Podcast: Wailing On These Hoes

Thursday, October 6, 2011

"She's Like Gandhi With Amazing Tits!!!" (Side B)

If any of you read my last post you probably feel the same way about it that I do--it left MUCH to be desired. I searched my soul real deep and then I realized what my most recent Wail lacked--THE OVERWHELMING POWER OF THE PUSSY!

Yes! The pussy is strong! And when faced with the indomitable power of pussy, men breakdown like stress in a stainless steel grinder. The presence of Amber Rose's pussy was far too overwhelming for Peter Rosenberg's glaring criticisms to stand up to and he went SOFT. (Pun almost, kinda, most definitely intended.) For this much I applaud Miss Amber Rose. Why rant and rave when you can sit back and let your transgressors fall prey to your irresistible feminine charms? Why waste energy with battle when you can (with minimal effort on your part) persuade your opponents to helplessly submit to your will? Does the matador charge into the ring just like the bull or does he outwit the beast (after it has been weakened by severe blood loss of course)?

Men are at a severe disadvantage when it comes to women like Amber Rose. Sure a man can talk plenty good shit behind a woman's back (usually because he can't have her or he had her now he wishes to contradict whatever psychologically debilitating effects her pussy has had on his fragile male ego) but when that scorned woman, now standing directly in front of that once discerning male, bats her eyelashes, smiles real sweet, homey sheds all his sense of principle. "Wow! She cares about, like, humanity and stuff. She's so real..." All of a sudden Amber Rose wins the award for most remarkable and impressive woman in the world and is acquitted of all prior accusations of fucking her way to an unafforded status of celebrity. (That gentle purr in her voice didn't hurt her case either.) Amber Rose had pussy oozing from her every word and Rosenberg lapped up every sweet, sticky drop of seduction that fell from her lips.

As an objective listener I like to see any situation from all sides and I feel it is my duty to address whatever interpretations may come. So maybe Amber Rose WAS objectified. Maybe she was belittled. She was very possibly even degraded but ask Amber Rose and she might have something different to say...

Therefore Miss Amber Rose, I'll repeat, I ain't mad at cha. If sex is your weapon of choice, fire at will, maw and don't miss. I can dig it.

WHEW! I feel SO much better... how 'bout y'all?

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

"She's Like Gandhi with Amazing Tits..."

What the hell kinda male chauvinist bull shit is that?!?


That substance bereft radio broadcast that you may or may not have bothered to listen to was young Miss Amber Rose's "confrontation" of Peter Rosenberg on Hot 97 about the criticisms he made concerning her latest book-writing pursuit. Allegedly he'd on a previous broadcast asserted that her fame was unfounded thus she had no cause for hammering out a written account of her semi-charmed, recently fabulous life. On that much, I would have to agree with Mr. Rosenberg. I don't see much point in her producing yet ANOTHER scandal laden autobiography about sex, "the hip-hop game," stripper stories, and similar professional arm-candy tales of coonery. I believe the literary world wouldn't miss just this one, but write ya book, maw. I ain't mad at cha... but I digress. Amber Rose's somewhat contrived and conspicuous stab at authorship is not what this post is about. Over the course of this enduring 45 minute broadcast, I heard Amber Rose tell her side of her story. I heard her defend her accidental fame and public image as it pertains to her much discussed associations with high-profile penises. I even heard her touch on some of her personal world views that had a an almost brassy air of genuine concern for the underclass. What I ALSO heard was Cipha Sounds and Peter Rosenberg objectify and patronize Amber Rose AT LENGTH and flatter her into submission. Yeah she dissed Funkmaster Flex and called him an asshole but he wasn't even there. Peter Rosenberg however WAS there and she was gentle as a lamb in dealing with him.

(Side Wail: Perhaps Amber Rose is of mild-manner. Perhaps she is just so jaded by her attributed celebrity (which is primarily based on her looking a certain way) that such affronts do not take root with her. But a broad like me? If the dude who dragged me through the gutter just a day prior was now sitting directly in front of me, I would rain hot liquid female fury all over his life. Ain't no mutha fuckin way that I would let that clown sit in my mutha fuckin face cheesing, schmoozing, grinning and going on and on about how "beautiful" I am when just 24 hours ago I wasn't shit to this dude. Naw. To hell with that. Answer for your offenses or be dealt with, douche.)

Even though I listened to this broadcast hoping to hear Amber Rose draw some figurative blood from her offenders, I approached the situation with a general understanding of how "important" it is for female "celebrities" to present an amicable front so not to appear socially abrasive or confrontational. Women who come into fame the way Amber Rose, Kim Kardashian and others who have (through social osmosis) gained overnight fame must maintain a certain likability because without it they are no longer every man's fantasy or every woman's idealized symbol of male-coveted female perfection to love/hate. Talk too much, push too hard, show too much individual strength and you become all too real. One thing I've observed in popular culture that reality is bad for business if your business is being a sexual commodity. And for a "woman of color" who is promoted as a sexual commodity, she has to be content with having a big round ass, nice perky tits and no will of her own outside of chasing cash and partying and sleeping with the most sought after celebrities popular culture has to offer. Just fuck these rappers/actors/ball players/moguls, make out with a few equally hot girls, overindulge in overpriced champagne, make bold fashion choices, stir up a little scandal and shut the hell up.

I found that Amber Rose's overall response to their shamelessly puerile cajolery was reminiscent of the nonthreatening giggling school girl who lives for the attention of her cohorts. I honestly don't know shit about her outside of this one 45 minute radio show but she clearly allowed these men to belittle her by focusing on her sexual commodity rather than her human worth. Rosenberg and Cipha outright degraded Amber by (at times quite graphically) harping on her more sexually arousing attributes while she just smiled and politely acquiesced to their blatantly demeaning flirtations. She entered the conversation as a woman brave enough to confront her uninformed critics and exited a little girl content to to lean on her vanity for moral support. She even made a few maybe vain attempts to take something of a "political" stand but she was easily subdued by the condescent of her moderators' whose sexual self-control appears to have gone unchecked since puberty. When she referenced the backlash she received after posting pictures of the desolation in Ghana because she felt it was more important that the world see that rather than yet another photo essay in the lifestyles of the rich and famous, Mr. Rosenberg chimed in with his "Gandhi with amazing tits" comparison and quelled the slight swell of activism in her identity that has been represented as purely sexual. Throughout the interview Cipha Sounds and Peter Rosenberg made certain that this image of Amber Rose as a bodied sex vixen was the one that stuck with their listeners. At times it seemed it was actually their goal to solidify her rather banal oversexed persona by not allowing her much elbow room to possibly challenge her "fans" to see her any differently.

To be fair by allowing this one-dimensional ideal of unquestionable vixenhood to prevail, Amber Rose participated in her own media prostitution; therefore she must be as basely sexual as we all perceive her to be... or maybe she has been made to believe that, as a woman, it is much safer to be revered as a man's every fantasy than rejected as a woman with her own mind that she uses to think critically of the world around her. I would like to believe that deep inside Amber Rose there is a woman who has a passion for helping those who are less fortunate but as long as she is willing to cooperate with a system that exploits her just as much as it keeps those babies who moved her so deeply in Ghana hungry and sick, she will remain another cog in the great oppressive machine. Just like with any of us who want to change the world for the better, Amber Rose would first have to recognize her role as a media pawn for the patriarchy and understand that an individual revolution would need to happen before a larger one could occur.

