“Ain’t no party like a KKK party/’Cause a KKK party don’t stop.” ~ Some Klansman dude
Say what?!?!? Y’all, I don’t know how the hell I missed this, but the KKK in North Carolina threw a Memorial Day cross burning party and invited the whole state. BUT, they wanted it to be clear that the party is for Whites only. WHAT?! A KKK PARTY THAT IS WHITES ONLY?!?!
This reaction was had by no one upon hearing the news that a KKK party is whites only.
That’s right, no minds were blown, but props to the KKK for trying to turn this party into MTV’s My Super Sweet Sixteen by pretending they were going to have to turn some people away. Just like the “You had me at hello” quote from Jerry Maguire indicates that it was love at first sight, the KKK part of KKK let’s e’erybody know what the deal is. No nigs and other non-Whites allowed. But #RealTalk, you know they still played Niggas in Paris because even racists can’t deny that the song is the shit and the perfect party starter. #RealTalkTheSequel, there was definitely one non-White mofo who didn’t get the memo, just heard “Memorial Day party,” showed up, and totally had to do one of these:
You know how when you’re typing something into Google, it tries to finish your sentence for you and you end up finding stuff you didn’t know you wanted to see? Well, that just happened to me. I typed “Steve Harvey” and Googs immediately chimed in with “shirtless.” Um, sure. What’s the worst that can happen if I fall down this rabbit hole? Let me tell you this, Blarians, upon seeing said shirtless photos, the phrase “curiosity killed the cat” instantly popped into my head. Except in this case, curiosity just dried up this cat’s vagina:
A few things while I examine this visual equivalent of a hate crime. 1) Lawd, why did Steve have to bring baby oil into this?!?! Somewhere there is a school bus full of chillrens with ashy knees and elbows because he wanted documented proof of his lubed up man boobs, 2) I’m pretty sure the cast of Locked Up: Raw were the ones who told him that standing half nekked in shadows is sexy because everyone else knows that’s some creepy Stephen King shit, and 3) who in Village People hell is his friend and why is he straddling a marble lion statue in someone’s house? If the marble knew that it would eventually end up in this position, it would’ve said, “Fuck it,” and committed samurai suicide by jumping to its death rather than bringing shame to the marble family name by having a grown ass oiled up man ride it like he’s in Super Mario Kart.
And the saddest thing of all is that I wasn’t even looking for this Steve Harvey collage as evidence of him being the worst. My original intent was to find a YouTube compilation video a Facebook friend showed me of Steve Harvey’s
greatest hits worst moments with words. Prior to viewing this video, I’d always thought Steve was okay. Funny guy who’s obsessed with making sure his caterpillar mustache glistens in the harsh lighting of 80 watt light bulbs. And then I watched this video and ay dios mio, he’s a total Summer’s Eve. So here’s my breakdown of why Steve Harvey is kind of the worst:
Well, for one thing, if a magazine had brains, then we’d be living in some sort of Tim Burton movie because that seems like the only place where something that bizarre would happen. And Johnny Depp would be rocking black eyeliner and prancing around in a fey manner that would make Truman Capote jealous and RuPaul proud, and the rest us roll our eyes. We get it, Johnny, you’re pretend weird. Unfortunately, what isn’t pretend is what trifling Hustler magazine published last week:
“What Would S.E. Cupp Look Like With a Dick in Her Mouth?” To quote actress Denise Richards (that’s a first) and the title of her failed reality TV series, Life’s Complicated, so thank you, Hustler magazine for doing the real gritty investigative work that The Economist is too scurred to do and answering one of life’s most difficult questions that’s been keeping most Americans up at night. Seriously, Hustler, what the hell is wrong with you?!?! This is how you react when confronted with a woman who expresses an opinion you don’t agree with? “YOU KNOW HOW THIS SEXY LIBRARIAN BITCH SAYS WORDS OUT HER MOUTH HOLE THAT WE DON’T LIKE. WOULDN’T IT BE COOL IF – WAIT FOR IT – DICKS WENT INTO HER MOUTH? CUZ IF YOU’RE SUCKING ON DICKS, YOU CAN’T SPEAK AND IF YOU CAN’T SPEAK, THEN OUR VIEWS ABOUT THE WORLD CAN NEVER BE CHALLENGED.” Look, if every time someone said something I didn’t like I photoshopped a dick into their mouth, I’d have like -3 friends, a contentious relationship with every single person in Cablevision’s customer service department, and during puberty, every picture of my parents would have been defaced. I love you, Mom & Dad; I’m just saying if I were a bigger a-hole during my teenage years and had a working knowledge of photoshop…
Look, Black people are dramatic, especially those who grew up in the church singing. And if said Black people have an audience, every expression they make is deep fried in melisma and served with a giant church fan to prevent them from passing out if they get too hot (click here for an example). Don’t believe me? Look at the following GIF from the Jennifer Holliday/Jessica Sanchez duet of And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going on Wednesday night’s American Idol finale if you need an example of the drama:
Jessica, a sweet 16-year-old Filipino girl, is standing and singing the song normally. Jennifer isn’t singing and is danger of her wig falling off her head because she’s doing the classic, “You ain’t shit, your momma ain’t shit, and you ain’t never gonna be shit,” stank face/bobble head/neck rolling move or as white people call it, “I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
And I bet all the young’uns in the audience were thinking the Kansas line as well as most of them probably aren’t familiar with J-Hollie’s over-the-top performance style. Even if you are a fan of Jennifer Holliday, nothing could’ve quite prepared you for how delicious and YouTube worthy the next three minutes and forty-nine seconds would be. Lucky for you, I’m going to walk you through this awesome performance by providing my expert breakdown of the most epic duet in American Idol history:
I think it’s safe to say that this final performance episode will go down in history as one of the worst. No standout performances. No “wow” moments. Nevertheless, we still must crown an American Idol from the final two contestants: 21-year-old Phillip Phillips aka hot White dude who sounds like Dave Matthews and is what I call “a starter White” for Black women who want to try something different at liberal arts college and 16-year-old Jessica Sanchez who sounds like a Black soul singer without that whole pesky thing of, you know, being Black. I know I sound a little sassy, but I don’t mean to because I love, love, love American Idol. And not in some irony-filled, isn’t-this-show-ridiculous, winking fashion. No, I legitimately love AI. Ten minutes before the show starts, I’m like
aka I’m walking down an imaginary soul train in my living room while my boyfriend is like
Only Prince can give you a stank eye that will chill you to the bone while on a conveyor belt like he’s in a Jamiroquai video. My boyfriend is a close second.
