Study: Black Women Have High Testosterone, Are Dudes (Oh, and they're ugly, but you knew that!)

Love Black Women? They're All High Testosterone-havin' Dudes (Sorry Boo!)

I knew this broad was going to blow our cover


Well it finally went and happened.

The jig is up black "women" – they’re on to us. You heard me right - they've figured out we're dudes! If you love black women, sorry.

Yes, it’s true. Black women are really just black men who got bored one day and wanted to expand the NBA – I tried to speak out against the scheme, but they just tossed me in a corner with some Wet-n-Wild Raspberry Oooh La La lipstick and said “Get the paintin’!”

Go ahead and take those socks out of your shirts, snatch those Tina Turner reject wigs off and drop your voice back down to The Temptations register. Take off the skirts – they’re not covering up that Refrigerator Perry figure anyhow.

Nicki Minaj, put those pads back in the couch boo.

It’s over. The dream has died. In a Psychology Today study, "Why are African American Women Less Physically Attractive Than Other Women?", Dr. Satoshi Kanazawa has snatched our hip pads clean out:

Kanazawa (who is also the author of a book called Why Beautiful People Have More Daughters) speculates, "The only thing I can think of that might potentially explain the lower average level of physical attractiveness among black women is testosterone. Africans on average have higher levels of testosterone than other races."

I’m so glad I can finally untape my balls! Praise him!

I’m really surprised nobody got hip to our little scheme years ago – I mean, did people REALLY think those black women models Fashion Fair trots out were female?? (I mean really, how much high testosterone can you have and still be considered female..) How many times did YOU mistake one of their ads for a picture of Burt Reynolds?? *raises hand*

And I REALLY thought Omorosa and her steel jaw (I bet she can crack thee HAYLE out of some snow crab legs...) was gonna spill the beans.

Now the world knows - all of the famous black women you've known and loved are really dudes. Oprah? That's just Otis. Beyonce? Girl that's Brandon. And Wendy Williams? Well even I couldn't believe that one sneaked below the radar.

Even important black women in history were dudes: Harriet Tubman? That was Harry from the grocery store!



GIFSoup
PS: Florida was Florence...but you kind of figured that one on your own...


So nooooooow back to reality land: You know what’s more tired than this study? The fact that every time a study comes out, black women get all up in arms about it.

For the record, according to assorted studies over the years, black women:

- Are second only to Jabba the Hut in their massive obesity
- Pass most of the day in tree stands firing high powered crossbows at interracial couples
- Have 4,239 children – a year. (All with names ending in “-tae”)
- And are dying from breast cancer/heart attacks/diabetes/scrotal cancer/cancer of the entire body

Oh and those batches smell like Lysol and crawfish boil too! Annnnnnd they shop at Ross - tacky batches!

Here’s an idea: How about we just stop giving a rat’s ass about dumb ass studies advancing dumb ass theories done by dumb ass people who pay waaaaay too much attention to black women to be anything but completely, purely and unequivocably OBSESSED with them, k?

Stop giving these people the attention they crave and Dr. Kanazawa and all others of his ilk will return to their Ted Kazinsky style huts and watch child porn the way they do any other Tuesday.

And that’s the roundabout way of saying that me and my high testosterone are OVER IT.

The CNN Takedown Folo - AKA "Shit just got real son!"

In case you were too busy re-upholstering your nads or whatEVER it is you do with your free time to notice, 'round about last week, a certain angry tanned goddess-like creature single handedly attempted to shade CNN into submission for its negro news efforts (or lack thereof).

From Racialicious:

... is it truly a laughing matter? Why is it that CNN, arguably the world’s most recognizable cable news network, seems unable to produce timely, on-trend stories about black America? Is it really funny that a network able to pirouette through major international stories fumbles over covering one of the nation’s most visible minorities, producing mostly stereotype-based eyebrow raisers in the process?

Recent headlines include:

•Does the black church keep black women single? (August 2010)
•Black preachers who whoop: Ministers or minstrels? (October 2010)
•Held as slaves, now free (A December 2010 article about hair braiders)

Now, I'm not saying I know this author. But she strikes me as highly talented and almost CERTAINLY a very stylish individual.

*insert Phaedra-style MMMMMHMMMMMMMMM*

Anywho, all hell has since broken loose! Commentors are going to bat for their Latina Negro News Griot Soledad O'Brien, posting highly misguided original comments such as:

Comment:

Expand "The network rolls out Soledad O’Brien on a handcart, to the chagrin of some black journalists who question why a Latina-appearing, biracial woman would become the network’s patron saint of Negro news."

So, would those reports be better if a darker skinned and/or monoracial Black person was doing them?

Is the issue here the content of these reports - or O'Brien's ethnic background?