Conversely if her claims of a having spirit of charity were only veneerings of her cliche public image as "the rapper's sexy girlfriend," I wish her all the success in the world being a career implement of sexism and a willing victim of male-ego driven psychosexual slavery. With such lovely parts, why should she object to simply being the sum of them?

Monday, September 19, 2011

This Is Bigger Than Ray J's Street Cred...

... even though he may not believe such a thing could occur in this life.

This post needs little introduction from me so I'll just let the world-class reporting team of (insert sarcasm here) MediaTakeOut.com  handle my lightweight.


As eloquent and masterful as that rendering might have been, I would like to take this opportunity to perhaps elaborate on some of the more intricate issues involved in this situation.

1. If Ray J was not so insecure, this altercation would have never even had a chance to transpire.

2. If Fabolous was not so easily goaded, he could have soundly put the ensuing conflict to rest while simultaneously proving that he was much more man than Ray J. Unfortunately he took the "I wish a nigga would" route instead and beat Ray J like a lazy, entitled, $5 hoe... and made MUCH change.

(LATE BREAKER: Fabolous claims to have NOT beat Ray J's ass... even though it would've been understandable. Hear his side of the story on Power 105.1 http://www.power1051fm.com/pages/onair/djclue.html?article=9131842 )

3. After talking that much shit and then not being able to back it up with ANY action whatsoever... Ray J deserved to get stripped of his worldly possessions. That's just part of the Unofficially Official G-Code (or rather "The Code of the Streets") which Ray J is now painfully familiar. This is the shit that happens to little boys who want to stomp around in big boy Timbs. Also, considering that his nuts also were stripped from his person, those "jewels" of his should have been the least of his worries.

4. So after being publicly humiliated for talking way out of turn, Ray J decides to take his circus of bumfuckery on the road to one of the most popular nationally syndicated radio programs in hip hop where he confirms exactly how insecure (i.e. "bitch made") he is by rambling on about NOTHING in his own defense. It is a widely known fact that a man who represents himself in front of a court of his peers surely has a fool for a client. Like it or not, Power 105.1 is a major branch of hip-hop culture's governing body. When you go on Power 105.1 with "your side of the story"... son, you officially on trial. Speak with CAUTION and CLARITY. Most of all you gotta come with SOME substance. Ray J came with "I got this and this and that. I know him and him and her." He was name-droppin' and collar-poppin' with nothing of merit to truly validate his claims of "gangstership." At first he had 7 Rolls outside. Then he had 6 Rolls and 2 Bentleys. He prattled on and on about "The money team," "My big homey Diddy," "I socked that nigga (Fab) in the face," "Tell [Fab] to send a picture of his face," "(Mayweather) That's my big brother. We grew up together." "Fabolous gone apologize" "I swear to God, [Fab] running from me right now." All this humbuggish bullshit yet nothing that would adequately affirm his masculinity. He brags about his famous "homies," his 20,000 sq. ft. home... NIGGA YOU AIN'T DOING AN INTERVIEW FOR BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS!!!!! What do all those worldly possessions have to do with the fact that you got knocked THE FUCK OUT?!? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Don't get me wrong though, there's no shame in having nice things. True, it makes you a puppet and a slave of the capitalist machine but if you want that and you got that good for you. What Ray J had to find out the hard way is that all those fancy toys and baubles and high-profile connects don't protect you from a well-deserved ass-whuppin. Ray J thought he was invincible and he got touched-up like some three-month old highlights.

Anyway, the only reason why I found this exercise in outright bumfuckery to be important enough for me to address is because it points to a common problem among black males today. Instead of feeling secure in their manhood based solely on the strength of their character, the contemporary, mainstream black man relies on brutish and ostentatious displays such as these. In regard to Fabolous, he could have just brushed Ray J off as the nut-jocking, spine bereft, cartoonish, pretentious R&B gangster that he is but instead gave in to his male ego that would not be deterred from proving itself to the onlookers who witnessed such a blatant affront to his cosmetic manhood. Do I really blame Fabolous for knocking lil dude out? Not really. In a similar situation, I might have done the same thing. That still doesn't justify his actions as "righteous." In regard to Ray J what is there that could NOT be said about his obvious lack of testicular fortitude? There is very little in this world that appears less masculine than a man who can't stop running his damn mouth even AFTER he's already been embarrassed for the same offense.

I'm not a man therefore I will not arrogantly claim to have the formula for what it means to be one. What I CAN say is that over the course of my life I have witnessed the actions of REAL MEN first-hand and those actions shaped my model of what a man should be. One thing that I've learned from these real men is nothing speaks more pointedly to genuine masculinity than inner strength, honor, control of one's speech and humility. When I see a MAN, I see a person who doesn't need to make grandiose claims or vulgar exhibitions to be certain that everyone in the room has a perpetual awareness of his dick. I see a person who is self-aware but not self-absorbed. I see a person who may have clout but has no need to flaunt it. I see a person who exudes pride but not hubris. This incident is tantamount to the corrosion and corruption of the archetype of manhood in the black male psyche. The black man (in a general mainstream sense) has devolved into a greedy, materialistic, anti-intellectual, dishonorable, disloyal, unfaithful, baby-making, self-destructive shell of a human being or rather a Europeanized version of the original black man which would undoubtedly be easier to for American capitalist society to manipulate...

But what do I know anyway? I'm just an uppity, militant, book-reading Negro who is lacking greatly in the area of social importance, i.e. A Hater. 

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Confessions of the "Au Naturale"

There is no end to the socially acceptable nonsense which begs me to reproach humanity on a semi-regular basis but what I find MOST irksome about you hoes is the fact that you insist upon being SO... DAMN... FAKE. From the tops of your heads to the soles of your feet, you people hide your identities beneath illusions of the wealth and beauty that you believe you cannot attain while being your truest selves. Of course, us women are the most committed to pretense as it relates to our appearance. We have Spanx, padded bras, weaves, wigs and every other ridiculous implement of aesthetic torture we can procure from our most trusted retailers. Of all the methods women employ to feign perfection however, the use of make-up might be the one that causes my inner feminist the most unrest.

I am and have always been unapologetically anti-cosmetics. I don't believe a woman should feel obligated to paint her face like a clown to mask her "flaws" for a society that really doesn't even give a damn about the individual. Not only that but the cosmetic industry thrives on the impossible demands of eternal youth and unchanged appearance that women are expected to live up to. My friends often try to persuade me by saying that "It's supposed to enhance your features" and all kinds of other buck nekked bullshit but I ain't buying none of it. Whether it is in the foreground of your thoughts or not, women wear make-up because from a very young age we are made to feel insecure about each and every one of our imperfections; as a result we are encouraged by our mothers, grandmothers, sisters and televisions to conceal those flaws by any means necessary. I could make bell hooks say "Bitch, chill" after listening to me prattle on and on and on about the subject of women and their inane yet sometimes rigorous daily routines born of insecurity and assumed inadequacy (whether they care to admit it to themselves or not). At first glance I would appear to be the most fervent espouser of being our most organic selves at all times free of doubt, but I must admit that lately I've been engaging in some intense inner battle betwixt my strong aesthetic values and my own self-image. 