For all you Paula Cole fans who read this blog – that means one of you – I put a “churchified” twist on her song Where Have All the Cowboys Gone:
In all seriousness, last week, the US Census Bureau reported that for the first time in history, minority (I hate that word) births outnumber White births. To quote the data reported in The Christian Science Monitor: “Minorities made up roughly 2.02 million, or 50.4 percent of U.S. births in the 12-month period ending July 2011. That compares with 37 percent in 1990.” This is a major and exciting feat in American history. So I celebrated like any POC (aka person of color) would by doing the following:
That’s right, when I heard the news that the number of POCs is on the rise in America, I motorcycle crip walked up and down the Brooklyn/Queens Expressway in joy. Meanwhile, on the internet, varying degrees of unease was expressed ranging from racist comments to mild concern to “Now, can we get a white version of NAACP?” (oh, you mean, America? That’s White people’s NAACP, so shut the hell up). Suffice it to say, plenty of White people are worried about what the rise in ethnic people means for them. White people, please direct your eyeballs to Louis CK’s bit entitled “Being White” from his special Chewed Up:
I’m chomping down on a hearty heap of “Lawd, I never thought I seen the day.” Because while we’ve all gotten too caught up on someone we’ve had just one date with and overreacted when things didn’t work out, we were at least smart enough to not let the object of our desire know we were disappointed. Just like in the movies after the assassin commits murder, he wipes off the gun, disassembles it, throws it in the river and keeps it moving, when one is rejected after one date, the rejectee must not leave traces of the crazy: no desperate emails, no pathetic text messages, no planned “accidental” run-ins with the object of our desire. Unfortunately, Mike, an investment manager, forgot about this and let his crazy flag fly and sent Lauren, a young woman he went on one date with, a 1,600+ word email that got leaked online, went viral and landing on The Huffington Post. You can read it here.
Bottom line, this is how Mike should have reacted to Lauren blowing him off after date number #1:
That’s right, he should have put on his fanciest sequined black tank top, rubbed some Icy/Hot on his bruised ego, plopped down on his couch, and flipped through a magazine. Not do the email equivalent of this:
Sup, Blarians? I’d like to introduce y’all to a new segment on the blog called “When Thinking With Your Peen Ruins Your Life…” (ellipses are key to making this title sing.) In case it’s not clear, I break down how thinking with your peen can reach such a level of Ridiculosity (the sequel to the 1995 film Virtuosity starring Russell Crowe & Denzel Washington) that it destroys everything you’ve worked for in your life. But let me be clear, thinking with your peen has its good points (for better or for worse, civilization is still around, bodega owners will knock fifty cents of my Theraflu purchases (#MeanToBrag), and without my boyfriend, I’d eat like 3 times a week and all three meals would be salads. Without the croutons. Because I not paying extra for that shit. Seriously). Anyway, I’m the inaugural edition of Peen Ruiners belongs to former Senator and Presidential candidate and all-around trifling, good for nothing type of brother John Edwards:
For real, for real, I’d probably hit it because if John’s going to look this put together for a mug shot, he’s def going to bring it when we go to Applebee’s and will make it rain croutons on that Caesar salad. Balsamic vinaigrette on the side!
In all seriousness, John, why the hell are you smiling? You’ve been charged with campaign corruption and spending nearly one million dollars to cover up your relationship with your side piece/baby mama Rielle Hunter, whose birth name is Lisa Jo Druck. Really? You cheated on your saint-like wife with someone who has a name that could be in a Dolly Parton movie? John, when you find out your mistress has a deep fried with kale on the side, country ass name like that, you pull a Padma Lakshmi from Top Chef and you tell Lisa Jo to, “Please pack your knives and go” aka “I can’t sex on you no mo’.”
As ludicrous as this title is, the three-year-old on Time magazine’s cover is old enough to ask a question in the style of a guy catcalling a woman in Brooklyn. And I’m sure that if the mom denied him, this kid would respond in an angry fashion like that of the catcaller: ”Well, fuck you anyway. Your breast milk ain’t shit.”
In all seriousness, in the past 36 hours, this breastfeeding cover got people talking when they featured a young, attractive, thin, blond woman with her son just chilling on her boob like characters in a Spike Lee film chilled on an apartment building stoop: