Happy Thursday, y’all! I’m back this week with a second episode of the Blaria Podcast. Whoo-hoo! This time around I’m chopping it up with bi-coastal comic and TV personality Michelle Buteau. This has been a podcast epi months in the making as we both have been busy, but the stars finally aligned and she joined me at my day job (seriously, how have I not been fired yet?) to talk about her career, her childhood and our love of pop culture. Hands down, this is one of the most enjoyable times I’ve had recording the Blaria poddie. See why after the jump!
“She might move on to rappers and ballplayers/But we all know I hit it first…I had her head going north and her ass going south/But now baby chose to go West.” ~ said person who breathes oxygen and takes of dumps with the bathroom door open because he enjoys a nice spring breeze caressing his ankles AKA Ray J (I mean, really, am I going to pretend to label him as a rapper or actor or anything that has the semblance of being a job? No, I shall not) as he bragged about how he had sex with Kim Kardashian before her current beau and father of their soon-to-be-born baby, Kanye West, did on the song I Hit It First.
Ray J, the world is not your momma and your dick is not a ten-year-old child who just defeated all the Koopa Troopas for the first time in Super Mario World; therefore, we are not going to take you to Chuck E. Cheese for a pizza party simply because you spooged in a woman. You are thirty-two years old. Please understand that your peen with will go in and out of holes and that action will be treated as unceremoniously as one treats a pile of folded laundry. Clearly, you think differently; otherwise, you wouldn’t have released this song. But I’m here to tell you that despite how “cool” or “edgy” you think you’re being for putting out I Hit It First, you’re actually being fifty shades of trifling.
Happy Thursday, y’all! After a week off, I’m back with another epi of the Blaria Podcast. Today, I’m chatting with one of the busiest comedians/writer I know, Guy Branum. He and I met via the interwebs a year and a half ago, but didn’t really hang out in person until he got hired to write for the New York based TV show Totally Biased with W. Kamau Bell and this podcast is the result. So check out or convo after the jump!
#TeamBlaria, it has come to my attention that country singer Brad Paisley and rapper/actor LL Cool J pressed the snooze button on their common sense by teaming up to do a song about race relations that has the intellectual complexity of grade school children. In short, Accidental Racist‘s message of “I’mma white dude from the South and golly gee, racism is kinda cray cuz I have to think about shit and instead of being ig’nant all the time. This. Is. Hard. For. Me,” is a steaming pile of gorilla doodoo. And for LL Cool J to co-sign this buffoonery like it’s a bank loan for his starter home makes ask the Lord to give me the strength of squirrel monkey holding onto a mango not to slap the shit out of LL Cool J’s dad’s balls for creating a person who would not only agree with Paisley’s sentiments, but also contribute an atrocious verse to the song. If you haven’t gotten a chance to peep the ridiculosity of Accidental Racist, don’t panic, because this lil negress is going to give you a Blaria-fied breakdown of the this five minutes and forty-two second song. Let’s get to it, shall we?
Rick Ross, The World Probably Would’ve Been Better Off If You Ended Up a Hanes Sock Instead of Being Born27 Mar
“Put molly all in her champagne/ She ain’t even know it/ I took her home and I enjoyed that/ She ain’t even know it,” ~ rapper Rick Ross boasting about date raping a woman during his guest verse on Rocko’s song U.O.E.N.O. (You Ain’t Even Know It).
#TeamBlaria, I literally don’t know where to begin. I’m bubbling over with rage and disheartenment: I wanna throw up dub (aka double) middle fingers in the sky like it’s the Batman signal in hopes that Ross will see it and know how truly I’m pissed off I am on behalf of all vagina havers, yet at the same time, I want to call his mom and have a heart-to-heart like the kind you see in a Dolly Parton movie where one conversation (infused with Southern wisdom) over a glass of lemonade and cheddar dill biscuits resolves everything. Unfortunately, we know that one conversation isn’t going to undo nor solve the problem that is illustrated in Ross’ verse. Several conversations need to happen – why is bragging about rape socially acceptable, why was this song even allowed to be released, what goes on in a person’s mind to think that bragging about rape is cool and not horrifying, why some people will listen to this song and not even blink an eye at Ross’ lyrics – and they need to happen constantly in order to fix the disturbing mindset that people like Rick Ross have. It’s a serious problem. So to those people who are like, “Take a chill pill! It’s just music,” I’m going to say to you what I say to my boyfriend when he tries to wake me up in morning via boner to my back:
This is not music. This is not hip hop. This is not acceptable. It’s trifling that people are listening to and buying U.O.E.N.O. because it’s message is packaged with a nice beat; therefore, it’s somehow okay. Um, no, it’s not okay.
