I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTION: Tha Year in Review

2009 took it's sweet time gettin' on up outta here, didn't it? Well, I'm glad that bitch is gone, cause we 'bout to get it in in 2010! *giggles*

And apparently, that's exactly what I been doin', cause here we are, a week into tha year, and I'm just now doin' a blog entry. Shameful, really, but whatever. I got a life, people! And furthermore, you gotta understand that I gotta take time out between entries to replenish my reservoir of foolishness. That's how you get tha very best fuckery from me... but I digress...



Despite some tragedies and scandals, I guess tha past year wasn't really bad at all, especially on a personal tip. I kept myself a job, wrote some poems n' thangs, continued to Boom on these hoes (while simultaneously stunting. That shit ain't easy!), and generally lived my life like it was golden. Highlights of tha year included my friend Tamara's wedding, celebrating Naomi's 10th Birthday at tha Mos Def and Erykah Badu show on Labor Day Weekend, and in October, marking tha one year anniversary of my marriage to my apartment.

So, this is like tha best story about my husband -- I mean, my apartment... It was Halloween of 2008. I had been in my place for all of 31 days and my brother, Chas was here. I have a front and a back door and of course, my back door is in my kitchen (well, not really "of course"... I mean, I guess it could be somewhere else... but traditionally, that's where back doors are.) My desk and computer and whole work station area is also in my kitchen, so inevitably, that's where I spend most of my time. We had been having a bit of a heat wave (or is that really just normal for L.A in October? *confused face*), so all of tha windows and my back door was open and Chas and I were sitting in tha kitchen talking and then, all of a sudden, we hear this woman GOING OFF.

She was sobbing and yelling and just actin' an all around fool. I imagine she prolly rolled around on tha floor at some point, that's how much she was cuttin' up. Well, apparently, she was "arguing" with her man (I put that in quotation marks, cause really it takes two people to argue and we never heard him say anything). She was like, "YOU DON'T LOVE MEEEEEEEEE!!!! YOU NEVER LOVED ME!!!" and of course, Chas and I, bein' tha maniacs that we are, turned down tha music and went over to tha window and back door so we could really hear all tha juicy mess. So, she's goin' on and on and on, just actin a muthafuckin' fool, and then she was like, "I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTIOOOOOOOON! I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTIOOOOOON! [insert inaudible sobs here]"

Chas and I looked at each other like "OH SHIT!"

Bwahahahahahahaahahahahahaha!

Forreal, lady? Is that whut you shoulda done? Wow.

I certainly hope tha child she "should've aborted" was a little baby and didn't know what was goin' on and not like 17 in tha other room on tha PS3, like "Whut tha fuck???"

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So, now that's our inside joke. When some shit don't go tha way we want it to or we're just generally unhappy, we throw our heads back like tha characters in Charlie Brown, fake sob, and shout, "I SHOULDA HAD AN ABORTION!" It's fun for tha whole family.



That story had absolutely nothing to do with tha New Year or anything else for that matter... I just felt like sharing.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

napowrimo: 4/30 "106 and Park Haiku"

Mariah Carey's
Old ass needs to go and sit
down somewhere, dammit

Whut's About to Happen

So, yeah, I've fallen off my blogging a little bit. So whut. I think you needed this time to detox from all tha mess and ridiculum that I pride myself on sharing with tha World. Its time to be serious. Well, not all tha way, cause I don't even think complete seriousness in this forum is a reality...Its time to be MORE serious. "Why?" you may ask. Well, cause it's about to be National Poetry Month, bitches! So whut's about to happen (for tha second year in a row) is I'm gonna join poets all over tha country in challenging myself to write a poem a day. Tha idea isn't so much that it's a complete, perfect poem, but really that it's a first draft. Expect it to be posted here by midnight every night. Some of them might be long...more than likely most will be short. Some may be really "deep" and/or esoteric. Some may be funny. Most of them will probably suck. And then, when April is over, it'll be back to our regularly scheduled mayhem, mischief, and general fuckery. Happy poem-ing!

In Case You Missed It: The Rock Obama

Unlike most of tha world, I actually still watch Saturday Night Live. There's a special place in my heart reserved for sketch comedy, and though I've fallen off as a viewer over tha last couple of years, I still make an earnest effort to either watch or Tivo SNL. This Saturday night, I was glad I did, cause this was some ole funny mess. I got my giggle on.

April Jones' Daughter

My friend April Jones doesn't have a daughter, but if she did, it would be this strange, random little girl...

DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT!

So, I've been threatening to add another regular feature to this here blog, entitled "DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT!", inspired by my good friend, Chas Jackson. Well, actually, it was inspired by an incident with another "friend" who acted a monkey a few weeks back. As I gave Chas a detailed description of tha monkey business that transpired, he shouted, "DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT!" several times in response, and so, here we are. I'll give you tha details of that scenario another time, but for now, we got to talk about your little brother, Chris Brown.





Now, tha first thing he did wrong was havin' his jump off (or allowing her to) text him while he was with his baby-boo. He kno Ree-ree crazy! I mean, really, whut did he expect? Was she supposed to not go into a jealous fit of rage, snatch tha Lamborghini keys up out tha ignition and throw them into tha street? Whut would you do if you were a banshee from Barbados? You would act just like that... and punch him, too... and call him a nigga for good measure. If Chris didn't like all that cuttin' up, then he shoulda stopped messin w/ miss thang long ago, cause she didn't just wake up that day and start actin a fool.



In "response" to her dramatic outburst, after lookin' for tha keys and comin' back to tha car empty handed, he procedes to "touch her soul" (Kanye lyrics off tha 808s and Heartbreaks album) aka choke her out, punch, and bite her. Bite her, Chris? DON'T DO IT LIKE THAT! Apparently, after she's passed out, he scurries off into tha night on foot.



Aside from tha obvious mess, there is so much wrong with this situation. Who bites people? And furthermore, you don't just wake up one morning and start choking bitches. Its apparent that alot of unreported fuckery led up to this right here. These folks do not need to reconcile.

Hump Day

Happy hump day...

Little Twitty Milk

After 5 hours of labor, at 1:30 pm yesterday, Erykah Badu popped out her third baby by third baby-daddy, Jay Electronica. She say's that she's callin', this child "Twitty Milk", and though I certainly hope not, I don't put it past her.

Doing Tha Most

Today's post is in honor of Tamara Blue's 31st birthday. Why is it entitled "Doing tha Most?" you may be asking... Well, cause if you know Miss Tamara Blue, you know that she has strong leanings toward mostness. And I love every bit of it, too. My wish for her this year and every year, until it happens, is that she gives birth to a daughter that will inherit her charisma, wit, and adventurous spirit and inevitably end up acting just like this...



HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TAMARA!

Hope you enjoyed this, cause I ain't got no gift for you. Times is hard, sista, and rent is due real soon.