Broadcasting Live from Crazy Town

Tha following is a conversation that I've been having with a guy that I've seen around town before, but honestly don't know. Before we get into this good ole buffoonery, there are a few things you need to be made aware of:

1. Yes, I'm bestowing him with tha dishonorable Nigga Please Award.

2. When I originally saw that this seemingly innocent back and forth was quickly spiraling into shinanigans, I decided that it would merrit a blog post. My original intention was to remove tha trouble-maker's name to protect his identity and to fulfill my commitment to not being a complete asshole at all times... but he cut up so bad, that I figured I'd be doing tha general public a great service by including his name.

3. Despite how much he denies it, he did indeed try to holler at my homegirl, Reke. This fool invited her over for breakfast and wine. Yes, please and thank you... Wine. But he wasn't tryin' to holler? C'mon, son.

4. On more than one occasion, I could feel tha undeniable essence of Mimi Plastique creep on up in my spirit.

5. If I have to ask this man (gotdamn politely) to refrain from talking to me one more time, we gon' have some problems.

And now for tha monkey business...


Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 22 at 4:09pm
I remember meeting you at Leimert Park, my buddy stepped on your toe. I tried to nurse the pain by pouring some cold water on it. Hope your toe is fine..I remember saying to myself i hope i see her again...respect.

Nikki BLAK December 23 at 1:47pm
Funny, I don't remember that. Hey, didn't you recently try to holler at my friend, Reke?

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 23 at 2:54pm
No..she hollered at me..i don't holler at woman. I told her lets be friends, i don't think she wanted that. I'm too fine to holler at women meaning i've never had to. I have a waiting list now. So if she told you i tried to holler at her she's a liar. However i do like to uplift and empower people who seem to be in rough situations like Reke would portray.

I think we live in times of instant gratification, people want things right away. I choose to build connections with people. Strengthen my cypher by having positive influences around me. Sex is too boring without a connection or friendship...

In ur case i may be mistaken, don't you have a daughter? You were at Leimert for some venue in the theatre and my buddy stepped on ur big toe..either way its fine if you don't remember.

Bless you and Reke..

Nikki BLAK December 23 at 4:08pm
Wow, that was a WHOLE LOTTA response. LMBAO @ "I'm too fine to holler at women".

*rolls around on tha floor, laughing*

WOWZERS. I don't think you're even her type, so I doubt it was her trying to holler at you... and while we're on tha subject of my good friend since I was 15, how do you think I feel about you, now that you've called my sister a liar? Trust, that's not how to get on my good side. No, I don't have a daughter, no I still don't remember our interaction, and honestly, at this point, I'm not at all interested. Reke and I are both very blessed, thank you. Be well.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 23 at 4:28pm
Oh i'm sorry then, well i thought it was you. Someone is walking around looking just like you. And my goal was not to holler at you either Nikki..i just appreciate beauty and like to show love and thought your facebook comment was cute. And no i didn't call her a liar luv, believe me if i was hollering i'd be more aggressive. I'm spoilt and usually get what i want.

I think Reke is beautiful and have nuthin bad to say bout her. After she mentioned that all she has to hold at night is a scruffy dog i felt like a woman so beautiful should have good people around her. Which she prob does. Ask her what went down, i wanted to see what her world was like. Its all love Nikki...

Sorry bout the mix up, i love beautiful people and positive energy and love to enjoy my life. Take care

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 23 at 4:29pm
Dang u guys are sisters..you are both beautiful. Peace.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 3:42am
Nobody was trying to get on your good side lady. But i guess both you and Reke are free to flatter yourselves.

Nikki BLAK December 24 at 9:00am
Talking, talking, talking. Why are you STILL talking? Please stop.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 9:03am
lol..just clearing any misconceptions. Peace.

Nikki BLAK December 24 at 9:18am
Tha only misconceptions are tha ones that you created and continue to perpetuate with your incessant yapping about something, that frankly, nobody really cares about. I asked you a simple "yes" or "no" question, that you really could've just responded to and went on with tha rest of tha conversation. But instead, here we are, a billion messages later. This is stupid. Tha truth needs no proof. If it ain't so, just say so and move on without tha name calling, double talk, back and forth, and carrying on. I'm shocked at your reaction... it's as if I accused you of stealing, or beating my friend down in tha street. If you hollered, you hav a right to as a grown, single, heterosexual man. If you didn't, fine. I. Don't. Care. Ugh. This has been an extremely immature and WEIRD interaction, however, very telling of character, and for that, I'm thankful. It's good to kno, for future reference.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 11:18am
I was just a bit shocked..and it came out of nowhere???????????? I came at you with love so i'm not sure why u attacking me. I answer the way i want to answer not the way someone else wants me to answer. Everyone is different, if it takes me three pages so be it. Of course i would react to someone bullshitting about me. I'm jewelzdagod please do some research i make sure i walk the truth.. u commin at me really crazy for someone who just said you were beautiful. But its my fault i thought you were someone else, it is what it is. Take care.

Nikki BLAK December 24 at 11:27am
Sorry, there's no need for me to "research" anything... I have personal experience. Didn't know when I responded to your random, unsolicited message and asked you a harmless question that I would be getting a one way ticket to Crazy Town. Let me off this train. You can stop talking now. Thank you.

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 11:34am
I'm sorry, god bless you and your right i hit u up unsolicited and you don't know me. Forgive me i really did think you were someone else. Thats why i aske d about your toe..

Anthony Okwudiri Ehirim December 24 at 11:46am
Hey so now that we're acquainted we can b friends, crazytown is [fun]. I'll get you a round trip, lol.I was a bit startled at ur harmless question. I'm harmless too ok. I love you...

Yes, yes, ya'll he did indeed just say he loves me. SECURITY!!!

Lucky

I wrote this tha other day. Because it's tha first poem that I've written in a long time that I've actually finished and liked, I thought I'd share it with ya'll. It looks long, but its really not, so don't be scurred.