#TeamBlaria, sometimes when I see something hella cute, I get excited like when I think I’ve run out of popcorn, but then I discover a few kernels fell into my bra. I’m like, “Thank ye, Jesus for letting my bresticles be receptacles for delicious and buttery snacks!” But sometimes, I see something hella trifling and I’m like, “Biiiiiiiiiitch, you better tell that dude to shrink wrap his dick like it’s leftover pork chop before y’all fuck, so you can make sure none of his juices get in ya.” Even if the situation has nothing to do with having sex with a peen that’s as used and abused as a rental yoga mat at donation-based yoga studio, one of my go-to mottos is, “Shrink wrap the peen,” which is my version of some people saying, “Namaste,” in order to center themselves before dealing with a stressful situation. Thinking about leaving your day job to start your own business? Shrink wrap that dick? Can’t decide if you should get Netflix and Hulu Plus? Shrink wrap that dick. Unsure if you should add an emoticon in a text? Act like you work in the gift wrapping department at Macy’s by putting a Santa hat on your head, listen to some Bing Crosby Christmas carols, and Shrink. Wrap. That. Dick. And yes, obvs, always include an emoticon in a text because simply writing, “Yes” with a period might make the person think that you think he and his mama ain’t shit and ain’t never gonna be shit. So smile away! Anyway, when it was announced yesterday that Tiger Woods is dating alpine ski racer Lindsey Vonn, most people probably reacted the way I do when I gain ten pounds and none of that weight goes to my boobs:
Meanwhile, Lindsey probably said this to her vadge:
Okay, okay, it’s totes unfair to assume that she’s getting with Tigs because of his money, but we all know that good looking dames don’t get with trifling rich dudes unless those dudes are doing the following:
Except that instead of a lollipop, the guy is holding up an Excel spreadsheet of the woman’s bills with the words “Paid in Full” next to each line item. So either Lindsey is gold digging OR, she’s doing the far more upsetting thing, which is hoping that she’ll be the one to change him. Either way, Lindsey, honey, my advice to you is to drink a glass of “This Ain’t a Katherine Heigl movie,” put on your skis and slalom your ass out of his life.
While Justin Timberlake has never been an automatic panty dropper for me, I’d at least unbutton my shirt Eurotrash style, so one could see my chesticles and then I’d put some Vaseline on them, so they’d have a nice sheen like the glossy side of the poster board I’d use for my middle school science class presentations. Point is, even though I don’t want to go half on a baby with him, I’m into him. To clarify, just the musical and SNL sides of him; his acting in movies is pretty much “meh” for me. But his music, in particular his solo work, I’ve always enjoyed, so I must admit that when JT announced that he was ending his seven year long hiatus from music with the upcoming release of The 20/20 Experience, I reacted to that news the way I do when my seven day no-carb diet ends:
Straight up, listening to music for free is the closest I’ve gotten to dancing the Holy Ghost. Suffice it to say, I was in good spirits when I started listening to JT’s album. but when it was over, I was hella disappointed in it. #RealTalk, this album is nothing but JT reenacting every black mom in America when her chillrens mistake her pausing as a sign that she’s done reprimanding them when she was just momentarily distracted because she saw a 2-for-1 sale on bean pies at the neighborhood store. She immediately refocused when she saw her kiddies started to walk away from her and said:
aka all these songs are too damn long. Seven, eight minutes a pop is too much. Not that a song can’t be that length. Legendary artists and bands have released songs that long and they were well-received. But on 20/20, I feel like he’s holding the listener captive with his self-indulgence and the musical choices that were exciting on FutureSex/LoveSounds seem paint-by-the-numbers (maybe work with other producers than Timberland?) this time around. Furthermore, JT practically sings in non-stop falsetto on 20/20. Don’t get me wrong, like most peeps, I love it when a dude saaangs in falsetto, but by the time I reached the halfway mark of this album, I asked myself, “Did this mofo’s testicles not drop? I mean, why the hell is his voice high as the bouffant hairstyles at a southern beauty pageant all the damn time?” In short, it’s too much of a good thing. Anyway, I know a lot of people are ready to crown this album as his comeback to the music world, but I have to say this was a rather lukewarm effort. So let’s break down The 20/20 Experience track by track, shall we?
What I’m about to say may sound a tad creepy, but here goes. My uterus oven is not preheated to 375°with the hopes of some baby batter aka jizz being inserted in it, but every time I see lil miss Quvenzhané Wallis being interviewed, I feel like a proud mama and wish I had a lil Quvenzhané of my own. Ever since I saw her wonderful and touching performance as a six-year-old girl named Hushpuppy who struggles to survive in post-Katrina New Orleans with her father, I’ve read and watched every interview she’s done and been bowled over by her charm. And I’m not the only one who feels this way. Today‘s Tamron Hall was quite effusive with Wallis during their interview and expressed that she want to take her home with her. Simply put, e’erybody kinda wants to be Quvenzhané’s mama. And when you wanna be someone’s mama, you always carry around some fruit snacks, a renewed sense of hope for the future, and a jar of Vaseline, just in case you have to fight a bitch who gets hella ignorant with your child. And today, the bitch I wanna fight is satirical newspaper The Onion who tweeted a vile “joke” in which they called Q a “see you next Tuesday.”
