attacked by his brother, who wielded a crowbar during a fight ignited over a half-eaten piece of fried chicken.
A warrant was issued Sunday for Tony Morris, 37, of Akron. He is charged with felonious assault, domestic violence and menacing. Police say they were called to a home on Wildwood Avenue where the men were visiting their mother Sunday afternoon. The brothers were watching TV in separate rooms when Thomas Morris, 41, said a piece of chicken was tossed in his direction.

OK I'm also guilty of tossing a half-eaten leg into a crowd before, you know, just to see how quickly folks would scatter.

The mother, 57, who admitted she ate the chicken, called 911. Before leaving, Tony Morris threatened to return with a gun and shoot his brother, police said. Thomas Morris was taken to a local hospital.

And the culprit is discovered. ALL. HER. FAULT. Now the man can't remember to wear his draws on the inside, not the outside of his pants - all because you had to sample the viddles.

*damn Gina, are you happy now?? *