It has always been so very depressing for me to see a woman who thinks so little of her aesthetic design that she doesn't feel comfortable just walking outside her door without the proper augmentation. I used to pity you hoes because of the simple fact that I wouldn't want to trade places with you for anything in the world. When I see some women without make-up on, I think to myself, "DAMN... if I looked like that in the morning I'd be laying on the Maybeline pretty thick my damn self. You look TERRIBLE. Bitch, you HIT." I figured being so horribly unattractive by the face must be hard which is why I have always been so proud of myself for never once having a desire to don my face with various rouges and mascaras and concealers and the like. My unflinching apathy toward make-up began to feel more like an affirmation of beauty than a principle. If I thought so little of my natural appearance the way most of you hoes seemed to, then I would be foaming at the mouth in Sephora as well; but I didn't so I wasn't.

To make a long story short: DeDeT has been giving some serious thought to wearing make-up. In fact I have just about decided that I am going to buy some. Have I actually bought any? No. Have I looked into getting any? Kinda. During the past year, I've been paying more and more attention to make-up and how it "works." I've been trying to figure out how to find the foundations and concealers that best match my natural skin tone. I've been paying attention to all the latest lines and brands. The whole while slowly dying because I know my growing curiosity was merely a subconscious acceptance of the fact that my looks were already beginning to wane at the tender age of 25. It would only be a matter of time before I looked old and washed out like so many others. Pretty soon men would no longer find me so fascinating and engaging. I would have no one to entertain my many charming quirks! Nobody puts up with ugly chicks who have head issues! This is common knowledge. A PRETTY girl, however, can get away with all kinds of eccentricities. In fact many men fancy these whims as bemusing and enchanting on an adorable morsel like myself. If I looked like a hag I wouldn't be able to get away with shit ever again! How could I live with no one to shower me with adoration?!?!

All that understood, I want to buy make-up today because of the fact that I feel SO FLAWED that I doubt that I could been seen as "beautiful" (or even mildly attractive) in my most natural state. My skin for no reason has taken a turn for the absolute worst and all my efforts to correct this disaster have yielded no result whatsoever. I need relief lest I lose my ENTIRE mind.

Now for the wailing...

Basically I've decided just to give up on everything I believe in regard to what it means to be a "real woman" because my reflection no longer upholds the facile ideals of beauty that I've secretly been clinging to all my life. True beauty MIGHT come from within but in what I have long perceived to be "the real world" the beauty that one can have on the surface is the kind that everybody has a boner for. With my insatiable thirst for attention and adoration, naturally I aspire to the superficiality which I have quite stupidly allowed myself to fall victim. If I had some GOOD sense I would thug it out sans the aid of artificial enhancements and perhaps develop a more resilient sense of self that would not be so easily capsized by such an unquestionably asinine affront to genuine human suffering like a bout of bad skin. If I was really so passionate about being authentic at all times, my definitions of my OWN beauty wouldn't be so damn hollow and petty. Somebody oughtta check me in the throat for being such a simple-minded slut.

Furthermore who's to say I was that I was even all that cute from the jump? Sure I've turned the head of many a simpleton but the substantial often passes me by. I'm rather intelligent, witty and charming and there's no way anyone could ever be bored around me but alas... I'm not very enticing to anyone of merit. Could my superficiality be that pervasive? Do you think the smart ones noticed? Duh, bitch. Of course they did which is why they kept it pushing. Anybody with some real depth could easily spot that shallow shit a mile off even if it is veiled by an impeccable vocabulary.

So I guess my question to myself is: Who am I really trying to impress with this assumed beauty of mine and why in the hell am I clinging so fast to all the witless delusions therein? Just stupid like dem'ohs I guess...

Saturday, August 27, 2011

"DeDeT Why Can't I Find A Good Man?"

Maybe it's because you outchea looking HARD for "Your Barack" when you, Madame, ain't no Michelle.

OK ladies, why is it that so many of you are searching for qualities in a mate that you do not possess yourself? You want a man who can read above a 12th grade level yet the last piece of literature you picked up was Noire's Candy Licker. (I'm here to tell ya today that urban e-fuckin-rotica does NOT constitute intellectually stimulating prose. Don't lie to yourself, maw.) You want a worldly man with a degree from an accredited university and a six-figure income but you, dear, went to a university, beauty college, Blue Cliff and Devry only to quit them all after under two semesters. You spend the bulk of your earnings to feign the semblance of social standing with over priced knock-offs & a mask chemically engineered by the brilliant minds of MAC so you can go to the most exclusive & upscale clubs every weekend to compete with dumb hoes just like yourself for men who may or may not have the keys to the glamorous lifestyle you crave. And don't let the DJ put on "No Hands." You'll drop it to the flo' for any bystander with a dick at the drop of the beat and won't give a fuck how short and tight that skirt is when you do. Panties be DAMNED, you wanna be seen. If a brotha has V.I.P. access and has purchased a few bottles you'll LEAP at the chance to rendezvous with him after the club at the venue of his choosing (as long as it is certain that someone else will see you with him). After which you'll find out that he wasn't "balling" like he claimed. That Infiniti was a rental and the electricity in his one-room, furniture challenged efficiency has been cut off because he spent his last check to stunt at the club... just like you.

Meanwhile "The Barack" you so eagerly sought that night most likely passed your pretty, petty, pretentious, materialistic ass RIGHT up for a woman whose conversational skills surpassed that of the latest Basketball Wives beef, and you probably passed HIM up because he wasn't a patron of the V.I.P. section...

But does your foolish ass ever frequent a fuckin' book store aisle? Not really. Do you ever go to a social event that has nothing to do with a birthday/album release/poorly themed party at the trendiest club? Nope. What of any self-enriching activities? Have you any of those that do not circulate around being seen by a man? Of course you don't because for you getting a "good man" is all the enrichment you require.

I'm not saying that you dumb hoes don't deserve a good man. (Actually some of you hoes probably don't to be quite frank.) All I'm saying is that PERHAPS some self-improvement might be helpful. Maybe if you concentrated on being better ONLY FOR YOURSELF you would be able to attract a man with something on his mind other than putting the whole of his effort into being a carbon copy of Drake/Trey Songz/Chris Brown. I'm just saying... as you strive for maturity, maturity will be drawn to you. Even if you don't believe me, it can't possibly hurt your chances to give that shit a try, can it?

I can already hear some of you hoes cryin' "Well, bitch where's your man? How the fuck you know so much about getting one?" And I'd have to say that all of you dumb hoes are absolutely right. I don't have "a man," so what do I know about getting one? I'm too busy trying to build a foundation for myself BY MYSELF to even entertain the idea of getting out in the streets with you dumb broads just so I can engage in a footrace to mediocrity and co-dependence anyway. I should have never put my two cents up for grabs...