LUCKY

Lucky

It was once said
That tha only reason
I had never met tha back
Of a boyfriends hand
Was simply because he had chosen
Not to introduce me
I was lucky
Unlike so many women
Landed face first
Into tha ridges of a lover's knuckles
Accidental
And shouldn't I be grateful
Not proud
To wear tha word "unbattered" like a badge
Across my intact face
For me,
There was never any decision to be made
No option to contemplate
Just tha merciful restraint
Of men who would string a necklace
Of bruises
Around my clavicle
At tha first opportunity
If I hadn't just been so fuckin' lucky

There is no place to stash a choice
Between skin and boning
Under tha corset of femininity
I'm supposed to cinch myself into
All tha better to keep my ribs
Unfractured and in their proper places
Hold my guts inside my body
Keep me propped upright
Doll-like
Incapable,
Only able to bind my daughters'
Masterfully crafted feet
For tha beauty of tradition
So that she, like me,
And every woman before her
Will never able to leave


I must understand
That it had nothing to do
With tha fact that
I demanded little more
For myself
From myself
And everyone else
Than respect
Not necessarily to be liked
Or even loved right
But to simply keep my face
In one piece
It had nothing to do
With me escaping into tha street
Long after midnight one morning
In tha midst of an argument
To avoid his anger
Nothing to do with being 18
And breaking up with my boyfriend
Because I recognized tha danger
In being called a bitch
Nothing to do with
Unanswered phone calls
And forever ignored voicemails
In tha days following
An incident in which a a male friend
Leaned in through my open driver's side window
So that he could properly wring my neck
I guess
I'm lucky
If only my clitoris
Were, instead a penis
I would have a say
As to how I should be treated
Only tha abuser has a choice
And it is enough
For tha rest of us
To simply wish
That he would decide
not to beat us
Lucky,
To dodge tha runaway wrecking ball
Of his fist
Not by ducking
But just by leaving
Before he has tha chance
To swing

Nikki, in Real Life

Sometimes I do poems. Here's tha proof...

Respect tha BOOM

Just last week, I had to lightweight bang on a negro about Boom. If you don't kno by now whut Boom is, honestly I don't kno whut to tell you aside from, "Get your life together." For now, I will say, Boom is about showing, not really about telling, and if you have been Boomed on (which likely, you have, at some point in your life) then you have a general idea of whut tha movement consists of. One of my very best girls and fellow Boomer, Tamara Blue wrote a really great poem about The Boom Girls and in light of last weeks incident with tha disrespectful male (who was no doubt jealous of our Booming abilities), and me coming dangerously close to punchin' another dude in his lying mouth, I wanted to share this goodness with ya'll.

If I had a sister
Her words would carry weight
Her style would be copied
And copied, and copied again
Paintings in her likeness
Would hang on walls in homes or buildings
All over the city, state and county
Fashions fly
Accessories exceptional

My sister would
Give me advice
And I would listen
Baring no resemblance
In facial features or structure
But still sisters like
Boom
Hugs so tight
you feel the magic in her arms
eye brows arched to perfection
With a bald head and Boom ring
Red hair, Blue hair, dread locs,
mo hawks, afros, weaves or wigs

A killer switch
In flats or 6 inch heels

praised for her way with words
her skills in the kitchen
and the bedroom


Never meek
Always sweet
But ready
at the drop of a dime
To Boom on a muthafucka if need be

Cuz sometimes
People need to be hit in they mouth
To remember that talking shit can hurt them

My sister would
have a degree
Be a single mother
A touring poet
A preschool teacher
An actor, activist, stylist,
A singer
A motivational speaker
A preacher
And a college drop out

My parents may have only had
One girl
And I may be there only daughter
But thank goodness
God has blessed me
With some sisters

GET! IT!

It was tha leg kicks that did it for me...

Learning to Leave White Women Alone

I'll admit, I am at times very immature. As a result, I'm still chuckling my ass off about tha whole Taylor Swift and Kanye fiasco, and needless to say entertained by all things relating to it. Tha shit is silly. Tha actual act of getting out of your seat to interrupt some one's speech and give your unwanted, un-asked for opinion, tha fact that it overshadowed so many much more important news stories, that it eclipsed tha original reason for Kanye being on Jay Leno's show to begin with, and that (white)folks are complaining now that Kanye is obviously, apparently racist -- wait -- because Kanye acted an ass, he's racist? Hold on. Let's explore this.



Now, I can't really tell you whut possessed him to hop his ass up out his seat and help himself to tha microphone in tha middle of Taylor's acceptance speech, but I can tell you this much -- Kanye ain't stupid. Bully? Yes. Coked up? Likely. Bitch? Quite possibly. Racist? No. Lemme tell you how I came to that conclusion... (aside from Taylor and Beyonce) Tha following ladies were nominated for that award.

Pink



Kelly Clarkson



Lady Gaga



and Katy Perry



Now, here come little saccharine ass, wholesome, darling, lovable Taylor, skippin' up on stage to accept her award...


I got a toothache just lookin' at her daggone picture. Based on visuals alone, do you get where I'm goin with this? You're smart, so of course you do. However, I'mma just go on ahead and say it for tha slow kids in tha class:

Kanye would have never in a million years gone up on stage and interrupted anybody but Taylor's speech! EVER!

Why?

'Cause he ain't stupid.

You and I kno that if he had been able to get tha nerve up to even get up out his seat and act like he wanted to show out while they were accepting their awards, Kelly Clarkson and Katy Perry would've had NO PARTS of that, Lady Gaga with her crazy ass woulda been liable to do a Mike Tyson on that brutha, and Pink -- OH, HONEY... Pink might've put her cigarette out on his forehead, raped, and shanked him.

Notice, all of these women are white. I guarantee you, race wasn't tha motivation behind this outburst. If anything, it was simply an opportunity for Kanye to talk. You kno that boy likes to just talk. Don't believe me? Just listen to tha last track on tha College Dropout album. He talks for 8 minutes and 45 seconds, damn near without taking any breaths.

So, now that we've got that out of tha way, let me get to tha part about this whole thing that disturbs me (and tha point of this whole blog). I read around tha web that after tha incident at tha VMAs, some folks up and lost they damn minds and started name callin'.

Joeben Buena tweeted, "So I just heard. Kanye West had a nigger moment last night at the VMAs." Jake Snider tweeted, "...Thank you Kanye for proving what I've been telling people forever. You're a nigger!"

Forreal? With tha strong "ER"?!?! We doin' it like that? Oh, okay. I shouldn't have to tell you that neither of these muthafuckas are black, nor is this beezie Kayla Larson from California's Bay Area, who tweeted, "Kanye West is a fucking NIGGER! It's guys like him that make you all look bad!"

