Readers looka here,

Readers, looka here.

Every now and again, we have to read. Read THIS. I'm serious. Read it. I will post the link two more times in hopes that you read it.

Read THIS.

Read THIS.


My client wants you to read it as well and he's only gonna ask once.

Hopefully, you've read it. Please tell me [in the comments] you weren't intimidated by length of the letter and immediately gave up the ghost. If so, I hate you. No really, I do. As a "writer", I know reading is fundamental. Before you talk shit, you must know what you talking shit about. Before I fix my mouth to diss a politician, rapper, singer, the person next door, I make sure I know what I'm saying and I can stand behind what I'm saying. Seldom I ever actually want to eat my words, because I wasn't well informed, but that's neither here nor there nor Planned Parenthood down the street yonder there somewhere.

What I'm saying isn't to get you to, y'know, read... even though you should. Reading isn't the point. The point(s) is [if this is in fact a real letter (where yo' source at, bruh!?)] Miss Patrick is so right. BET is a jet crashing, train wrecking mess of the minute. It's hard to not watch. Most of the programming on BET, 106 & Park for instance, I don't ever watch. The fuckery-filled reality shows? I'll plead the fifth. No, I won't. I watch it, dammit! And what!? I can't lie. It's entertaining. I know it's like the pork of TV to hypertension patients [no pun intended, Tiny]. It's bad for us. Point blank period. But I love pork chops, y'all.

I digressed again. If I never get my point across in this segment of The Lil' Creole Pimp Show, then I will hate myself. Still, I'll try.

BET, as well as other networks, is feeding us garbage. More mature viewers, who watch and can decipher what's what, it barely harms them. They may walk away from the experience with a funny new quote that'll become an inside-joke between friends. Our younger audience won't though. They'll walk away with a new attitude, often misconstruing what "message" was really being told. Young girls watched Tiny & Toya and didn't see Tameka and Antonia Johnson-Carter-who-the-hell-ever trying to get their own instead of relying on their rich, rap star providers. All they saw were the rich, rap star providers, wondering "How can I get me one?" and those niggas wasn't even in a single episode. Fellas watch 106 & Park and ONLY see rich, rap stars talking shit about shit that ain't really shit even though I morning jig to the same shit. Fellas aspire to be rappers instead of doctor-engineer-crocodile-hunters. Rap. A very unstable career. Rap. Why you wanna go and Flo-Rida!? I never understood that. To each his own.

I don't watch The Mo'Nique Show aside from the first few episodes [I was testing the waters, don't judge me], but I sense she means well. She won't teach many viewers anything other then scream, kick, punch, chop, block or basically PARAPPA THE RAPPER.

Readership, looka here.

Every now and again I get viewermail that's angrier than next Tuesday. I usually CTRL ALT DEL that shit when I sense the sender's blood pressure rising, but sometimes they turn out to be Gifts from Virgos. Or Cancers.

This mail I got last night troubled me, so I wanna share it with you.

:(

"Dear Asshole,

You think you funny, don'tchu? You think just cause you got a Twitter page you can talk shit? You think just cuz you got more followers than people you follow, you the shit huh? Well let me tell you something, you ain't shit. You never was shit. You ain't gon' never be shit.

When I found out about this pissy ass, trick ass, TONY ass site, I thought it was something like Beyonceitis at first. Then I read the second POST. I slapped the shit outta Angie for sending me that fucking link. That hurted my soul. You hurted my soul. That lil' bad ass reason why I can't have drapes on my windows cause he always find a way to burn 'em down is my soul, DAMMIT!

When I founded out, it hurt me right here. *holding chest* Yes, I laughed a little and it kinda hurt because I had bronchitis that day. But then your lil' shenanigans kept on coming. Got hella popular on the underground side of the internet. I'm here in the fucking studio tryna write the twelfth song on why I can't stand TONY remedial football playing ass and you got my producers asking me "How Lil' Creole Pimp doing?"

I HATE WHEN PEOPLE CALL HIM LIL' CREOLE PIMP!

