Yes, I know this title is mad ignorant, but #TeamBlaria, you should be proud of me because I was literally going to type “youse” instead of “you,” so I could sound like some Italian goombah, but I thought that might be too much. Anyway, as we’re all aware, ever since Chick-fil-a’s president Dan Cathy proudly declared that he’s anti-gay marriage earlier this month, the company has been enduring somewhat of a PR nightmare. First, it was revealed on the Huffington Post website that despite Cathy’s proclamations that his only real concern is maintaining the ideal of the traditional family, Chick-fil-a actually donated nearly $5 million dollars to anti-gay groups and hate groups. Eventually, Cathy owned up to these donations. Then, The Jim Henson Company did the equivalent of a weave snatch during a street fight and announced publicly that they wished to sever their relationship with Chick-fil-a because of their views to which Chick-fil-a responded with this (click on the image to enlarge it and read the text):
Just like Prince William, we’re all giving Chick-fil-a the royal side eye and smirk combo for that mess of an excuse for recalling Muppet toys. Chick-fil-a issuing the recall after Muppets already told them to go to the left, to the left is like when someone gets dumped and then is like, “Yeah, I was gonna break up with you anyway because you leave dirty drawers all over the apartment.” Bitch, please, quit trying to save face. We all know you didn’t really care about the dirty Fruit of the Looms because you just GChated your friends three days ago about how he’s the one, so go turn on Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide, sit by your windowsill like this is West Side Story, and be sad.
Y’all, hide yo kids, hide yo husbands’ peens, and, company shareholders, hide yo money cuz e’erybody is getting pregnant up in here aka the new Yahoo CEO Marissa Mayer had the nerve to turn herself into the human equivalent of an Easy Bake oven and is currently cooking up a six month old baby in her body. And simply put, people are losing. their. damn. minds:
What is this? A baby. Mayer is going to be a mother. A mother. You know, like the one you buffoons had growing up. Everyone’s all for women being mothers except when it comes to the workplace. That’s where the real backwards and sexist thoughts start to come to a head. “Can she balance work and motherhood?” “She’s not her usual chipper self. Probably because she’s a mom now.” Thoughts that don’t really happen when men become fathers. Hmm. To be clear, this is not another essay about whether or not women can have it all. I don’t know if women can have it all. I don’t know if humans can have it all. What I’m more concerned about is that when women in the workplace announce their pregnancies and impending maternity leave, they’re greeted with an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen that has the words “Congratulations” on it when we know that some executives wish they could’ve had this message written on the cake:
Afternoon, Blarians!! Hope y’all had a great week last week. I know someone who certainly didn’t. No, not me. Zikomo Peurifoy in Casselberry, Florida forgot he was Black for a hot second and mouthed off to White police officers because that’s never a situation that ends poorly, right? But you what, I don’t blame Peurifoy for getting crunked up at the po-po because he was probably thinking, “I’m living in the Obama era,” and had seen that Jennifer Hudson’s Weight Watchers commercial where she’s singing the Feeling Good song, so he was like, “Yeah, it is a new dawn, a new day, a new life for me,” left his house out, and bought those dumb ass toe shoes like the kind worn by this White brah in this pic:
Point is, Peurifoy was in a good mood, so it’s only natch (aka natural) that he didn’t think his day was going to end with several police officers tasering the mess out his ass:
To help prevent this foolishness from happening again, I’m giving y’all eight easy rules on how to avoid confronting the police while being Black. And if you are White, congrats! You don’t have to worry about this, but you probably have
some a black friend s, so it would be awesome to pass my blog post to him/her. Sharing is caring! Without further ado, here are my eight rules:
1) Don’t be Black.
Y’all, shit just got Lifetime movie real: accused NYC soccer mom madam Anna Gristina was released from Riker’s Island on bond last night after four months behind bars. Whoo! You just know her family was singing Joyful, Joyful (the Sister Act 2 version, obvs) at this good news. Wearing an ankle bracelet, Anna chucked up the deuces to a Manhattan courthouse and was greeted by her husband and her nine year-old son, who showed up with a bouquet of red roses for his mama. Damn, that’s some thoughtful Love Actually shit. His mom is allegedly selling tang and he gets her a dozen roses and I’ve never bought my mom flowers. Ever. And my mom spent years straightening my hair with a hot comb. Do you know how hard it is to straighten a little Black girl’s hair when she doesn’t want to sit still? It’s like 98.7% more difficult than selling vajayjays because vajayjays sell themselves. Sorry, mom! I should’ve at least gotten you Chrysanthemums for your birthday. Anyway, check out the footage of Anna Gristina’s release from jail:
Pause. This long-haired, ponytailed motherfucker is your lawyer, Anna?:
What in patchouli smelling and Bob Ross landscape painting hell were you thinking? You’ve “allegedly” been running a multi-million dollar brothel for years and this is dude you chose to represent you? He’s wearing a ridiculously long ass ponytail. Male lawyers don’t have ponytails. Yes, I’m being judgmental and shallow, but tell me I’m wrong. Dude looks like he paints women’s vulvas inside his cabin in the Catskills aka this dude looks TRIFLING.
Vagina, vagina, vagina, vagina, vagina! Saying it 5x won’t summon the Vadge Monster nor should saying it once get you banned. I mean, it’s 2012, right? Because I don’t understand how two female State Representatives (Lisa Brown, D-West Bloomfield, and Barb Byrum, D-Onondaga) in Michigan were banned from speaking before the House simply for having the temerity to utter the word “vagina” and talk about women’s rights in public. What’s with banning stuff? Are the members of the House of Representatives solely made up of John Lithgow’s reverend character in Footloose? Should we expect that Brown and Byrum are at a warehouse somewhere in Michigan, rage dancing in Jordache jeans? Except the movie version of this political situation would be called Loose Lips. #DoubleEntendre #YoureWelcome. Of the two State Reps., Lisa Brown has gotten more attention because of the following clip:
“I’m flattered you’re all so interested in my vagina. But no means no.” Oh. Damn. That quote is the equivalent of when some White basketball player gets dunked on by Lebron James and that clip makes the Sportscenter highlight reel. Nuts (or in this case, ovaries) in yo face, House Republicans!
“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:
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:
Hey, America. It’s Blaria. Just thought you should know that if you apologize one more time when you don’t mean it, I will burn your car down a la Angela Bassett in Waiting to Exhale:
That’s right. I will put on my sexiest negligee, sew in a weave, throw every last pair of your Fruit of the Loom into that Nissan Altima you own and light that shit on fire. Do I have your attention now? Good. See, there you go again. Stop saying you’re sorry. Stop hiring a camera crew to record you with a somber look on your face. Stop hiring some tool to write an apology that’s the equivalent of Steve Urkel’s “Oops, did I do that?” Don’t apologize for anything ever again. Because you don’t mean it. Not only do you not mean it, but you don’t even know what the word “apologize” means. It used to mean, “a written or spoken expression of one’s regret, remorse, or sorrow for having insulted, failed, injured, or wronged another,” but now it means, “please get over what I did, so I can resume being a Summer’s Eve without you bitching about.”
According to the UK’s Daily Mail, a new law called Farewell Intercourse was allegedly proposed by Egyptian parliament (not be confused with George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic; although, anyone who looks like this might be on board with this law) that would give husbands the thumbs up to do the porno version of Weekend at Bernie’s aka bone their dead wife for up to six hours after her death. Newsflash, Egypt: NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE ABOUT YOUR DICK, so tell it to go sit its ass down (yes, dicks have asses during this rant) and watch Charlie Rose and learn something.