Sorry, Kayla-boo... it's actually bitches like you who make "you all" look bad. Granted, none of these things would hav been uttered by any of tha above mentioned backward-ass, possibly inbred folk in an environment that didn't provide a level of anonymity and a great physical barrier. I would pay good money to see Jake and Joeben down at tha Baldwin Hills Crenshaw Plaza talkin' that much shit, or little Miss Larson in a room full black girls with that much to say. It would indeed be a tragedy. And yes, I believe in and advocate putting your hands on folks that obviously don't understand anything other than a good choking out.

Sidebar: We have told non-black folks for far too long that "nigga" (or any variation of tha word) is not a part of their vocabulary... and yet, they persist. Whut is one to do when reasoning and polite talk has failed? I think it's time to get Wayne Brady involved.

But, I digress...

Of course Kanye is partially responsible for some of this. Though he doesn't deserve to be called all out his name or have racial slurs and insults hurled at him, he had to have known that it might go in this direction. After all, this is whut happens when you don't learn to leave white women alone. Whether you're whistling at them, tryin to wife them, or in this case, wrestle a microphone out their hands so you can sing Beyonce's praises, white folk aren't going to just allow you to mistreat their precious vessels of life. Black man, you better appreciate that white woman -- while averting yo negro eyes. And speak soft, too. And call her, "Ma'am". And shuffle yo feet.



Interestingly enough, I didn't hear all this nigger talk when Chris Brown battered Rhianna. So basically, a black bitch can get her face busted open at tha hands of a black man and it's business as usual, but if he interrupts a precious white woman's little acceptance speech, it's lynchin' time. I see. Well, thank you America for telling me whut I already knew: Tha issue of race in America is similar to a smoldering fire -- though it may hav appeared to burn itself out and subside, it is still hot and ready to be rekindled, ignite, rage, and continue its path of destruction, if only given tha opportunity. Don't let this black pawn -- I mean, President fool you. Racism is still very much alive.

Is It Just Me...?

Is it just me, or is crashing somebody's performance slightly more unforgivable than interrupting their acceptance speech? I'm just sayin.

Well, I just wanna go on record saying that both Random Acts of Foolishness blessed my soul in ways that I cannot express. Thank you, Lil' Mama and Kanye for helping me hav tha best week ever.

Nigga Please (tha Latino Edition)

This week's Nigga Please Award goes to my landlord, who, after tha cashier's check for my rent apparently went undelivered, thanks to tha good people at USPS, called me and suggested that perhaps I should, (A) Just giv him a whole other rent check, and if I couldn't afford it, (B) BORROW tha money to giv him some rent that I done already paid. Uh, that'll be a firm "No", amigo.

First off, who's brilliant idea was it for me to giv him cashier's checks every month? HIS. I had to inform him, that unfortunately, cashier's checks are very similar to cash, in that once that money is withdrawn from my account, it's GONE. I also informed him that had he allowed me to simply write him a personal check, like normal people do, when he never got it, I could've put a stop payment on it and written him another one, quick, fast, and, in a hurry. Basically, your bad, darling.

Second, tha United States Postal Service is good for mis-delivering or just flat out losing mail. Unfortunately, I sent my rent first class mail (which means I just put it in an envelope, slapped a forever stamp on it and handed it to tha mail guy at my job), therefore, there's no way to track it. I trust USPS to deliver my mail to me and tha rest of tha good people of tha World, but sometimes it just doesn't happen like that. Hell, my neighborhood mail man loves givin' me other people's mail. Just tha other week, I got a Highlights Magazine in my mailbox that belongs to a little boy at tha other end of tha block. It happens. Landlord, come get your rent.

Third: When he called me on Friday night to tell me he hadn't gotten tha check in tha mail, I specifically asked him to call me tha next day if it had not be delivered by then. Did he call me? Of course not. Did he call me Sunday? Nope. Did he call me all day Monday, when maybe I could hav investigated further or talked to my bank about a possible solution? Hell naw. So, I assumed everything had worked out and maybe it had magically appeared in his mailbox or been brought over by a neighbor who had received it accidentally. This man called me on Monday evening, close to 6 pm. No darling, don't ever do it like that.

Then he tried to hit me with tha, "I can't pay tha note on my property without it! Really? You own tha apartment building I liv in, as well as your own residence, and I think another rental property and you mean to tell me that my little bit of rent is actually keeping you from paying your mortgage? In tha words of Souljah Girl, "YAAAAAAAAH! GET OUT MY FACE!" On top of all of that, why he try to say, "Tha mortgage is due today!" OHHHHHH, FORREAL?!?! So you just gone lie like that??? And if it is indeed true that your mortgage is due today, guess whut? YOUR BAD. Do not wait till tha day that some shit is due to come talkin' to me about how you need tha money. I asked you to call me SATURDAY. If in tha event that ONE muthafucka don't pay they rent one month, you can't pay your mortgage... YOU don't need to be owning an apartment building. Get your life together, boo.

I'm putting a stop payment on tha stupid missing cashier's check. I hav to fill out paperwork, sign some shit, get it notarized, send it back to tha bank and then it will take a mandatory 90 days from tha date on which tha check was originally issued (*cough, cough* FUCKERY!) before they refund tha money back to my account. Then, and only then, will I be able to pay him his rent for August... for tha second time.

Upon speaking with my Landlord today and once again making it clear that Bank of America would provide tha funds to pay him on November 4th and no, I would not be borrowing money from anyone to cover tha cost of tha missing check, he seemed to relax. I attribute his change in attitude to tha prayer I sent up to God last night, asking that tha situation be resolved, that I be shown favor, and mostly that I wouldn't hav to end up
slapping this man. My God is an awesome God.

Tha Great Tree Masacre of '09

If ever there was a time to quote Joni Mitchell, I'm pretty sure this is it.

They took all the trees
Put em in a tree museum
And they charged the people
A dollar and a half just to see em

However, let me say, I kno whut I've got before it's gone and don't you try to come take it away or I might hav to get rowdy.

This morning, I was abruptly snatched up outta my sleep by a sound that can only be described as a violent, motorized grinding. No, actually it sounded like my apartment was being eaten by a big ass blender. Better yet, it sounded like tha whole World was being consumed by a tornado of chainsaws -- concrete, buildings, trees and all. Well, I was right about tha trees and sort or right about tha chainsaws. When I went to my living room window and looked out, I could see tha Inglewood City worker men cutting away at this huge tree in front of my building. Okay. Trimming. It happens. Good city. Trim your trees. At 7:30 in tha morning, tho? Is that really necessary? Whutever. I went to get ready for work.