That is not his name. His name is Julez. L before the E. Not Juelz.

THIS!

NOT THIS!

He is not Santana. No son of mine is wearing no bandanas on his head unless it's plaid and shiny, because I encourage all things different.

But I digress.

I'd like to come down to your local Wal-Mart and catch you bent over in the produce section, witcha greens eating ass. I'll turn over my shopping cart on you, dammit! Wait 'til I find out who you is.

Just wait.

1998. Chevy Corrolla. Head lights off. Windows down. You better fucking run.

Godspeed, fuckface.

HE IS MY FUCKING SOUL! YOU BROKE MY FUCKING SOUL!

Fuck you,

Signed Sincerely

P.S.

You know what my sister said when I tol't her? Nothing. Just stared at me. Like she was auditioning for a fucking movie. Nothing. 

Understand this frightened me. I don't know if it's real or not, but the email address was "TONYaintshit@gmail.com" so... Yeah. I'ma take heed to this threat, so if you need me I'll be at the border.... Not the Mexican border. Taco Bell. I want a Nacho Bell Grande like a mug.

Readers, looka here...

Readership looka here,


Every now and again I'm back in this blogging game on a consistent level and you can't tell me shit! Now that the great, swag effervescent FRESHANIA DEBARGE put a playa on you can't tell me shit even more! I gotta get back into this game called Blogger on the daily level. Even if I don't post five days out the weekend [the weekends are for hoe shit and Gucci Mane punchout concerts], you can catch a Creole tastic fuckery fest at my Twitter.

I'm sorry. I usually don't do this. I usually leave these kinda posts up to that other BLOG, but I'm getting sick of Jenny Craig flunkees and the facially unfortunate. And it's been one of them days...

I like it when people say, Beyonce never wrote one lyric she ever sang. Were you there when the song was being written? You know this for a fact, then right? Sure...

Songwriters don't need to sit down and write a song with an artist to have a hit song. They can write a song, in its entirety and shop it around. If it lands into a big name's hands, it may be rewritten. That's how said artists gets writing cred. Just because the song wasn't their brainchild, doesn't mean they don't deserve credit. If me, you, Keisha, and Shameka was all in the same science class and had a group project due and Shameka came up with the idea and Keisha came up with how we were gonna present and me and you did the bulk of the work that made everyone like it, don't you think me and you deserve as much credit for the project as the two bishes that birthed it?

But I digressed from the point altogether.

Choreographers come up with the dance routines. I don't know if they watch a video and go, "I'ma steal that bitches move, right there. That shit there shaaaaarp!"  I don't know this. I wasn't there when they birthed the idea, neither. All I know is when I saw it, I liked it, and I wanted to do something like it. Now that I think about it, I think that's how they came up with the idea for their routines. I don't know what you expect from an artist like Beyonce. I don't know why you expect her to write her own songs. I don't know why you expect every dance she does to be her own brainchild. I don't know why you expect her direct, produce, write, and hold the boom stick and cue cards in everything she acts in, neither. I don't know why you expect her sell weed, babysit, and do hair all in the same house, on the same night. Maybe you just expect more from her than you do everybody else.

This lady (questionable) sat there and said Beyonce stole somebody song and running 'round talking about she made so much money off it. In which interview did she say this? What channel? What day? What time? When, motherfucker, when!?

I need answers.

One more tidbit that kinda made my day was when she said she knew ladies in her church who could outdo Beyonce if given the same whatever(s). What are they doing that's stop them? Maybe they have jobs. These jobs may be holding them back from singing and dancing, because that's what they truly wanna do, but only get the proper showcase when they're in church singing for the Lord. I don't know. Maybe they just don't have the same drive and ambition. Maybe they never got the chance. Maybe they don't give a fuck. Like me, for example cause I really don't give a fuck.

She says people send demos to Matthew Knowles, hoping for their big break. Hmm?

Wouldn't it be something, if I sent a demo to the manager of Beyonce, regardless that he's her father. Sure, he'll listen to it and contact me and tell me how much he loves it and sort out time to see about me and mine. Sure... he has that kinda time.