Awwwwwwwwwwwwww shiggity wiggity now! Do NOT FUG WITH THE O'BRIEN JUICE CREW BOO BOO! They slice batches faces and stomp on them in stillettos- YOU DON'T KNOW NA'ER NEWS ORGANIZATION!!!!!!

That Walker chick is out of line anyway. Who is SHE to challenge The C to the N to the N??? I have a mind to call that whore up ... OH SHIT CNN HAS A HIP HOP CHURCH VIDEO UP!

Gotta go! *Sambo dances into the sunset*

In Case You Missed It: The Bobby Brown Comeback is in Full Swing. Blank stare.

ARC Music is taking shit TOO FAR.



Even Bobby looks confused.

I think I need to readjust the proportions on my hookah-Seagrams-Xanax cocktail because shit is really slippin' past me. Apparently while I was on the toilet or something, Bobby Brown sneaked into the studio and made some "music."

*dramatic pause*

While I want to support his return from Snowshoe Mountain (I believe in his newly powder-free nostrils!) I must say that I'm a little confused on this one.

I want to go on record as offering a bag of hope and a Stacy Adams gift certificate to the first person who can explain what exactly this song is about. I listened to it once.

I contemplated.

I listened to it twice.

I contemplated.

Still, I don't know what in hell Bobby's chortling about. Something to do with getting out of his way so he can get to the front of the cocaina line so he can keep rising to the top or something. Uh, yeah.

Meanwhile, his once golden singing voice (such as it never was in any dimension) is currently reminiscent of the type of growly/rattle that last landed the Honda at Meineke.

Aren't these the same stunt queen antics that got him tossed out of New Edition back in '84? I guess you can't blame a dude for trying - it's not like he has other career options and lord knows if his waistline is any indication, he's got to keep his Red Lobster's coins stacked high. Snow crab legs and rice pilaf don't pay for themselves.

Personally, I still think he should just put his Body Magic on and start learning them Chi-Lites steps so he can go on tour with the rest of the middle aged men who should probably have a row of seats right now New Edition.

*yawn*

Chris Brown goes James Evans on GMA - and other shat we saw coming

Look at me now indeed.

Well we all knew it was coming. Hiding behind those endearing beaver teeth and that non-threatening Spike Lee "Do The Right Thing" flip-billed cap, The Hulk was still lurking. Waiting for just the right moment to rip a door off the hinges or tear a phone book in half or raise hell at Cinnabon when they forget to put the little side container of cream cheese in his bag (Ja Rule deserves better than your customer antics, thank you).

According to TMZ, by way of ABC, by way of some staffers scared shitliss Brown was gonna bite them, the Fame artist went all James Evans in the episode when he had hypertension (chair, meet wall) when an Good Morning America interview kept veering back to the whole Rihanna punchy punchy, facey facey, arresty arresty incident.

I hate when people bring up my felonies too. It really wasn't that much heroin, I mean, really.

But the real fun unfolded after the interview.

ABC sources told TMZ:

Brown freaked out, storming into his dressing room and screaming so loud, the people in hair and makeup became alarmed and called security.
We're told Brown was out of control, and one source present tells us he smashed a window in his dressing room, and the glass shattered and some shards fell onto 43rd and Broadway.
We're told by the time security rushed the area, Brown had ripped off his shirt and left the building, blowing off another performance he was supposed to do for the ABC website.

I'm gonna rip my shirt off the next time I experience poor customer service at Ruby Tuesdays. Bet they put some stank on it and get me my potstickers in a timely fashion then...

Now far be it from me to condone such behavior or ever give the green light to his attack on The Redheaded Scourge of Barbados. But all I'm saying is that someone needs to consider a key factor that is playing into Brown's behavior:




Have any of YOU ever been there? Of course you haven't. Because it requires a time machine similar to what Urkel used to become Urkell on Family Matters and only four negroes are allowed in or out of the place a year. There's a gas station. A water tower. And another gas station.

The largest city nearby: Richmond, Va.

And if you know Richmond like I know Richmond, that is NOT a good look.

I'm not saying that he's right for his continued rage against the machine. But I'm just saying if you'd been raised in the Land of Never After, where Juneteenth has yet to arrive, you might be a little bananas too.

Oh and if Rihanna gave you herpes. That might also burn your rolls a little. Literally. (I need sleep)

The Hostile Negress Defines: "Craccent" (or Crackcent if you're nasty!)