After finishing part of my morning ritual, I wandered back over to my living room window to see whut looked like some sort of giant grotesque stone hand, protruding from tha ground, clawing at tha sky. Clearly, a lot more than "trimming" had occurred. Every bit of this poor tree's foliage was gone and all that was left was trunk and branches. Ugly. I didn't want them to leave that monstrosity in front of my window, but it didn't entirely occur to me that they were going to completely cut a perfectly good tree down. Why would anybody do that? Duh.

Well, folks, I returned home from work to see that that's exactly whut they did. But they didn't stop at tha tree directly in front of my apartment. They kept going all tha way down tha block. Three big beautiful trees had been reduced to stumps and roots.



In tha middle of summer Inglewood? Really? And exactly whut purpose did this tree masacre serve? Does my neighborhood look better now? Can tha people that reside on my block now do something that we couldn't do before? Who's gonna breathe a sigh of relief or sleep more soundly tonight because finally, all those bothersome trees are gone?

Dumb. Asses.

Meanwhile, I've called several times to request that a stop sign be placed at tha deadly ass intersection at tha end of my block. Do I hav my stop sign, yet? Take a guess.



Great verbiage such as "livid", "angry", and even "pissed tha fuck off", don't do a good job of describing how mad I am. I can't quite articulate how vigorously I would like to slap tha individual(s) who came up with tha brilliant idea to chop down these trees and leave my street naked and scarred. And how much money in labor and machinery did they spend in tha destruction and disposal of these trees? But they can't come and put up a couple of stop signs to prevent me or someone else from dying at tha corner a few yards away?

Tha war path is whut I'm on... and you kno I'm familiar with and hav no problems goin down that road. I'm about to giv tha City of Inglewood THEE BUSINESS. Watch.

Granted, city personnel is often good for very little. However, if they can answer their phones (which they are successful at, most times), and if they can check their voicemail, then I'm pretty sure I'm about to get some results, cause they're about to get tired of hearing my voice. I'm calling everyday (sometimes several times a day, depending on how I crazy I feel) until I gets my muthafuckin stop sign. And I won't stop till I get it.

If, God forbid, I were to die tomorrow, I would call tha Inglewood City Public Works Hotline from my grave. I'm like tha Terminator. I'm like Bad Boy in tha 90's. And furthermore, "This mind, this body, and this voice cannot be stifled", word to Fiona Apple.

For now, I've titled this situation that I'm about to temporarily obsess over "Operation Avenge tha Trees". It might very well turn into an adventure. Needless to say, I'll keep ya'll updated as my sanity wears away and the fuckery escalates. It will.

When Black Women Cut All Their Hair Off...

About a week after I first cut all my hair off (for tha billionth time in my life) I had an interesting little exchange with tha mail man at my job. He's a really cool, older black man named Jimmy who has a bit of a southern accent, regularly talks about his wife, and chats with us about sports. He's a father type, who probably goes to church on Sundays and knos a little somethin about cars. No nonsense, real decent kinda guy. He came into my office as part of his daily routine, placed our mail on a table, sat our packages beside tha mail, and as he was collecting our out going parcels looked at me and asked, "Are you sick?"

Of course, I was confused.

Then he went on to say something to tha effect of, "Well, I saw all your hair was gone and didn't kno if you were sick..."

Which led me to a thought...

In tha Black Woman's quest to find beauty in herself, she's been led down a path that dictates that she must grow and keep as much hair on her head as she possibly can at all times. I kno this, partially because I am a Black woman and also, because at one point I was a hairstylist. Not only would a good number of black women fall out and die at tha mere thought of cutting off their hair, but most won't consider tha possibility that they might be able to function in life should their hair decide to wave, curl, or (GASP!) nap up. For tha average Black woman in America, there is simply no fate worse than bald or nappy headed-ness.

Which leads me to a fundamental truth about Black Women...

If she has cut all her hair off, she is probably (A) DYING OF CANCER, or (B) HAS COMPLETELY LOST HER MIND.

Well, I ain't dying of Cancer, praise White Jesus. So, tha latter must be true. I mean, why else would anyone do this...



And intentionally go from this...




To this...




Observe tha slightly crazy look that was already present in my eyes before I went off tha deep end and took some clippers to my scalp. Notice tha crazed grin in tha "after" photo. Clearly, something is wrong. And whut's worse is that apparently, tha insanity is contagious. My best sista-friend from high school went from this...



To this...



Menacing! And whut exactly is it that she's got hiding behind that door back there? Answer: You wouldn't wanna kno!

And this po sista...



Well, she been a stark raving mad lunatic, but doesn't tha lack of hair make it more apparent?



I certainly think so.

You may be asking, "So, Nikki... whut exactly is your point?" and to that, my answer is, "I really don't kno... lemmme think..."

[insert elevator music here]

Okay, yes. My point is whut reactions to Solange's recent chop confirmed. As a Black Woman, you can't do any of tha following things:

*Love yourself
*Think you're beautiful
*Refuse to hav said beauty defined by society
*Not want to be boxed in
*Feel tha wind and/or sun on your scalp
*Go swimming and put your head UNDER tha water
*Be satisfied with tha way God made you
*Not be terrified by naps
*Not think that your hair is your beauty
*Not want to put harmful chemicals in your hair
*Want to look Afrikan
*Not be concerned with whut a man might think
*Look in tha mirror and not think you're ugly
*Not compare yourself to others
*Want to look and feel like yourself
*Not sit in a salon for 6 hours every two weeks
*Not strive to be perceived as "beautiful" by Eurocentric standards
*Be satisfied
*Feel like you're enough, as you are

And you most certainly, must not, under any circumstances allow your hair to be nappy. God forbid you cut it off.

If you do, you're sick. You're crazy. Most of all, you're ugly.



Remember it. Own it. Embody it. Live it. Teach it to your daughters and preach it to your sons. It's tha only way to quell tha hideous scourge of crazy bald headed black women that hav come to invade your consciousness. They may not hav Cancer, but they are a type of insidious, parasitic disease, feasting upon all that is good, acceptable, and decent. Shifting your paradigm, fuckin' with your perception of beauty, broadening your horizons, trapping you in their webs of nappiness, blinding you with tha glare of tha sun reflecting off their shiney scalps. They'll make you crazy, too, if you're not careful... So be careful.