Bitch, I ain't better. I'm just better equipped.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

You Can Find My Sympathy Between "Shit" and "Syphilis"

The headline reads: "Dulac resident charged with trying to hit woman with car." In my mind I'm hoping that this incident was not yet ANOTHER domestic dispute, but considering where I'm from I knew better:

Just in case you skipped the link, let me give you the rundown (pun ABSOLUTELY intended). This dude is driving his boo's car. Him and the boo get into it so she wants to go home. Homeboy ain't havin' that though so he drives to HIS house in HER car and beats HER ass. Then when she tries to get in her car and leave, he beats HER ass again, takes HER car and then proceeds to assault her with (you guessed it) HER OWN CAR.

1. I have NO sympathy fuh dis hoe. NONE. I don't care what kind of daddy issues she has. Did you see homey's mug shot??? Dude has tatts ALL OVER HIS FACE. It is usually safe to assume that a man who would purposely and permanently scar his own face is a man who has some psychological issues that he needs to deal with on his OWN. (Mike Tyson? Lil Wayne? Hello? Is anybody home???) Bitch, that right there was your red flag. He shoulda killed ya dumb ass.

2. What is with all this homicidal love? Is this shit cute to you people? Does the idea that a mutha fucka might very well KILL you at a moment's notice make you heifas hot? What is the intrigue? Somebody help me to understand...

3. Are men doing all this buck nekked bullshit just to get on the news? Are they trying to validate their street cred by catching cases? Y'all dudes tryna get on with Boosie? You hoes tryna get signed? I guess going to jail is the quickest way to jump off these days...

4. Do these women not read the paper or watch the news at ALL? Don't they know dudes are straight MURKIN their o'ladies these days? Muh'fuckas ain't just breakin up with brizzles anymore. That is no longer a sufficient means of attaining closure. In the 21st Century the best ways to "break it off" involve maiming, permanent physical scarring and murder-suicides. THAT is how you show your woman that you ain't havin' her nonsense no mo...

5. Something tells me that this wasn't the first time Mr. Verdin had a Chris Brown-out. His ass BEEN throwed off (as evidenced by the placement of his body "art") and her dumb ass BEEN ignoring it. True, I don't know these people personally, but I have gotten rather familiar with domestic violence over the course of my life; and through my experiences with domestic abuse I have learned that it is very rare for someone to go from being sweet as sugar to attempted vehicular homicide within a few short hours. Homey has hit her before and she either stayed or left and came RIGHT back like the dumbest boomerang in the known universe. Again... no sympathy fuh ya, cher.

Now I know humans and I know some of you must be protesting that I have no right to cast down any judgements concerning hoes being dumb and so on and so forth. With such a complaint, I would have to agree. It is for that reason that I DO NOT JUDGE dumb hoes. I merely lay out in print all the reasons WHY these hoes are dumb. The outright naivety and simplicity of women such as this unfortunate one who got run over by HER OWN CAR are natural facts. I have as much power to attribute any more stupidity on to this girl as I have to take any of it away. Her I.Q. could very well be through the roof, but her ability to apply common sense on a situational level is irrefragably low as evidenced by her willingness to carry on with a man who would treat her this poorly.

If I still sound judgemental let me ask you a question once asked by a very wise little Negro: 
"If I started peein' on you RIGHT now would you: A. Smile and ask for more or B. Move out the HELL out the way?"
Prosecution: RESTS.

Monday, August 1, 2011

"You're gonna end up with some weak nigga..."

The young man who quoth such ignorance was actually my "ex." (We were only "on" for a month so I find it hard to count him officially.) I think he may still be a little sore that I broke up with him so abruptly but I had my reasons. I could see far enough around the bend to know that there wasn't anything up there for me so I diverted from that path--QUICKLY. There was no malice on my part either. I didn't hate him. I still don't, but I do see him for exactly what he is--a man who is too insecure to really handle a woman like me. (Now I know there may be a couple dudes out there who'll counter with, "You're just a bitch and you refuse to admit that fact to yourself." To all those disparaging cats I would reply, "I'm not a bitch, suga. I'm just an asshole. When you call me, call me right.")

Cool your jets, boys! I'm not tryna cut anybody down with that statement. I'm not suggesting that all men are weak punks who "can't handle me." I know there are some inadequate mutha fuckas out there masquerading as men but I don't put every guy I meet in that category. I do not find pleasure in giving men grief and I don't go out of my way to compete with them either. I don't want to try on your pants. My booty shorts serve me just fine. I am simply a woman who knows herself well enough to know that she can't possibly fit into every man's mold of an "Ideal Mate."

ANYWAY... back to the tale. The other night my ex and I were engaged in a dialogue and if my memory serves me he said something about it being "a man's world." Once he caught on to the abrupt change in my energy, he attempted to soften the blow by saying, "But you know how it goes. It wouldn't be nothin' without a woman or a girl." And so it began. I could bore you with the most accurate transcript that I could produce from memory but who gives a fuck about every word that was said? Certainly not I. The summary is, as I began to wail on him with the eloquence that only I can he grew weary. Then the defeat began to seep in and that is what yielded the statement "You're gonna end up marrying some weak nigga who'll just let you push him around." Then began another wailing session:

DDT: What the FUCK you mean "end up with," son? So you sayin that I won't be able to "find a man" so I will simply "end up with" whatever scraps of manhood the human race has left behind for me to ravage?

X: I didn't mean that. I--

DDT: Before you continue let me hip you to some shit real quick: 1. Marriage ain't somethin' that I'm bout. 2. I'm not LOOKING for somebody to even have to "end up" with somebody. 3. I don't WANT to be with a weak nigga which is why I broke up with you. A nigga like you always feels the need to be justified in his manhood which is why you want a woman who just serves you without question. I don't want a man who always has something to prove by competing with me. That's not a strong man. So don't lie to yourself and figure that you were just too much for me 'cause you was exactly the opposite.

But did I wanna go off on that mutha fucka like that? No. That wasn't even in the plan. But I find it truly infuriating when men like my ex declare that any woman with an opinion wants a spineless puppy that she can lead around on a leash of verbal abuse. True, there are some dumb hoes who want that manner of man-bitch accessory to complete their Baby's First Serious Relationship Kits, but not every woman needs to lord over her man to qualify her own strength. "Men" like that never dare to assume that maybe they're just not the right man for any and EVERY woman. They act as though it would be impossible for ANY man to tolerate a woman who's not only bold and intelligent but one who won't deny those facts just to soothe a man's ego. Trust the plus... I KNOW there are some real serious cunts out there but sometimes, brotha, your insecurity is the reason why you can't see yourself coping with a certain kind of female. If you feel like you're not good enough for her with then that's on you but don't charge it to what you imagine is her over-confidence as a "mere woman." 

In the case of my ex, I strongly doubt that he ever thought to himself "Maybe I could stand to be less insecure. Maybe I shouldn't throw around the fact that I'm a man just to make sure that she respects it." By pressing the issue of his masculinity upon me so often, in my eyes it had been negated. I can't deal with that kind of bravado. I like a man who knows his nuts well enough to just BE a man without all the pretentious demonstrations of his gender. When we were together he was always competing with me. He was always trying to "out man" me. He was always trying to out drink me. He was compelled to make sure everybody knew that he regularly put his dick in me when he felt like he was losing ground as "the man" in the relationship. He was always trying to prove that I wasn't "hard" and that I wasn't a "thug." Bruh I KNOW ain't no thug and I most DEF ain't tryna be one! I don't slang dope! I don't kill mutha fuckas! I read BOOKS! I'm 'bout the STRUGGLE. I'm 'bout bettering my PEOPLE. Don't try to downplay my demeanor as a caricature of how a "real nigga" is supposed to behave just to make yourself feel like less of a bitch when you're standing next to me. 