At first, when I saw the tweet, I responded the way I did when I called Cablevision to cancel my landline, but they kept trying to persuade me to keep the landline by saying that if I did, they would throw in the Starz network of no additional charge (Starz, really? I’m pretty sure I’d pay y’all not to give me that piece of shit station):
But after the initial rage passed, I immediately grew sad like when I listen to a musician’s album on Spotfiy and every song on the CD is available except for the biggest hit and I keep clicking on the song in the hopes that it’s going to magically start playing, but it never does:
Finally, after going through all those emotions, I thought, “This is why I’m glad I don’t have kids.”
#TeamBlaria, despite being a film buff, I had decided months ago that I wasn’t going to watch Beyoncé’s Life is But a Dream documentary because I’m wary of self-directed or “behind the scenes” movies of famous people because they tend to be nothing more than vanity pieces rather than insightful, interesting, and engaging. Yet, the full court press my Facebook friends put on me in hopes that my inner film geek would override my misgivings was similar to the kind my bf does when he knows I’m trying to eat healthier, but comes home from work and says, “Sweet potato pie is made of sweet potatoes, so it’s not like you’re really eating dessert. Open your mouth,” while doing this:
In short, I had no. fucking. choice. So as soon as I got back from my trip to San Francisco, I caved in and watched the documentary. And boy, did it do nothing to change my opinion that 97.8% of all self-directed “behind the scenes” movies are little more than fluff pieces. I mean, Life is But a Dream‘s hour and twenty-five minutes running time could have been condensed to thirty seconds tops and the title of the doc could’ve been changed to the following:
Because despite all promises of information being revealed, literally everything that was in the movie has been on Beyoncé’s Wikipedia page for months and months: she’s independent. Duh. She knows how to pose for the camera and look gorgeous. Of course. Jay-Z is her best friend. Obvs. She fired her dad, who had been managing her career from day one. Um, yeah, that tends to happen once you find out your dad was deep sea diving his dick into other vaginas that don’t belong to his wife’s. Tell us or show us something we don’t know, B! Well, to be fair, she did try. Take a gander at this empty statement from Bey: “I’m a human being. I cry.” Ugh, if you have to say this aloud, chances are that you’re about as deep as a transgendered woman’s vajayjay, which is to say not very deep at all because, generally speaking, transgendered women’s newly factory made vajazzles tend to be about as shallow as the tiny ass gutter leaf guard on the roof of my parents’ starter home. Before I go any further, I just want to stress that this isn’t a case of me sipping on haterade. I enjoy Bey-Bey and think she’s a hard worker who can dance and sing well enough to have the career she has. But based on this doc and countless other interviews she’s done, she comes off as utterly bland and relies too heavily on platitudes in hopes that they sound revelatory. And I don’t know if that is the result of her laser-like focus on having a music career her entire life at the detriment of developing into a multidimensional human being or if it’s just because she suffers from “Hot Personitis” and simply coasts on being hot enough to make people’s boners go full-mast like flags at a military hero’s funeral. Whatever the case may be, as a fellow performer and a movie buff, I was greatly disappointed by the documentary.
Ten Romantic Comedies You Can Watch With Your Boo On Valentine’s Day That Won’t Make Him Want To Shoot Himself In the Face6 Feb
Props to all the single ladies going to every library, grocery store, and sports bar and doing the “Oh, Shit, Valentine’s Day Is Almost Here And I’m Sans Peens, So It’s Time To Send Out Some Queef Signals:
And Snare Me a Man Who Will Buy Me A Whitman’s Chocolate Sampler.” If you don’t end up landing a dude, V-Day could suck unless you happen to stumble upon a couple arguing in the street on your way home from work then you can do this:
And secretly feel better about your life. Now, all you peeps who are like me and are in a good relay lay (aka relationship), don’t go getting all smug because this holiday kinda blows for us, too. There’s too much pressure to express your love in an epic manner, spend money on overpriced flowers and dinners, and most importantly, to me, it’s damn near impossible to agree a movie to watch so you either fight about it or pick something that one of you doesn’t want to see. Generally speaking, on this romantical day, plenty of ladies want to peep a rom com, which makes their men wish they could load up their urethras with kidney stones like one loads up a Nerf gun and shoot us and themselves in the face. Luckily, that shit ain’t possible or I would’ve been riddled with K stones every time I made my boo stop channel surfing because I was like, “Oooh, is that a Drew Barrymore movie? Let’s see what she’s doing!” Anyway, the point is that this V-Day is gonna be different for all couples across the world (or just the ones who read this blog) because I’m going to help y’all pick a movie that you and your boo can enjoy. Here are ten options that are foolproof…
There’s Something About Mary
Straight up, most dudes prefer to remember Brett Favre for his funny ass cameo as Cameron Diaz’s ex-bf and not his peen picture that he sent to former NY Jets sideline reporter Jenn Sterger, in which he held his peen between his fingers like one holds a biscotti cookie. Brett, are you going to dip you peen into a cup of coffee? No? Then get your damn hand out of the pic.