HE IS BEYONCE'S MANAGER, YOU DUMBASS!!! He ain't got but a shit grip of time to himself. He is a busy motherfucker, so I doubt he has time to check snail mail that you send him. He has to sort her laundry, buy her wigs, yell at motherfuckers for for her, and watch Solange's son before he burns down the damn house. In comparison, what the fuck have YOU done lately.

Around this moment of the video, I stopped watching. Truth is my browser decided it had had enough of her shit, as well, and froze. After I restarted it, I decided I really didn't give a fuck about her and her opinions and my life would be okay if I just didn't finish listening to the fuckery.

But if you can manage to ignore the wreath she added, resizing itself to match her Gina Waters sized head, be my guest...






One of the labels was brought to you by [YOUNG SINICK]

Readers looka here...

Every once and again an asshole, has to be a total and complete asshole. Perez Hilton [no link from me] is on his bitch rampage and accusing Mike of playing pussy, but let's see who's really about to get fucked. To quote the great Maxine Shaw: "The proof is in the pudding".

Readers looka here... every now and again we gotta salute Solo the Dawn for her triumphant coolheadedness. Sure, she pops off about anything to anybody, but she's yet to bust her spike stiletto Doc Martins in my ass via broadband connection, so I'm grateful. And to show my gratitude... I wrote her a little poem. Here it goes:

Thank you. Thank you... Thank you... Thank you.

And when I say "The Person Behind", I don't mean some unmask villain with a keyboard and newfound courage. I mean, there's literally a person standing behind him while he's at the computer... Matthew. He's currently yelling, "Finish ya damn typing, 'fore I take off my shoe, nigga!"

Ah. Another happy customer. Drive around. Come again.

I know I may be the devil with a keyboard [in your eyes], but I don't want it to be this way. I know that one day you plan on catching me in a Wal-Mart, bent over in the produce section, picking some nice fresh greens for my momma and you'll turn over your shopping cart on my ass. I know this. And it's because of this blog. Insert sad face here.

I know a lot can happen to damage your family. I mean, look at Kizzy... And there you have it. So sometimes this place is not ideal or suitable for children. Particularly your child. He's as cute as a button and I bet as bad as Latarian Milton, but that's just me judging children. I don't really care for the under ten variety. Don't ever ask me to babysit. For real, for real. You won't recognize your kids when you come pick them up, if you leave them with me. Ask some of my kinpeople if you think I'm lying. One bitch might suggest you call CPS, but that won't really work... I don't have kids for nobody to take away. Praise God.

But I digress.

This may be a half-assed attempt at showing you, I do have a heart and I'm not out to destroy your one true source of happiness. Don't listen to Gabrielle Union, boo. She ain't nobody. Her performance in "Bring It On" was lackluster and "Deliver Us From Eva" is a BET Blackbuster special every 6th of the month. Blogs aren't the devil. Bloggers aren't the devil. Sometimes it's the content. Most of the time, it's the readers willingness to Google search "Creole Pimp" and come here and read about fifty posts before they really decide, "This is some straight up nigotry and I will have no parts of it".

Again, I digress.

The point of this entry was to appreciate you on "your" day. It may not be heartfelt, it may not be totally sincere, but it is somewhat real. Are you confused, yet? I sure am. Let's be confused together, that way we can finally see eye-to-eye. But don't see this as a half-assed gift, because if this was a real Lil' Creole Pimp post, he woulda said he got you a big ol' hug, all the love in his Creole heart and a box of Baby Jamz crayons so he can help you color your outfits and look Solange Fierce.

Hope you doing well your with your life, liberty, and your pursuit of tackiness.

Happy Mother's Day

Readers looka here.