Then again, maybe I'm all the way wrong and there truly is no country for an unconventionally bawdy broad like me who refuses to adhere to the typical gender role of a "girl." Still though... fuck dat dude.

REAL TALK DISCLAIMER: Honestly, the convo betwixt the young man and I really went sour prior to his arrogant omen when he tried to put the FUCKING CHARGERS on a pedestal over the Saints. Then when I said "Well, show me ya rings, bitch and I'll kiss em," he came at me with "You ain't even from New Orleans." That one right there threw all my good nature out the fuckin DOE, ya heard me. I can't deal with a bitch ass mutha fucka who can't accept simple facts nor can I deal with a bitch ass mutha fucka who tries to discredit me on some superficial shit. After that everything he said was grounds for battle.

(W H O D A T ? ! ? !)

Thursday, July 28, 2011

On Being "The Help..."

Saw a preview this week for soon-to-be-released film "The Help."

Here are the reasons why I'm pissed:

1. This movie was adapted from a book that was a New York Times Bestseller. Why was it a bestseller? Most likely because it depicts the tale of some "groundbreaking" white woman who had the completely singular idea of taking a black woman's story and exploiting it to jump off her little career. Of course she learns a great deal about herself and realizes how blind she's been to the plights of her Colored sisters who clean up after her oblivious ass. Get the fuck outta here.

2. Here we are AGAIN reliving the timeworn tales of black women who had to endure in spite of all kinds of adversity (racism, oppression, economic hardship, the jaded white people they worked for, etc.) and some white woman found her to be fascinating because of the tenacity of her faith and the strength of her spirit and character. "Who could be that honest, morally sound and sane with so much pitted against her? Extraordinary." Again--get the fuck outta here.

3. Why is it that black women are STILL playing the VICTIMS in Hollywood? We either play static characters who never grow and merely wallow in the many inherent tragedies of black femaleness or we thrive on our own pain, turning it into triumph. Granted there's nothing wrong with telling EITHER of these tales but why in the hell do black women ALWAYS have to be in the hood, in a bad relationship or the racially torn old south for these stories to be worthy of a feature film? I'm not mad at Viola or Octavia. I'm sure they played those roles to the BONE with the resilience and courage that I expect of black women but I would imagine that they would desire recognition for their dynamism and versatility as well.

4. When the FUCK are we gonna get out of the damn kitchen?!?! When are we gonna ditch those domestic duds and those feather dusters? Come the FUCK on! In my opinion the sassy Southern black maid is one of the most tried roles there is. It's been DONE. I'm tired of Tyler Perry and I am tired of THIS.

5. The last movie with black protagonists that I saw advertised this much was "Madea's Big Happy Family." The FUCK y'all on, man??? 

6. Hollywood will never get tired of seeing black women "fighting." It's like they're undermining us while simultaneously putting us on this stereotypical pedestal. We can do something other than put on a jovial, well-adjusted front while racked with emotional, physical and spiritual pain but I know you people don't really care to consume us as anything else.

And I'm out this bitch...

Sunday, July 17, 2011

On Maiming Your Man...

Okay, Ladies... I wanna talk to you hoes for JUST a second. Any of you out there who pay attention to the news and such know that last week some crazy Asian drugged her soon to be ex-husband, cut of his jammy and tossed that jernt in the garbage disposal.


As fate would have it, on the very same morning in my fairly troubled hamlet of Houma, a few things went amiss up the bayou when an angried-up young lady threw hot beans and Pine Sol on her man then proceeded to cut him.


Much like Tyler Perry, I was inspired by all of this violence toward the male sex. Unlike Mr. Perry, however, I really don't see a need to glorify such behavior. Granted, sometimes these dudes most assuredly have it coming but congruently some of these women are just unstable. In the case of this new millennium Lorraina Bobbit, I I have no knowledge of the situation betwixt her and her um "fallen" husband, but as it pertains to this Houma chick (according to valued sources) she BEEN throwed off. It was only a matter of time before somebody got dealt with and homey just happened to be in the wrong kitchen at the wrong time. Even before I was hipped to the game about her mental state, I knew something had to be off with ya girl. Anybody who throws some shit as random as hot beans and Pine Sol on a dude only to turn right around and cut him anyway has to be on some ol' unstable, maniacal shit. Sadly there are many women JUST like her who handle conflict in the same way--irrationally and violently. Perhaps she learned at a young age that undue violence was then answer when she couldn't account for her own erratic female emotions. Maybe these unwarranted reactions to the hassles of life went unchecked for too long and no one could reel her back in to reason. Regardless of the root, she most likely just flew off the handle as she was prone to do and some simple-minded man got the dick end of her fury.

As for the former Mrs. Becker, I presume that she probably went through some trials before coming to the conclusion that she had to dismember her husband. She premeditated the shit out of this undertaking. She didn't just go ape shit in the middle of dinner and leap at his nuts with the chef's knife. She took the necessary time and precautions to make sure that this was done right. She was even the one who called 911! Homegirl KNEW what she was into from the moment she started those wheels in motion and I applaud her patience and diligence. This is not to say that could not have been EVERY BIT of crazy her damn self. Maybe her old man didn't buy her that Ferrari she wanted and she decided that he needed to pay for his affronts with his manhood. Who really knows in these situations though, right? I wasn't fuckin' either one of em so I damn sho don't have the tea.

The point of all this is: what will these women truly gain by maiming these men possibly for life? Sure, Mr. Becker may not know the pleasure of a woman ever again, but his wife is gonna have to sit down in REAL JAIL for what may turn out to be a nice lil stretch. The question I have for any woman who has taken such violent action against her man is: Is your freedom worth getting the last word in? That's what's wrong with some of you women. You will go to just about any length to have the final say. Let it go sometimes, ma! Let him keep his dick just this ONE time so you can go free. Don't throw those hot beans/grits/eggs/hash browns on homey and just let him walk out the door and OUT OF YOUR LIFE. He isn't worth losing another day of your happiness--not one.

But let me be real in light of all these criticisms I'm throwing on these hoes. The fact that I've been dodging committed relationships all my life greatly diminishes my right to speak on the subject of the pain a man can cause the woman who loves him most (or at least thinks she does). Personally I refuse to let a man get close enough to me to put me through such pain and heartache. Sure I've been burned before but it was never enough for me to say "Yeah, this muhfucka is gone pay for this shit with his life." At the very FIRST sign that a man will only cause me grief, I let his ass GO. I've seen what my mother went through with my own paw and I re-mutha-fuckin-fuse to let it go down like that with me. Even my own grandmother beat my grandfather within inches of his life behind some messed up shit he did to her. Sure it probably felt good to bloody the man who wronged her damn near to death, but think of those scars beneath the surface that NEVER seem to heal. For the rest of their lives, I can just about bet that my grandparents always looked at each other sideways. My mother and father haven't fully recovered from their fall out either and it doesn't get any better with both sides harboring so much resentment toward one another...

