Va Inmate Sues for Sex Change Surgery (After man meat home removal fails…)

I thought Esther Rolle was gone on to glory????
Jaysus be a powerful sedative. I urge you to have a seat in a rocking chair with arms suitable for clutching. I would offer you my old rugged cross, but I’m busy clinging to it.

Ready your eyes for this riveting tale (wonderfully executed by my former co-worker – REAL TALK!) of mistaken man meat, prison razors and RuPaul aspirations.

Full disclosure: As an alternative woman (birth name: Kwame Kwaku Jenkins-Harris IV) I can completely relate to gender dysphoria and this story. I have no words to express the frustration I have felt with being constantly refered to as “sir” and being denied my rightful title in the NFL hall of fame as the second woman to play for the Giants (Wendy Williams being the first.)

From reports:

DILLWYN, Va. – Crouched in her cell, Ophelia De'lonta hoped three green disposable razors from the prison commissary would give her what the Virginia Department of Corrections will not — a sex change.

Interjection: I absolutely dare you to read further!

It had been several years since she had felt the urges, but she had been fighting them for weeks. But like numerous other times, she failed to get rid of what she calls "that thing" between her legs, the last evidence she was born a male.
Months after the October castration attempt, De'lonta filed a federal lawsuit Friday claiming the state has failed its duty to provide adequate medical care because it won't give her the operation. If she loses, she says she will continue to try self-surgery — acknowledging another attempt could kill her.

Bless the heart of this missionary in the fight against unwanted peens. We all have to start somewhere; I hear even Jermaine Jackson began his journey to abstract facial glory with putty knives and alcohol. Girl, you better chop that lumber off and get your vagina power on!

While many with gender identity disorder wish to get rid of their genitals, the majority never act — often because hormones and other treatments help make them feel more comfortable, (one expert) said. (Translation: Duct tape changes thangs! I’m a believer!)

Inmate: State-sponsored Male to Female Gender Reassignment = My American Right Boo!

The hormones and other treatments had kept her urges in check for years. She snapped Oct. 8 when an officer used a male pronoun toward her, despite a court order that prison workers refer to her as a woman.
"I screamed `She, damnit!' becoming so overwhelmed it was hard to breathe," De'lonta said.

YAAAAAAASSSS! Do you have ANY idea how many times this exact same shat has happened to me? My sloping brow, Anthony Weineresque jawline (I know you see it – I’m certain that praying mantis lookin’ ninja can husk the hell out of some corn…) and coifed goatee are NO EXCUSE for you to refer to me as anything but a delicate evening blossom of feminine exuberance. I had to turn a Bob’s Big Boy OUT after a cashier refered to me as Sir. When I tell you French fries and quick weaves were scattered! I can’t go to the state of Missouri anymore, but it was all worth it in the fight for acceptance of alternative women, such as myself, Omarosa and now, De’lonta!
*joins paw-like, square hands with other alternative women*

By God as my witness, you will NOT deny our vaginas their seat at the table!!!

Using knowledge gained from mail-order anatomy books (Another Nikki Minaj secret revealed…) De'lonta cut on and off for three hours before she passed out. It took 21 stitches to repair the damage.
De'lonta first tried to cut herself when she was 12. By 17, she was robbing banks with the hopes of getting enough money to have a sex change operation.

I get the thinking behind this – after all, I understand it’s exactly what led to Remy Ma’s life of crime. But there are more productive methods, you know, like launching a blockbuster music career, hosting a talk show or getting on the reality TV carousel, to fund your switch.

My enrollment in the alt-woman relocation program won’t allow me to reveal who I know to have followed that path. So I’ll just look directly at Wendy Williams and let you make the conclusions…

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?? *

Negro Please Alert: Michael Vick wants a family dog (with video)

Michael Vick: A new dog could help my rehabilitation



Sometimes my ability to throw shade escapes me - no rest for the weary as long as some of Us are around. I'm just gonna go sit in a rocking chair, lay a blanket over my lap and cling to the old rugged cross on this one.

Old school why?

Let me first start out with this random: The Jules/Smokey Robinson connection is undeniable. We're on to you Solange. It is what it is.

Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

One of the biggest hangups The Hostile Negress has had in starting her rant log has hisotrically been, well, how to start. Should the initial posting be witty and informative, luring readers in only to spring the hostility forth like a cobra pouncing from beneath a basket? Should it be a short intro into my world of sour looks and sideways comments? I haven't answered these questions and don't plan to. The effort, frankly, makes my nostrils flare and has delayed the earnest start of this shout fest for at least six months. Instead, I'm just gonna jump right out the window on this one and just go in on whatever strikes my fancy. Today children, that is a very serious cultural question involving the relevance of Chubb Rock.

These are the topics that keep great minds up at night.

Having been recently excommunicated to the Island of Yesternegro, also known as Florida (more on that never), I almost immediately began searching for ways to curb my sudden desire to hum negro spirituals whilst shucking corn. That's when I learned of a little something called the Florida Classic. A Battle of the Bands. Bethune Cookman involved. Rick Ross somehow in the swirl. (Patience grasshopper, at least two blogs on the attendant coonery are forthcoming this weekend.) What more could one ask for? I'll tell you what more - an after party headlined by Kid n Play (blank stare), Monie Love, Black Sheep and Chubb Rock. This will be popping off in Central Florida this weekend.

Being equal in my hostility, I will express general disturbance at all of these 40 somethings getting on stage to do something that will invariably sadden me for a spread of Original Recipe and a chance at regaining the glamorest life (side eyes on the prize.) But I have to offer a special hell and no to the Chubb Rock inclusion. He had ONE SONG. It was in 1990- he says it right there in the first verse, lest you forget how many presidents have passed since this man held a mic. To put things in perspective, in 1990:

- High top fades were still viable
- Bobby Brown had a career
- Hammer pants were being worn
- Better yet, patent leather shoes with lace ribbons were being worn
- 227 and Amen were on tv (don't do that, you watched then and you watch now!)

Even as I approach my 400th year, I simply still can't align myself with the old school concerts. I have no interest in shaking my shimmy to anything put out before I had a menstrual cycle. And my spirit and the spirits of my ancestors will NOT let me support this Chubb Rock shenanigan. I can't, I won't, you can't make me. Let's join hands and pray about it.

Now pardon me while I rock my hips to something from the Obama years - Gucci!!