Every now and again, I gotta come back and remind a few peoples that this is not real. Reality doesn't start nor end on this blog. There may be photographical "proof" that a toddler is being mascoted around to be a "pimp", but I use Photoshop. And since Photoshop's inception, you can't believe no pictures you see on the Inanets.  There may be typographical "proof" stating such foolishness as kids cursing and fighting and shanking and refusing to put a ring on it, because he gon' be a playa for life. Again... Since the inception of the black celebrity humor blog, you can't take everything you read for face value. Not everything has a secret meaning, hidden messages and eleven herbs and spices. Some SHIT is just there to be there. And even though, there's no videographical evidence that I participate, infiltrate, and initiate in stupid, coonishness, ever since those cops got off for beating Rodney King's ass... I guess you really can't believe videos no more either.

I digress.

Either way, fuck the vast majority! I'ma keep on keeping on and rock this motor scooter 'til the wheels fall smoove off. Until I receive the ceast and be deceased from The Mustache Man, I'ma stick around like roaches. And when they tell me to stop, they better kill me. They better buss up in this motherfucker and send me to the Upper Room! Let 'em shoot me. I don't give a fuck. They'll take me out singing that motherfucker!

When Jeeee-heeeeeeeee-zeeeeeeeez...

Now I may SWAGGER JACK and I may get my tasteless kicks out of stereotyping a toddler into something he's not, but rarely do I break character, speak to you as I am, and use this blog as my own outlet to the people. But today, "The Management" was trollicking [trolling + frollicking] my all-time favorite BLOG [get in there!] and I found my new all-time favorite guilty pleasure.

Oh my damn... Geisha's song embodies my twenty-fo seventy sev mindframe. This chick is choking a bitch in her video... Then she said she'd Naomi Campbell you so hard, you'd hear the dial tone... probably for the rest of your life. Thank ya, thank ya, Lord I wanna thank ya... Geisha is a motherfucking poet and if I were speaking to you as LCP, he'd wanna hump her.

Where else can you find a female [rapper these days] who will get sexy AND violent... at the same damn time. Notice I didn't end that sentence with a question mark, because that was a rhetorical STATEMENT. You ain't gon' find another bitch like her. She got out on a bitch just for walking up to her with a question and the girl wasn't even beligerent to her. Usually, I woulda sat Geisha down and we woulda talked about when and when not to hit a bitch that walks up on you* but all I can say is go head on.

This shit here knocks... and you can knock a ho out while you arching ya back and cascading ya ass from left to right. Eat your pussy heart out, Trina. I was gone stick it out and work it out and stick it out and work it out and stick it out and work it out and wait for Lil' Kim to get back on her forreal, forreal, but now you can expect me to start a petition to get Def Jam to sign Geisha...

I mean, shit... She IS from 305... She can get Khaled to say "Who" and "Nigga" on her track along with about fiddyleven other niggas as featured artists. Rarely do I plan out another person's career, let alone a performing artist, but this chick needs the spotlight like O.J. needs parole.

Do she got a Myspace? I don't even fuck with MyFace of SpaceBook and I'm asking y'all about it. It's that serious. Don't pass Geisha off as the next hood, dick sucking ho... This is that real deal forreal forreal...



*Finger pointing, neck rolling, mouth popping, voice volume raising will get you choked on the spot... I throw down where I'm mad at. Who has time to stop and think about it during this recession?

Dear Readers of Crunk & Disorderly,

I know that being somewhat anti-social and going against the grain is cool and what's popping in the streets. I know you like to dislike what the vast majority likes and if anything is labeled "The Shit" in any way, shape, or form you hate it.

You bash it.

You hurt its feelings.

You talk about its mother.

You clown it.

You dog it.

You have a field day with it.

That's all good and junk, but do me a favor, won't you? STOP BRINGING BEYONCE'S NAME UP EVERY 30 - 55 SECONDS IN THE DAMN COMMENT BOX!!! Yes, I lurk there when I'm bored and there's no food in the fridge and shit. Yes, I get tired of hearing Beyonce news and seeing her name everywhere. Yes, the stans piss me off, too.

WHY DO YOU THINK ME AND MY HOMIES VOLUNTARILY GOT BANNED FROM BEYONCEWORLD?