To put a long sad story to bed: ladies if the man you love/need/want is willing to put you through hell and think nothing of it, you're better off leaving him to it than exacting your own foolhardy, pride-driven revenge. Let the Lord deal with his ass if he ratchet. And if you MUST deal with him (because I KNOW how lowdown a man can be), make sure you can do it while effectively avoiding the long arm of the law. Don't go super-crazy-bitch, all willy nilly and thangs, making all of us look bad outchea...

Saturday, July 16, 2011

The Bold and Reckless Lies of the American Patriarchy

So I'm the gym, right? Just on the treadmill minding my own business climbing what feels like the never ending face of Kilimanjaro and I am interrupted in my focus by the unmistakable self-important voice of Bill O'Mutha-Fuckin-Reilly. I am already uninterested because I know whatever he has to say will not only infuriate but also nauseate me as I am heavily engaged in a very physically demanding task. Unfortunately, however, I was far too engaged in this physically demanding task to even think of pausing for the cause of finding the nearest remote. Thus I was at Massa O'Reilly's mercy. My only hope was that the anger brought on by whatever unabashedly biased conservative nonsense he was about to spew would fuel me to Hulkish feats of physicality. That day must have been my lucky one because he just happened to be doing a segment concerning Sally Jacobs' controversial biography entitled The Other Barack: The Bold and Reckless Life of President Obama's Father. THIS is what I saw:


The optimist in me wanted to think that as a journalist he would perhaps relate this story to the widespread absence of father figures in so many children's lives. The revolutionary in me figured he would just say all black fathers are merely selfish, womanizing, drifting sperm donors as proved by the life of this authentic, straight-off-the-continent African. Much to my surprise he didn't do either one of these things. His main concern was that of demonizing Pres. Obama's father. That's it. He barely even cared to talk about what was actually IN the book. He didn't even care to address the TITLE in its entirety. He just referred to the "reckless" portion and tried to completely omit word "bold" from the conversation. Thank God Ms. Jacobs was unbiased enough to refrain from imposing any similar character judgements. She maintained her impartiality but O'Reilly was far from put off, calling the man a fraud, a dead beat and even a "sociopath."

Oh, Bill was crying "Shame!" all over the place. Talkin bout some "How could a man abandon his own child?" and all this other buck nekked bull shit. Let's be for real for a second Boss Hog O'Reilly--all this outcry of yours didn't have a DAMN thing to do with the shamefulness of a man abandoning his own child and leaving a woman to raise a man all on her own. This postmortem chastisement that you are so weightily dishing out is about a couple other less noble factors:

1. Why would this impetuous African, after having the ESTEEMED and undeserved privilege of mounting a white woman's vagina, leave behind a perfectly novel (and thus, more appealing) half-Negro baby.?

2. HOW does this perfectly novel and forsaken half-Negro manage to grow up without his father (who was albeit a failure) and become the FIRST black man to hold the highest position in American government?

Now y'all are probably saying, "De De T, how do YOU know what homey had on his mind when he was running Barack Sr. through the ringer?" I will tell you how I know. I know because I don't see him doing any segments on Jay-Z's absent father. He's not wondering where Erykah Badu's daddy was. He wasn't up in arms about Ricky Williams' abusive daddy. And where was his scorn for Tyler Perry's paw? Nowhere to be found, that's where. People like Bill O'Reilly could give a fuck about all the fathers out there who abandoned, abused or neglected their black children. I doubt he even cares about the white children whose natural fathers left them behind.

Bill O'Reilly's "concern" is based upon sheer bewilderment. He and many like him are absolutely floored by the fact that this ONE black child made it so far up the white man's ladder without the presence of a father figure in his life. Sure, he could grow up to be a singer/dancer/rapper/athlete/high-profile criminal/mayor of Detroit without an adequate father figure to show him the way, but PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES?!? Oh HELL no. That kinda crazy shit is unheard of. Fatherless black children are supposed to have very limited futures. The rule is that if you can't sing, dance, rap, shake your big black ass, play ball or slang dope there is NO WAY you as a black fatherless child can hope to survive in the white man's America. How in the HELL can a patiarchal society founded on white privilege and the nuclear family unit hope to impress such a falsehood upon black children now? Looks like all those tightly woven fabrics of systematic oppression are finally unraveling at the seams, huh?

I guess it's back to the lab for the white patriarchy...

P.S.: If you want to read an IMPARTIAL interview about this book try this

Saturday, May 14, 2011

DeDeT, Why Can't I Find a Good WOMAN?

By now, I feel like some of you might be wondering why I show so much bias against women and the asinine things they do when it comes to courtship. The truth is, as a woman, I tend to be more critical of my own as it is my hope that you hoes would do better but please don't think I ain't peepin' you dudes too. Because, baby, I AM and I do NOT always love what I see. What is so unnerving about many of you little boys is that in spite of your uncouth ways, you think that us women are ALL the problem. We "want too much" or we "don't know what we want" or we "just lookin to trap a nigga." That may be the hardships some GOOD men face with hoes but you TRIFLIN muh'fuckas? Oh HELL no. You are in severe need of some correction your damn selves, gentleman. With that broad, sweeping assessment I present to you the first installment of "DeDeT Why Can't I Find a Good Woman?"

Maybe it's because the only women you "interact" with are always turned upside down in your lap and charging you for the privilege every 3.5 minutes.

Ok fellas, where do I even FREAKING begin? Oh that's right--at the damn shake joint. Why is it that so many of you are looking for love on the main stage? Do you TRULY expect to find favor with a woman whom you have to pay just to even LOOK at your raggedy ass? I mean be REAL with yourself for a second... She don't like you, man! She probably has a husband or (what would be even more futile for your efforts) a WIFE. These broads are NOT checkin for you homes. They could care LESS. Strippers are women who know ONE thing: For whatever reason, be it to pay for college, heroin or both, they need money FAST and they know the FASTEST way to get it is from some dumb, desperate, jaded Negro who thinks the perfect woman is one who looks good in a two-piece outfit and a three-piece Remy. This relationship between stripper and customer is one of the MOST superficial there is. These girls don't even give out their real names! Do you think that's because they're waiting on Mr. Right to show her true self? NO! (Disclaimer: Some of those hoes actually ARE waiting on Mr. Right to give him the best lap dance of his life and have him turn her brassed life into gold but that's a blog post for another time. I'll deal with YOU later, madame...) Strippers don't give out their names because they don't want to have to deal with your ass in a realistic setting. Her purpose is to construct a watered down fantasy (with as little genuine effort on her part as possible) for your horny ass and NOTHING more.