Mothers, don't let your daughters grow up to own clippers. All that great hair that you so lovingly permed and pressed will be gone in an instant. And then, whut will become of her? She might end up somewhere... thinkin. She might hav tha nerve to hav a little bit of pride (ugh!). PRIDE DON'T PAY THA BILLS!

[laughter. Lots of it]

Forreal, tho... all jokes aside... this is not a judgement on Black women who chose to grow their hair long or straighten it (tho, I do feel some kinda major way about that, but I won't talk about it, cause I don't want to hurt nobody's feelings... today). I just want to encourage all women to be brave, and bold, make tha best decisions that you can for yourself and love you, no matter whut people like, don't like, or may hav to say. God made you, and that is enough to make you beautiful.

And tha church says, "BOOM."

Swine Flu

Let's talk about this recent outbreak of whut I like to call "Swine Flu". These Pigs have been out of control lately. First, while walking through my neighborhood at about 11:30 pm on Saturday night with a male friend, a member of tha Inglewood PD (who was across tha street, harassing another group of people) took it upon himself to shine his flashlight in our faces and shout, "Whut's goin on over there?" Our response?... A collective, confused, "Uhhhhh..." while I threw up my hands in a "Whut tha Fuck???" gesture and stared at him with a look that undoubtedly said, "Fool, whut is your problem?"

I waited for Fuckery to commence, but none ever did, so I didn't hav to act a monkey fool... on that night.

THEN dumb ass Cambridge Police arrested Henry Louis Gates Jr, after he was seen entering his own home. Tha police report details that Professor Gates verified his residence, and therefore right to be at the address he had been seen entering and provided his Harvard University identification. However, because of Gates' "tumultuous manner" (which was displayed on his own property), he was arrested and charged with disorderly conduct. The charge has since been dropped, but that doesn't make tha matter less silly. Honestly, not only was there much racial profiling involved in this incident, but I think it's important to highlight that tha main reason for tha arrest clearly stemmed from this cop's bruised ego. Yes, Professor Gates was giving him tha business, however, cop shoulda climbed back into his unmarked cruiser, and kept it pushing. But he didn't wanna take an "L" in front of the audience of neighborhood folk that had stopped to observe tha spectacle. Plain and simple.



I want to thank President Obama for keeping it extra real in his take on tha situation. He's quoted as saying, "I think it's fair to say, number 1, any of us would be pretty angry. Number 2, that the Cambridge police acted stupidly in arresting somebody when there was already proof that they were in their own home. And Number 3 — what I think we know separate and apart from this incident — is that there is a long history in this country of African-Americans and Latinos being stopped by law enforcement disproportionately, and that's just a fact."

And he ain't even make that up.

Finally, I want to talk about how Inglewood PD stays shootin' folks. Last I heard, tha FBI was investigating an officer involved shooting that took place back in May where 31 year old Marcus Smith was killed at his own birthday party. Also, this past Tuesday marked tha 1 year anniversary of a shooting that claimed tha life of 38 year old Kevin Wicks. Neither of these men were tha first to fall victim to Inglewood PD, and unfortunately, they're not likely to be tha last.

Tha events of tha past few days are proof that regardless of status or gender, as long as you're a minority, you can easily become a casualty of an outbreak of "Swine Flu". Normal, routine activities such as walking down tha street of your own neighborhood or entering your home can illicit unwanted attention from ego-maniac, racist cops. Fortunately, in Professor Gates' and my own case, handcuffs and flashlights were tha most menacing weapons, everyone stayed bullet wound free, and Wayne Brady didn't hav to choke a bitch.

*sigh*

It's hot.
I ain't got nothin' to say right now.
Just look at these here pictures.

In Case You Missed It: Dwele in Memory of MJ

When he's not doing McDonald's commercials, I love Dwele. Tha following is not a McDonald's commercial (which I'm grateful for). Instead, it's Dwele doing a little instrumental tribute to Mike Jack hours after his passing. I first saw this on my younger, secretly Asian brother's blog about a week ago and loved it, loved it, LOVED IT. If you don't love it, too, your musical taste may be considered suspect.

Get into this.

Beyonce Practices Ancient Creole Fertility Ritual On Stage

We've all come to expect certain things from one Mrs. Beyonce Giselle Knowles Carter. One: She gon hav some weave in her hair. Two: She might either (a) decend out of tha rafters on invisible wire and hover above tha stage like Tinkerbell at tha nightly Disneyland fireworks show, or (b) ascend up out of tha stage, wind blowing through tha aforementioned weave, stilettos, properly on feet, booming on all these hoes. Three: She's gonna hav more riffs for that ass than an extended guitar solo. Four: Likely she will be dressed like a super hero. None of these are necessarily bad things. That's just how that sista roll.



Well, on Sunday night at tha 9th Annual BET awards, she left tha crime fighting to Keyshia Cole and Monica. Beyonce ain't got nothin' to prove. She got her reformed drug dealer Millionaire-Boo, she done made it, and she ain't yo Karyn White -- I mean superwoman!

*rolls eyes*

Whut you thought this was? A show? You thought Beyonce was here to entertain you with something exciting, energetic, and visually tantalizing? Well she showed you whut was whut, didn't she?

Instead of layin down on a couple yards of tha finest spandex infused fabric that tha Houston swap meet had to offer, and allowing Mama Tina to swaddle her good and tight till she looked like human fruit roll up, Beyonce went for a more elegant look...



A rhinestone encrusted bathing suit made of Cool Whip accented with a skirt constructed of a discarded parasol, tha elderly neighbor lady's sheer curtains and fur trim from tha clearance section at tha local Michael's Arts and Crafts store. Isn't she a vision of beauty?

Nod your head in agreement.

Mmmmhmmm, we all knew Beyonce was lovely, pure as tha driven snow, and as close to divinity as a black woman can get, but whut you didn't kno was that whut you actually witnessed was not a normal Beyonce performance, but an ancient Creole Fertility Ritual that has been passed down from one generation of Dereon women to tha next. Right now, there is a big head, big lipped, lightskinned baby cookin' in Bey-bey's sacred womb. I'm tryin' to tell you. Shawn Corey Matthew Dereon Celestino Knowles Carter, coming soon to an Essence cover near you.

Nigga Please: The Joe Jackson Edition

This muthafucka is proof that sadly wisdom is not always acquired with age. I'm really angry with him, and that's an understatement. His aloof manner, and tha arrogant attitude that he's displayed so shortly after tha passing of one of his youngest children just reinforces whut we all already knew... Joe Jackson is a supreme asshole. How has Katherine managed to stay married to him for 60 damn years? I'm so, so sorry that Michael and his siblings had to be born to this man and subjected to his ignorance and abuse.