If you don't like her, why is she always so damn relevant? If you don't like her, why is she your opening joke in a new post's comment box? EVEN WHEN THE POST HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HER!?!? If you don't like her, why are you putting a ring on it? You understood that failed joke, didn't you? Why? Because you've been busy giving Beyonce all of your precious attention, but then again --- your attention is too good for Beyonce. You already mad,  you gotta breathe the same air she does, so when somebody [who admittedly doesn't like her] reminds me of her existence, I wonder. I don't get it. Not one bit.

I know it's what's popping in the street to talk about her breath, questionable taste, vapid mind, blank stare, wig collection and all that jazz, but come the fuck on... do you really not like her? You've studied her bounce, for Christ's sake. Now you're tryna tell me, you don't like the bitch. I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!

If Nivea was sitting in the corner, smoking a blunt, watching Rihanna and Tyra Banks headbutt one another to the death, you'd find some way to make Beyonce relevant to all of this.

"Rihanna could win if Jay let her wear one of Beyaki's wigs."

How close was that?

I understand it partially. You don't wanna like Bey, because then you'd probably kinda feel like a stan [or be accused of being one]. That's perfectly understandble. Stans are the worse and they do nothing for the advancement of the Creoled. I, myself, may, IN FACT, be a stan. Until further, notice I'm in between... From where I'm standing I wants nothing to do with stannism, stanhood, stannery, or stanship. Stans ain't shit! They just like niggas. THEY DON'T APPRECIATE SHIT! So in your quest to not be associated with stans, C&D Readers, you find yourself throwing salt on Beyonce's pork rinds in hopes of raising her blood pressure, sending her into a possible stroke. You hate her, so folks won't hate you.

This sounds like a Mean Girls sequel if Mean Girls were a bunch of 18 - 30 somethings, at work slacking off, fucking up the economy, wondering why the fuck they bank account emptier than a Kelly Rowland intimate gathering...

I close this random rant with some simple questions.

Don't you stan for Fresh? Why do you say Beyonce's name on the daily? Why is Beyonce so fucking relevant? I know Matthew is pushing her down your throats but gahdamn!

Readers looka here...

Every now and again we like to salute a comrade (who shall remain nameless) whose birthday is today. Why are we saluting him? Because we use his likeness and his caretakers haven't slapped us in the face with one of Matthew Knowles' Stacy Adams of Injustice. Thank you, guys. Thank you for not kicking down my door and throwing Creole Seasoning in my eyes while Johnny Law put the cuffs on me. Thank you for not writing a song about me and putting it on the I Can't Clearance Mixtape. You've probably done that and I'll probably cry when I hear it, because I supported you by running out and buying my very own copy of Sol-Angel and The I Ain't Bought A Goddamn Thang.

You know it's hard out here for a pimp, when a pimp's readership wants a daily laugh and you just can't deliver. A fellow blogger once told me, there's only so many ways you can tell the same joke.

"Lacefront this. Bitch I stole yo' crayons that. I threw Mama from the train this. I play in traffic and hiss at photogs that."

I mean, cut me some slack readership. When I come across tidbits of that goodshit you know I'm more than willing to lace you up nice and properlike. But enough about that....

Happy fourth birthday, young toddler who shall remain nameless. Slap a ho for me, which is something you'd NEVER do so I'll change that to hiss at the paparazzi for me and if they tell you that's a great expression you slap them for me. That's something your mom would do.

Readers looka here...

Every now and again, I gotta give EVERYBODY (stans, fans, haters & laffy taffy, pigeon pussy heffas) a crash course in what they call "copy-cats" and "swagger-jackers".

Picture this:

You get in your vehicle, presumably a Chevy Cavalier from the late 90s with a busted taillight and it ALWAYS runs hot, and you drive to your local gas station. You got the munchies like a motherfucker so you commence to buy up the store with your EBT card.

You approach the junk food aisle, potato chips to be exact. What catches your eye?

Lays Sour Cream & Onion or the Golden Flake look-a-like brand.