And I know there are good women who strip. I worked at a strip club for a while (not as a stripper) and got to know a couple GREAT ladies, but MOST of dem'ohs are about a dollar and that's it. Many of them either have to be drunk or high for their entire shift just to stomach you mutha fuckas because you DISGUST them. That's a pretty strong sentiment, but I don't think it's the one that you lovelorn men are so eagerly pursuing. Why would you fall for a woman who is not only disgusted by you but provides the SAME services for numerous other men in the span of a night? Are you really resolved with being merely one of many and nothing special? Or maybe you're just so desperate to have a big booty trophy that you don't care if she treats you like shit just as long as she pays any attention to you at all. Just because you're a man that doesn't mean you shouldn't demand to be treated well and I ain't talkin' bout head on the regular. You know how you wanna be loved bruh. You may as well be up front about it and stop settling for less, i.e. STRIPPERS.

And FURTHERMORE, some of you niggas have a DAMN good woman at home but you'd rather step out to She She's and give all your adoration to Cupcake, Strawberry Shortcake and Hot Chocolate n'em. (Don't ask me how I know these hoes' names.) Chocolate don't love you. She fine as the fuck but she ain't bout to cook your dinner or take care of your bad ass kids or iron your clothes or support you when shit gets ill. Chocolate waves bye-bye after her lap dances, blows you a kiss and walks away counting all the bills you threw on her. Tell me how you feel about her next Friday when she doesn't even remember your name and she's fawning all over another nigga with more chips than you. Do you go home to wifey stinking of Wal-Mart body spray and dejection expecting her to smother you with affection? You may get away with that Tom Dickery for a while but one Friday you're gonna go home and wifey will be LONG gone. You'll be straight for the weekend but what about when Monday morning comes and you don't have any kisses and breakfast waiting for you? Then when your day at work is shitty and you don't have that good woman waiting at home to make "Daddy" feel better, you'll probably just go back to the club; but Monday nights are slow and the B-Squad is on...

The De De T Childcare Initiative

So I'm at Wal-Mart, right? I'm minding my own lil business trying to procure the various staples (cereal, milk, tampons, peanut butter, booze, etc.) and I find myself being bothered over and over again with people's bad ass, ignit little kids. And the kill part is that the parents could give a damn! They just sit there and ignore the little bantlings for a bit and finally add to the debacle by yellin and cussin and smackin the kids like they're undisciplined hookers! Is that REALLY parenting? I think naught. Then it hit me like a brick: It's not these bad ass kids' faults. It's their ignit ass maw and paw who have ruined yet another trip to the store. I don't know bout ya'll but this childless woman has had ENOUGH. This is why I have brought you all here today--to hip you to some real heavy shit that I sincerely believe you'll want to be an integral part of.

As all of you well know, we face a truly dire reality when comes to the social, emotional and economic well-being of our nation's youth. Far too often children are raised in substandard environments where violence, poverty and balls out ignorance abound. Many of these kids, thanks to lackluster guidance on behalf of their "parents", have been left to show themselves the way. As a result the blind are leading the blind and a great many of them are lost in a torrent of teenage angst, adolescent inexperience and emotional immaturity. The trials of time have shown us that the results of such parental neglect are often unfavorable. Bad ass kids run amok in all venues as their "parents" either sit back and ignore their blatant outcries for structure or just opt out of supervising them at all. Some parents would rather be shadows who simply pay the mortgage, keep the lights on and sometimes stock up the fridge. Then there are those parents who leave their kids in the charge of their own elderly parents and other family members who, although giving, may not be in a position to adequately rise to the challenge of raising young children. Simply put: the shit ain't right... but we are here today to make it so.  

Parenting doesn't begin when kids first get into trouble. It doesn't begin when they first go to school. It doesn't begin in the hospital. Hell, it doesn't even begin in the womb. Good parenting begins with THE PARENTS. This is why I emphatically propose that we (all esteemed future patrons and myself) come together to raise funds to take on a radial and progressive effort. I propose that we turn modern childcare efforts on their ear and take matters into our own able hands. I propose that we, the affronted, put an end to ignit ass children, one unfit ignit future parent at a time. What I am proposing, ladies and gentlemen is the foundation of the De De T Abortion Fund.

I'm guessing from your silence that you are in awe of my bravery--as you should be. While I know what I intend to put forth is a tad bit pungent for the conservative palliate of today's pro-life subculture, I truly believe it's an initiative whose time has indeed come. I'll be damned if I sit idly by while these bad ass chillun raise hell in these streets while I have to be bothered with their disregard for authority. I simply ain't havin it no mo! And I know as a logical woman that those little mutha fuckas didn't get dumb as hell on their very own. No, no, my friends, their dumb ass parents set THAT wheel in motion. What I am suggesting here is that we raise funds to award vouchers to unfit parents who, through poor decision making and a love for raw doggin', have managed to conceive even though they themselves shouldn't be left in charge of a cactus, much less a human life. We will not discriminate based on race, geography, or educational and economic background. To assess a recipients eligibility, we will administer a blind testing process where the applicants are required to answer a series of bias-free questions in multiple choice/open answer format which will determine their parenting aptitude. To give you an idea of the criteria I have provided a few sample questions below:

Your newborn baby is crying uncontrollably. You have been attending to the child all day and have no idea what's wrong. What is your course of action?

a. Shake the shit out that lil muh fucka
b. Drop the baby on your mother's doorstep, ring the doorbell and peel out
c. Turn the TV up loudly to drown out the child's cries
d. Pop a couple Xanax. Perhaps finely grind a pill into dust and sprinkle a bit into some warm milk...
e. Head to the nearest hospital to seek medical attention

It's a weekday afternoon and your kids have just made it home from school, what would be your typical next move as a parent in this situation?

a. Turn on the TV and sit their bad asses down in front of it
b. Give them a gallon of juice and a bag of cookies so they'll shut the fuck up.
c. Leave them home alone while you attend to matters that have nothing to do with those bad ass kids
d. They wouldn't be going to your house as they would be living with your own parents
e. Ask them about their homework assignments, instruct them to attack it immediately and offer them help as needed.
To you or I it would be clear that the most obvious choices in both questions would be "e" but to the average unfit parent one of the other choices might appear to be more fitted to their "methods" of childcare. I will also include various open answer questions, i.e.:

Where do you work? If employed do you attend work regularly as scheduled? How often are you late? How often do you "stretch the truth" to get out of coming in? How often do you steal from your job? How many times have you had sex in the break room? How many of your co-workers have you boned anyway? What about your boss--do you fuck him/her too?
Do you already have children? How many? Are they under your care? If you have/had children would you bother wiping their runny noses or would you just let the snot dry all over their faces? When dirtied, would you bother changing their soiled garments or would you just let the juice, grass and chocolate stains set in their clothing until you were forced to take them off?  How often would you cuss out your kids in public? How often would you leave your children unattended in public? If you have children, how often are you called to school for disciplinary issues? Do you know what disciplinary means? When called by your child's school do you attend to the matter or ignore it? If your child got in a fight with another child and lost, would you then take your child to his offender's home and initiate another fight insisting that he win or get his ass kicked by you? Would you fight the parent of the other child just for shits?

How old were you when you first started having sex? How old are you now? How many abortions have you had/caused already? Why after the first abortion did you not then engage in safer sexual encounters? How soon after you meet a person do you have unprotected sex? What are your criteria for choosing a sexual partner/life partner? How many sexual partners do you currently have? Where do you usually find your sexual partners (the club, off the block, family reunions, your friends exes, strip clubs, make-out parties etc.)?