"How's Mrs. Jackson doing?"

"Oh, she's fine."

NIGGA, SHE AIN'T FINE! HER CHILD IS DEAD!

"How's the family?"

"Oh, they're great."

GREAT? REALLY, JOE??? You sir are a monkey. With wings.

This nigga said that "we lost an icon". No, Joe... tha public lost an icon. You lost your son! Nigga, does that mean anything to you?

Apparently not.

At tha very least, he deserves a swift kick in tha ass, but since I can't giv him one, I'll just name him as this week's winner of tha Nigga Please Award and continue to pray for tha rest of tha Jackson family.

Losing a Childhood Friend

Everybody... and I mean EVERYBODY is writing about Michael Jackson. Well, as you already kno, I ain't everybody, however I felt tha need to say a little somethin' about that brutha Mike, since honestly I think he is one of tha main reasons I love music and dance tha way I do. In case you don't kno, it's a deep, unhealthy, obsessive kind of love... tha kind tha involves stalking. I'm not about to giv you a discography, a summary of his career, talk shit about him, or hype him up, cause you've already had all of those experiences, I'm sure.

All I wanna say is that he is very literally one of my first memories. I can specifically remember being 2 years old, hearing Billie Jean on tha radio and seeing tha video and just being in awe. I used to walk down tha street with my mother and wonder why tha sidewalk wasn't lighting up for me like it did for MJ. I was tha baby in my family with older cousins and God-Brothers and Sisters and they would terrorize me by making me watch tha Thriller video. I saw Mike Jack do tha Moonwalk on Motown 25. When Moonwalker came out, I watched that movie at least once a day for about a month. When the Remember the Time video premiered after In Living Color, everybody with electricity and a working TV watched it and came to school tha next day with tha song memorized and dance steps down. And all tha while, I knew that all of this music, all of this magic, all of this joy belonged to me and my generation.



I want to thank Michael Jackson for befriending us, for inspiring us, entertaining us, amazing us, and making us smile. For now, that is all I hav to say. My prayers are with his siblings and mother, and everyone who knew him personally and loved him, not just as an icon, but as a family member and friend.

This Blessed Me... Literally

Yes, please cut all tha way up and don't you dare stop! I want to go to tha church that this choir sings at. Admittedly, I was a little annoyed initially when some of them were clapping on tha down beat (you're in a choir, at tha minimum I'mma need you to kno when to clap), but once they got it together, I was able to drop down low and sweep tha flo' with it... in tha most biblical sense, of course.

*insert mischievous giggles here*

I need to experience this level of audacious ridiculum in Gospel form as oft as possible. And I especially want to thank tha tiny soprano in tha striped shirt and tha alto sista in tha back with tha real hair down to her booty. I got saved watching this video.

Do Your Part

I decided that my project for tha summer will be to get a date with Lil' C from So You Think You Can Dance. Originally, I was gonna start this blog post off by saying that he could be "Baby-Boo" potential, but after thinking about it, I figured that might not be likely, as we probably would end up hating each other shortly after meeting. Pessimistic, I kno... but, hey... that's usually tha way it turns out. So I figured I would just hav a very minimum goal... one that didn't hav any expectations attached to it and would be fairly easy to fulfill. He's in LA. I'm in LA. He likes big words. So do I. You see how this is working already?

On tha opposite end, there are things that could potentially be disastrous to our "relationship": He's an Aquarius. I'm a Pisces. I'm sane. He's probably not. I'm 28. He's 26. Eeeeek! This is why I'm just taking it one step at a time.

A date.

I'm fond of this brutha. He be puttin his tie on (with a hat, worn backward, as it should be) and sittin' on tha panel with tha white people, holdin' his own, while still maintaining a certain level of "hood" that I appreciate. He's cute, but not in an overly cute way. He's verbose... in an overly complicated way. In tha last episode of So You Think You Can Dance he critiqued tha dancers with phrases such as, "There's a certain divinity to your movement," and, "I believe that tha primary focus of all obstacles is to induce labor so that progression can be born."

LOVE IT. Every convoluted bit.

Folks be tryin to act like they don't kno whut he's talkin about. Shut tha hell up! Stop lookin' confused! You kno whut he's sayin!

But back to whut I'm sayin. I'm workin' on this date. Now, I kno for a fact that it is very likely that I kno several people that could probably put me in contact with him. Actually, let me re-phrase that... Put him in contact with me. I'm old fashioned like that. This brutha need to call me, ask me out on a date, come pick me up, and take me for a stroll through tha park where we will try to one up each other with our use of 4 syllable words, I will twirl my parisol, and he may lay his coat over a puddle for me to walk across.

Let's make this happen people. I'm counting on you.



If you've seen this man (tha black one, not tha old British guy), you need to direct him to me, in an expeditious manner (that means quickly). Thank you.

I Told You So...

A few weeks back when I posted a blog expressing that I was confused and shocked that a woman had had a child with Mike Tyson, a few folks took it upon themselves to be bothered and offended. In light of tha fact that his 4-year-old daughter had just died tragically, I guess I can understand how they might feel some kind of way, but really, I don't kno if there's any "appropriate amount of time" that must pass before one tells tha truth. Tha situation was brought to my attention, I called it like I saw it, and that was that. Tha point I was making had little if anything at all to do with tha child and everything to do with women consistently making bad choices, selecting terrible mates/boyfriends/husbands, and fathers for their children.

I don't kno about you, but I'm tired of hearing tales of domestic violence, about women being brutally slain my their abusive men, or even worse, reading articles about how a crazy boyfriend with a history of questionable and/or violent behavior has abused or murdered an innocent child. Women are knowingly chosing these men over and over again and bringing them into their homes and around their children! Some woman, who was fully aware of Mike Tyson's instability opted to hav a relationship and pro-create with him. Fuck outrage about my blog... where's tha outrage about all of this violence and these stupid decisions?



Well, unfortunately, there isn't much. According to someone, my blog was "a low blow..." which makes me wonder, whut do you call it when a Heavy Weight Champ is habitually whoopin a woman's ass and raping her? Apparently it's fine, and I shouldn't hav anything to say about it. Supposedly, according to one person, I could've "waited like 6 weeks," before writing about it. Well, outraged commenter... it's funny you should say that, because apparently, Mike Tyson himself couldn't even wait that long before he decided to up and get married.