You buy the Lays Sour Cream & Onion because it's "better' than Golden Flake. I mean, it's Lays. Lays > Golden Flake. That's a given.

You then scurry to the freezer and you get all excited (because you're high as fuck) to see the random assortments of soda pop. What catches your eye the most?

Coca-Cola: The Real Thing or Faygo's Cola look-a-like.

COKE! Duh... it's Coke. And plus it has a name associated with an illicit drug. You're already high. Let's "get high" some mo'!

This little exercise in fuckery has been brought to you by the letters Eff You See Kay & Why Oh You. The analogy I used is about THE LIL' CREOLE PIMP CHRONICLES (oops, I did it again) and BEYONCEITIS' WIG CRYPT.

Wig Crypt came first. Of course it's the favorite. I came second or third or fourth. OF COURSE, I'm the wannabe.

I was sitting on my deluded ass one day (at my desktop of course, because I have no life as my "fanbase" would argue) and thought , "Hey! I should take a "celebrity's" (even though she couldn't even buy fame at the time despite her sister's pockets sitting on F) offspring, give them a persona, a fake moniker that easily associates with them, and use them make general jokes in a blogging enviroment. No of course I wasn't... But if I did that BEFORE the onset of Beyonceitis, no one would have cared. Beyonceitis got popular because people Googled the shit outta Beyonce and Beyonceitis contains the word Beyonce and word of mouth and shit out that nature. My point is it's related to Beyonce. Beyonce has millions of die hard fans, ready to slit their wrists at her command. How many fans does Juelz have, that aren't related to him? Who the hell woulda Googled him at 3:30 AM on a school night?

No, I'm not knocking the Itis in any shape, form or fashion. I'm just proving my longwinded point.

Beyonceitis is Coca-Cola, Lil' Creole Pimp is the generic spinoff. You like Beyonce for these reasons. Compared to Beyonce, Amerie and them are just like Faygo & Big Shot. Coke is a franchise. You buy it because it's good. It touches you on the inside parts. It's "better" than the generic shit that us other folk kinda sorta like to indulge. Beyonce is a franchise, A NAME... her competitors, not so much. So I guess I'm the generic Beyonceitis. Even though we're two different things. Nah, not really. I'm like Solange. As much as I try to run from my family connections peoples always gotta say "she ain't no Beyonce".

Okay, now I forgot my point. Let me re-read this shit, real quick.

*reads the line a crash course in what they call "copy-cats" and "swagger-jackers"*

Oh yeah... We're [Big Shot, Faygo, Golden Flake, Amerie, Solange and this blog] not copycats... we just kinda sorta used examples started by others and tried to be a little different. We don't wanna do what the fast soft drinks, potato chips, girls, and blogs do. They just came before us. They got a rep before we did. Their loyal legion of suicidal, homicidal, asexual fans frown upon us because it shows that they "support" their favorite soft drinks, potato chips, girls, and blogs.

This may've made NO sense. I may have spent a good half-hour talking [typing] outta my ass. I may just be too lazy to Google pics and stories and poke fun at them like respectable bloggers do. If it didn't make any sense and you read this much of it, then you don't make sense; therefore, we have lots in common. Beaucoups of varities of fuckery!

I completely get where you [anti-Creole Pimps] are coming from. I'm Faygo. I'm honored to be Faygo. Drink me up. Drink me down. Squeeze my bottle. Then litter your local highway with my remains. At least you're reading the shit I write, that's what really matters. ;)

Readers looka here...

Every now and again some sensitive motherfuckers flood ya inbox with bullshit. It's been a while since I've received blatant hate. Okay, that's a motherfucking lie... I get hated on daily... so I past it down to my readers through blog posts of the every-day fuck-ups of celebrities and especially celebrities (and Kizzy) from the Knowles family.