CRACCENT (or CRACKCENT in northern regions): Refers to the dry, crackly, echo-filled, husk of a voice of a former crackhead which lingers regardless of how long the person has been clean. Think of a person gargling with glass, smoking a box of Black-n-Milds, going to sleep for eight hours, waking up and then immediately yelling through a megaphone in backwards Romanian. Often carries a vaguely echo-like quality (think Wizard of Oz) resulting from the user having smoked their entire lung setup clean away and a scratchiness reminscent of speaking on a really bad cell phone or a Bluetooth. Subject may last have smoked in the 1970s, since giving their life to jaysus, snatching up a job at the local clinic and sporting a side part and sensible slingbacks. Yet the moment the person opens their mouth you know they spent some time gettin' "beamed up" if you know what I mean. Often incomprehensible and always loud.

Well-known craccent sufferers include Samuel L. Jackson, Frankie Cole and Jim Jones' moms. See video.

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.

White coonery: Roethlisberger Turns 29 (29 in what, rhino years?)

Did ya miss me?

Oh what, you thought I had hung up the "closed for business" sign? Were waiting for them to set the couches and shat from The Hostile Negress headquarters out on the corner for you to peruse? A batch can't take a few days off?

*And on the 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th and part of the 10th days, she rested*

Whatevs. Back to fuckery - brought to you by the Pittsburgh Post Gazette. There was some lead in to this but for realz, it doesn't matter. This is what matters:

... Selection Wednesday, which just happens to be Ben Roethlisberger's 29th birthday. That makes the approaching weekend Big Ben's birthday weekend, which you may have noticed has the potential of a real newsmaker, particularly in small college towns in the Deep South.

*flag on the field*

I'm gonna go ahead and call this white coonery. Why? Because this bama is not twenty-ANYTHING and I'm tired of this myth continuing to be perpetuated. I got eyes. I went to college. I can add AND subscract. Ninja is 49 if he's a day. Bret Favre should be outraged - why is he left carrying the banner of old, wrankled, playin-football-when-he-needs-to-have-a-seat-and-go-chop-some-firewood cracker all by his lonesome?



You look at that face and tell me this bama didn't drive a Camaro in 1983.

I demand a birth certificate and pictures of his mother in labor with his father holding up a newspaper with a visibile date before I accept that he's not a product of the '60s and his first toy wasn't a Pet Rock.

*strolls off into the sunset*

Hostile Negress Realness: Revenge is a dish best served cold. And spiked with arsenic.

"If you don't like a bitch, snatch her wig off and toss it in her lap" - Freshalina.

Words to live by. I'm gonna keep "nam yoho renge kyo"ing that particular phrase until the charges are dropped.



Being the clearly sweet, docile, loving and home-oriented smiling negress that I am, I'm sure that it might surprise my readers to realize that violence can and does occasionally besmirch my thoughts (otherwise typically dominated by thoughts of pancake recipes and fantasies of The Upper Room).

Indeed, from time to time, even I have thoughts of slappin' a bitch silly with a hot spatula.

One such time occured in August-ish 2008. I - then a nubile young thang still in the pangs of hope and believing that life could indeed, not suck - had recently decided to relocate to the home of all negro fuggery, Atlanta. Just prior, I was invited to join my circle of furrow-browed black women at a sushi dinner.

All was going well - drinks being poured, conversations percolating. And THAT is when IT happened: Some boulder headed whore who had been trying my patience with her askance comments all evening made the insinuation that my ex (more on that never nosey batches) had indeed made the right decision to kick THN to the curb.

I stepped outside. I had a chat with a friend. I composed myself, lest I draw attention and the slave catchers find me.

And yet to this day I can't help but think
I SHOULD HAVE BEATEN THE BUCKSHOTS OFF THAT BITCH.

Rewinding yet further to 1994. THN is an innocent young waif, not yet hardened to the world and still not sharp of tongue (that wouldn't happen for at least another year...). I have recently transfered from private school (translation: Becca books, girls and boys buses and a LOT of puppetry) to public school. *cue Gangsta's Paradise theme*

After a few unfortunate incidents involving multi-colored shirts, yours truly was roundly tossed into the reject pile where the harassment commenced immediately. One, a fairly husky air compressor of a girl took special care in harassing me; in hindsight, I'm sure she was only lashing out in reaction to her anemic ponytail and tragic case of 8th grade jowls. Regardless - she harassed me, there was a fight, and THN lost.

And all these years later I still think to myself
YOU SHOULD'VE SNEAKED UP ON THAT BITCH DURING LUNCH AND MOLLYWOPPED HER ASS WITH A TRAY. MMMHMM. BEAT THAT BITCH SENSELESS!

I think I promised a question with this post - and if I didn't, fug it, I'm promising one now. How long do you hold a grudge?

As for me and mine, well I'm over 8th grade Boss Hog. If her middle-aged, middle school figure was any indication, the ravages of time have hooked her up pretttttty good.

But as for that other heffer, I'll be tossing a fruity cocktail in her face sometime this year I'm sure - cherry included.

Productive, no. Satisfying? Hells, yes.

PS: No seriosuly, I'mma get you batch!