2 short weeks after his baby girl dies, he's jumpin' tha broom in Vegas? Once again, I'm confused. However, I should probably really stop trying to understand anything pertaining to this man.

It is a shame and should be a crime to protect abusers and not hold people accountable for their actions. If he needs help, then he should go get it. I encourage him and any and everyone on a path to destruction to take a detour and try to make themselves and their lives better. I sincerely hope (though I seriously doubt) that he finds some type of happiness and peace in this new marriage and that they are able to maintain a healthy relationship that is free of abuse. However, old habits don't just lay down and die, and for that reason, I feel a Nigga Please Award comin on.

In tha same spirit of last week's Nigga Please Award, this one is not gonna go out to tha man in tha midst of these shinanigans (though, he too should be hog-tied), but to tha woman. Lakiha Spicer, this is for you! Girl, you are truly cuttin' up, not only because you're fuckin' with Killer Mike, but because you thought it was appropriate to exchange vows so soon after tha death of his child. You are 32-years-old, and therefore way too advanced in age not to hav better judgement.

I pray that tha Lord be with this woman, help her to mature and grow wise, protect her from Tyson, and her own foolish self as well. I don't want them to hav any kids, I want her to leave (or take an aluminum bat to his head) tha first time (if ever) he hits her, and really, that's all I hav left to say for now. However, on tha subject of domestic abuse and violence against women and children, I can't, won't, and don't even kno how to stop talking (or writing) about it. When I don't hav to hear about it or see it anymore, that's when I'll shut up.

Tha Circumstances Surrounding My Disappearance

As promised in a prior blog entry, I'm just gonna take this little bit of time to briefly update ya'll on whut I was doing tha last part of April and all of May. It seems that I suddenly disappeared into a vortex of some sort, without explanation, and honestly, that's just tacky. You and I were gettin' close. I was posting everyday, and our future together was lookin pretty bright. Despite all kinds of mess and low key chaos in my personal life, I was faithfully writing and sharing my poem a day and doing quite well, if I must say so, myself. And then, whut I do? Just up and leave, that's whut I did! Shame on me.

Please accept my most sincere apologies.

*sigh*

This is whut happened.

See, I was writing my little poems everyday and feeling proud. I stayed on top of it for a good long while, but it was only a matter of time before my full time job, Super-Aunt duties, and Rock star Poet obligations caught up to me. Round about day #23, after having to drive back and forth to San Diego (2 hours each way) 2 times in one week, and then competing in a Final Slam to make tha Empire Mindstate Slam Team, I fell behind. After a few days, there was no coming back, and so I just put down my pen, picked up a white flag, and solemnly waved it to and fro. This is not something I'm proud of, but when it comes to sleeping versus finishing a poem... ummmmmmm... precious sleep, please.

So, I made tha Slam Team...



DUH!

Then I went to tha East Coast with tha intention of visiting Pony Jones and my relatives.



Of course, I didn't see any of these people... however, whut I did manage to do was catch a cold, completely lose my voice, Boom on hoes in silence, hear a whole lotta poems at tha Nuyorican and Bowery Poetry Club, and hang out with these folks, who were pretty damn cool...







Then, I returned to my beloved LA, where I had tha pleasure of experiencing a little bit of Earth rockin' and a whole lotta dumb weather. In tha weeks that followed my return, I completely lost my mind and cut all my hair off.



...And here we are. I am currently writing feverishly and working with my team to get ready for this year's National Poetry Slam. Tomorrow night, we will be at Da Poetry Lounge for tha Battle for LA. We hav a book for sale that you should buy, 'cause it's full of good poems and only costs $10. From now until August, we'll be all over Southern Cali, poetizing and slamming away and you should definitely come out and see us... but mostly come see me, cause, well I'm somethin' to see, ain't I?

WASH YO HANDS, HOE!

Monday, my boss and I were talking about this episode of Oprah that she had seen that had totally freaked her out -- something about some flesh eating bacteria. Basically, there's this rapidly spreading strain of bactera called MRSA (which stands for Methicillin-resistant staphylococcus aureus). Its resistant to commonly prescribed antibiotics and kills more people every year than AIDS. If you get a cut and it gets infected with this bacteria and it goes untreated it can destroy your muscles and spread to your organs. Scary shit.



As we were talking about it, I brought up tha Swine Flu and all these other diseases and whut not that honestly can probably be prevented and in most cases avoided or contained by simply washing your hands. This led to a recent observation that I've been making in tha Ladies Restroom of tha building that I work in. There are alot of hoes that ain't washin their damn hands! I've been in tha stall more than once very recently and heard women come and go and either not go to tha sink at all, or do that "I'mma run tha water for literally 3 seconds" bullshit and exit tha restroom. Forreal? You WASHED your hands in that 3 seconds? Did you even touch tha water? NASTY.

Ladies, wash your hands!... especially if you've just handled any business that involved your vagina and/or ass! Anything less than hot water and soap for a minimum of 30 seconds before leaving tha restroom is UNACCEPTABLE! If I catch you leavin' a public restroom without gettin familiar with some basic hygiene and common courtesy, I might hav to bring Wayne Brady into this... and nobody wants that. Real talk, I don't want your urine residue or coochie juice on tha door knob I'm about to touch!

Granted, I may be a person that washes my hands more often than tha average individual and I think it has to do with my cosmetology background. In school, they stressed tha importance of disinfecting combs and other utensils, keeping your work area clean, and always washing your hands between clients or after handling equipment. As a matter of fact, we were instructed to just wash our hands during our State Board Exam if we were ever nervous or at a loss as to whut to do next. And I find myself doing this in real life. If I need to think, I just stand at a sink and wash my hands. Its actually a good way to clear your head... but aside from that, it's just a good habit. Folks that kno me kno I KEEP some antibacterial soap at my sinks! I DO NOT PLAY!

But back to tha nasty hoes that ain't washin their hands. There's this one girl that works in my building that I see pretty much every day. I don't kno her name or whut she does and up until this point, I've only ever noticed that she's kinda thick for a white girl and always has on either Seven or True Religion Jeans. That's it. That's all I kno about this chick. Well, a couple of weeks ago, I was in tha restroom in one of tha stalls and she flushed tha toilet in tha stall next to mine and walked over to tha sink. I could see it was her through tha space between tha door to my stall and tha wall. No sooner than she turned on tha water, she turned it off and then she proceeded out of tha restroom. DIDN'T WASH HER HANDS! A couple of days later, tha same thing happened with tha same girl. TRIFLIN'!