Supposedly, somebody (not naming names BECAUSE I KNOW WHO YOU IS!) thinks I'm seriously jacking Beyonceitis's style. Okay, send in the clowns... I'm finna call the Bloggers' patent department and ask 'em if homie from Beyonceitis trademarked their style of comedy. No fuck all that... I ain't got time to call up these folks. I'm too busy, copying and pasting, flipping birds, turning tricks, fondling haters' nuts, dumpster diving through Cousin Angie's trashcans and searching Google to find the best voodoo novelty shops in my area. In other words, I got too much shit to do to be jacking anybody's style.

In my humble-even-though-it-doesn't-matter-'cause-just-like-assholes-everybody-has-one-opinion, THE LIL' CREOLE PIMP CHRONICLES (yeah, I linked you back to this site) and BEYONCEITIS'S WIG CRYPT have similar styles in parody but distinct styles in joke delivery.

I'm playing the role of a fucking toddler, who by the way is turning four or five soon (I don't really know... like it matters), so bring ya own beer 'cause we gon' party. Beyonceitis exposes the crystal clear fact that Beyoncé shits on the game on the daily. Janet can sing the national anthem at the Super Bowl with no bra on, no shirt on and Beyoncé will sing the national anthem remixed by Just Blaze at the Pro Bowl in her birthday suit. Beyoncé will shit on her. Rihanna can win seven Grammys this coming award season (sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiit) and Matty Matt will buy the Grammy Association and give Beyoncé every damn award, make up categories and shit. Beyoncé will shit on her. Teairra Mari can say the Pledge of Allegiance at your local elementary school's field day and Beyoncé will start a coast-to-coast tour going throughout the country performing the pledge, the national anthem and singing a medley of Destiny's Child's, Destiny's Baby's, Destiny's Stepsister's, Destiny's Half-Brother's Cousin's songs at local elementary and preschools. She will then make this tour worldwide even stopping in the Middle East thus forth bring peace to the current warring countries. Beyoncé will take a diarrhea shit on her. The clock will strike noon... Aretha Franklin will jump the moon and Beyoncé will be waiting on the Asteroid Belt, pants down, ass up after eating tacos and burritos at El Sombero (LaTavia will be her cashier, of course). Beyoncé will take a galaxial shit on her.

You see how I got off-topic, sorta swagger jacking Beyonceitis in the process? Yeah that's signs of how much I don't give a shit who you think I swagger jack. Only reason I made a post about it was on account of the celebrity world lacking the utmost Grade A Fuckery that I'm willing to post.

Kick rocks, shit bricks, and piss tugboats. It's your urethra not mine.

Readers looka here... every now and again we gotta bow our heads in remembrance of fallen greats.

Rest in paradise, Bernie Mac. You will surely be missed.

Readers looka here...

Every now and then we gotta go through shit in our lives that makes it tough to keep up with the things that REALLY matter. Like impersonating a toddler whose main job is immortalizing fuckery and guarding the Wig Crypt.

I'm sorry that I haven't been able to post on the daily like you and I both want but life is so hectic right now. Ups and downs. Smiles and frowns. Shit like that. I know y'all been checking in to see what gifts Baby D left overnight because according to Site Meter, readership has GROWN even though I've been absent. I hate to tell ya but I wouldn't expect a post in the near future at all. Yep. It's like that.

I do appreciate the love and the hate that keeps popping up in the inbox. I also appreciate the fact that y'all still drop by, fingers crossed fondling ya nuts hoping for a new post. Hopefully I can get back in the swing of things but until then pray for a pimp.

I don't care what nobody say... Bey was most definately not gonna show up at the BET Awards at all this year. She still busy riding that married camel dick. I know she should be used to camel dick, but married camel dick? You know you like it.

Anyway...

I saw it coming but I hoped otherwise. And for putting y'all nut bucket hoes on blast I gotta give it up, once again, to BEYONCEITIS.

Be sure to check out the labels. They struck the nail in my coffin.

DON'T EVER TAKE ANOTHER HIATUS EVER AGAIN!

Readers looky here...

Every now and then I come across some shit that proves...

...how much rules the world...

...but I cannot hate. I wanna give them a Nobel Prize STAT!