Folks, I can't make this up... tha other day, I was coming from tha restroom, walking down tha hall back to my office suite and she came walking into tha building from tha parking lot with two of her co-workers. I gather they were talking about some cupcakes she made or somethin, cause one of tha guys was like, "You made those from scratch?" and she was all proud and said somethin' like, "Yeah! Nothin out of tha box. I sifted tha sugar and everything!"

I was DYING!!!

"Cupcakes from scratch"?... as in scratching yo dirty ass???

I wanted to scream, "NOOOOO! DON'T EVER EAT ANYTHING THIS TROLLOP MAKES! SHE DON'T WASH HER HANDS! UGGGGH!"

But, I just threw up in my mouth a little, hid my disgust with a smirk, and went on to my office.

*laughter*

Nasty!

Gutter butt!

So now, every time I see her, all I can think is, "That's tha girl that don't wash her hands." That's even how I refer to her when my co-workers and I are talking about whut all is going on in tha building. Sad.

*sigh* This was long. Tha point (that I'm sure you've already extracted) is: WASH YOUR HANDS! Also, don't shake hands with tha thick white girl in Seven Jeans... and don't eat her cupcakes, either. You've been warned.

More Jay-Z Love

...'Cause I love him. So whut?

And tha "Nigga Please Award" Goes To...

Given tha subject of this Youtube video, tha reciepient of this week's Nigga Please Award might be a bit of a surprise for you, but then again, if you've learned anything about me in all this time, it really shouldn't be.



Yes, this ignorant fool got 21 kids. However, really I ain't lookin at him crazy. Tha ones that need to be tied to a tree and flogged within an inch of their lives are these dumb women. And so, this weeks Nigga Please Award goes to tha trollops that laid down with this negro (sometimes more than once) and made more babies with him, knowing good and damn well he had a tribe of children. Men can't do whut women don't allow. Once those of us with vaginas learn this simple truth, tha World will instantly become a better place.

Death of Autotune

I normally don't publish two posts in one day, but this here is breaking news of tha most important kind: NEW MUSIC! And whut makes it even better is that it's Jay-Z (and if you don't kno how I feel about that brutha... then you need to get familiar).

OH JAY!

And whut's funny is that earlier today, I was just thinkin about how much I love him and need to dedicate a post to him. See how tha Lord just works things right on out!



Apparently, HOT 97 just played Death of Autotune not even a full hour ago. YUMMY GOODNESS! Every bit of it. I'm all over it, boys and girls. I think I've listened to it about 27 times. I know tha words.

And he still gonna get another post from me, cause he's just that fuckin' dope. Now, excuse me while I run around my livingroom chanting, "HO-VA! HO-VA! HO-VA!" for tha next 30 minutes or so.

Maybe Nas Was Right

Until a couple of nights ago, I had never actually seen Late Night with Jimmy Fallon with my own two baby browns. I had only heard that my band aka The Roots were providing tha music, and I thought it could be a tragic disaster... or possibly tha coolest thing to ever happen to white insomniacs all over tha country. I wasn't all tha way with it, but admittedly I wasn't 100% opposed, acknowledging that them bruthas are gettin old, touring ain't necessarily tha life, and yet, bills are constant and demand payment.

Fast forward to Monday night. I watched in horror as The Roots did a bit called "Slow Jam the News", where Black Thought (who, I say is one of tha illest, most underrated emcees EVER! Step up and debate me on this! I will Batman your ass!) sang about California's budget crisis (ugh!) while Jimmy Fallon interjected in a supposedly sultry tone with innuendo laden "humor"... none of which was funny. And all night, he kept referring to Questlove and Black Thought as "Amir" and "Tariq". I know those are their actual names, and maybe I'm just being sensitive because of my deep and abiding love for The Roots, but it felt a little disrespectful. When Jimmy Fallon or any of tha guests would refer to The Roots, it always felt slightly patronizing. Of course, I can't really give a lot of details about tha episode I watched nor am I really qualified to critique it, since at about 10 minutes into tha show I started booing loudly, throwing anything within arm's reach at tha TV, and frantically tweeting and texting about how much I hated whut I was seeing.

I know, I know. You don't have to tell me. As long as those of us who love Hip Hop are still alive, Hip Hop lives...yeah. I got that. However, you must understand... tha past few years have been a little too much for my fragile (though enduring) spirit to take. First, Lil Wayne proclaims himself to be "The Greatest Rapper Alive" (when plenty of other rappers that are clearly better than him ain't laid down in their graves yet) and, to my shock and great dismay, people who are not hearing impaired agree. Then, whut I personally consider to be the greatest collective sonic force in tha Hip Hop genre, The Roots, end up as a corny house band on a bland ass late night talk show. Maybe it's a bit of a stretch to say that Hip Hop is dead, but if it isn't yet, surely it's on it's way.

Tha Thing I Have in Common with Asian Men

Monday morning, I was watching The Today Show, which is basically whut I do every morning during tha week, cause Matt Lauer is tha muthafuckin man. It just so happened that on this particular Monday morning, the families of two American Journalists that are currently being held in North Korea were on tha show being interviewed. Apparently Laura Ling and Euna Lee were arrested in North Korea on March 17th and are charged with crossing the North Korean border from China along with other unspecified "hostile acts." They go to trial tomorrow and of course, just like their families and so many others that are familiar with this incident, I am hoping that these women will soon be released and allowed to come back home.



As a side point, Laura Ling is sister to Lisa Ling, who also is a reporter, whom I enjoy very much. You may remember she had a brief stint on The View or perhaps you're familiar with her appearances on Oprah. None of this is relevant to whut tha actual point of why I'm writing this blog, but...whutever.

Okay, on to my observation.

Here are tha families of tha imprisoned women...



Now... notice tha two white men on tha back row? Yes? You may (or may not, depending on how you've been socialized) be surprised to find out that those are the women's husbands. Surprise, surprise! Two Asian women are married to White men!

And with that observation I thought, "Wow, black women aren't tha only ones who are hated by tha opposite sex of their racial/ethnic group and often deserted for tha prospect of white booty!" ...and at once, I felt irrevocably bonded to Asian men all over tha World.