What are your nutrition habits? What kind of food do you eat? Do you cook or are you more partial to fast food? What are your policies on junk food? At what age do you believe a child should be able to eat a 16oz. sirloin with mashed potatoes smothered in gravy or a double Whopper with cheese meal? At what age would you upgrade a child from kids' meals to the regular menu? When it comes to cupcakes, how many is too many for a 4 year old? And what of fruits vegetables? Do you believe children should be required to eat them or are you okay with substituting them for french fries, ketchup, various processed meats and "fruit" juice?
What are your drinking/smoking habits? (Alcohol, cigarettes, marijuana, etc.) How often do you drink/smoke? What time of day would you consider a good time to get drunk/high? If you have kids how often are you under the influence while they are in your care? When drunk/high are you more inclined to "slide/cut/pop/clack on/beat a bitch/nigga/hoe/mutha fucka" than when sober?

With these open answer questions our Application Review Board (me) would assess the quality of their various responses. Some of you may find my line of questioning to be invasive or judgemental, but quite frankly I might be an eligible award candidate by my own standards. I have searched my own heart and mind for these questions to make absolutely certain that only the most irresponsible, impulsive and unruly of candidates receive this much needed aid.

After the applications are reviewed and carefully evaluated, I and a team of trusted advisers will choose the ten most ignit mutha fuckas of all processed applicants. The awardees, female and male, will be given abortion vouchers. These vouchers will be made out to THEIR NAMES and for the male recipients they just have to be present with valid ID when the voucher is redeemed. Re-applicants or new applicants who have admitted to having had/caused a number of abortions already will be offered sterilization options. THESE VOUCHERS CANNOT BE TRADED FOR CASH, so all recipients will be informed not to attempt to redeem any awards for money. Doing so will be punished by a swift kick in the junk.

I know this seems to be an enduring effort (and probably illegal), but I am POSITIVE that with your help we can easily surmount any challenges as we strive toward providing a better future for our children and more pleasant outings for ourselves by cutting child neglect at its knees.

"If you can't support it... abort it."

Friday, April 29, 2011

Honey, Yeah-Oh... You So Sweet

Anyone who's seen my blog knows my passion in life. (Look to your left. Yes. Him.) Jack Daniels has been there for me in times of trial and tribulation. Through dangers seen and unseen, he has been my right arm. He has been in my morning coffee and my evening McDonald's sweet tea. He has even been my excuse for "engaging" less than attractive men folk and then never calling them again. Now Senor Daniels have given me an even better reason to be unruly and unconscionable. From this day forward I take NO responsibility for my actions. Why? THIS is why...


Now, before I sampled and OFFICIALLY tasted Jack Daniels Honey, I researched the stringent guidelines for proper whiskey tasting. After which these guidelines were immediately ignored because I'm lazy. BUT (that's a big but) as a bartender and connoisseur of fine drinkables I have to say that Jack Daniels Honey gets an A as far as American whiskeys go. Here in the states we don't have too many GREAT well aged whiskeys. Sure there's Woodford and Makers (Jack's fancy city cousin) but Jack Daniels set the bar for affordable, casual American Bourbons, Whiskeys and Ryes a long time ago. Old No. 7 has gotten ugly bitches laid for years but in 2011 they took it a step further. Now deplorable men will ALSO get the goodness thanks to Uncle Jack. Jack Daniels Honey is much easier for the untrained palliate to keep down on a semi-empty stomach! From here on out you uppity, siddity hoes can pretend to be bad ass while actually still being fake as the fuck by taking shot after sweet delicious shot of Jack Daniels Honey. It even has 5% less alcohol than the original Jack Daniels but who will know the difference but you? (Nobody cause niggas don't read.) Jack Daniels Honey is wonderful chilled, on the rocks or even straight up. It goes down smooth and don't come up rough. In my specialized DeDeT taste test, me and my cousin finished a whole bottle in roughly 3 hours whereas 1/5 of Old No. 7 would have taken us at LEAST five hours to devour. We really made good time on that bitch which leads me to believe the average brizzle could EASILY be coerced into four or five straight shots of this ish. On top of that, for the everyday Jack drinker, this Honey variation is quite flavorful and robust and really retains that Old No. 7 timbre. If you truly enjoy Jack Daniels, Jack Daniels Honey will ensure your loyalty to the sour mash cause. 

The moral of the story is:

Jack Daniels Honey is the shit and as an unattractive man it may very well get you to home base if not at least a STRONG third. Buy some and put it somewhere convenient.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Define "Peace"...

According to this article, http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42458525/ns/local_news-new_orleans_la/ The Institute for Economics and Peace has done precisely that, and while doing so, they have ranked the state of Louisiana as the LEAST peaceful state in America. Maine, conversely, has been named the MOST peaceful. Now, if you read the article (which I'm sure you didn't because nobody reads), you would know that the IEP released a study that was called the U.S. Peace Index in which they defined peace in terms of violence and the prevalence thereof. The criterion on which that assessment of violence was based included homicide rates, the number of people in jail and the availability of small arms.

Already I see how they might have come to the conclusion that Louisiana ain't all that peaceful. Half the men I've encountered in Louisiana have been in jail or are at least well on their way. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't read about a senseless murder or a domestic dispute turned murder-suicide and with headlines like that who wouldn't wanna be strapped out'chea? Personally, I'll clack at a bitch today if the climate of the situation permits. I believe per capita we have to be some the most violent muh'fuckas north of the equator BUT (and notice the size of that "but") Maine, bitch? REALLY?!? We have MANY more redeeming qualities in the state of Louisiana than any fuckin' Maine. Are we going for peaceful or just boring as an afternoon dump? Sure they may not have as many murder-suicides or homicides or ignit niggas, but they are lacking GREATLY in the area of suitable diversions.

What does one go to Maine for anyway? Peace? Quiet? Why the hell not? There's nothing else there. But people come to Louisiana (namely New Orleans) to be reckless and irresponsible because we have set a precedent of judgement-free, nonstop activity. Sure it ain't peaceful but it's fun like a mutha fucka. Also in the bottom five are Tennessee, Alabama, Florida and Nevada. I don't know about Alabama and Tennessee but Florida and Nevada are also quite famous for the level of diversion they provide to its inhabitants both native and tourist. I say this is a pattern. Just because we know how to have a good time and stay out past the National Curfew all of a sudden we're reckless. If that's the case then dammit I'm proud to be rowdy and unruly compared to all those other lame ass states who don't let their children have booze. (It's a party lil nigga! Have a beer to commemorate your 6th birthday!) I for one don't wanna live anywhere where I can't get a snowball, boudin and a daiquiri all at the same establishment. That would fuck with my peace. How could I enjoy the picturesque coasts of Maine without a crawfish boil and beer overflowing from my Solo cup? This would fuck with my sense of peace. How could I sleep at night without knowing there was a loaded .380 under my bed? This also would be in opposition to my sense of peace.

The moral of the story is, when it comes to studies Louisiana often ranks last or damn close to it. Literacy rates, infant mortality rates, murders per capita, and STD/HIV/AIDS cases but got dammit we don't define ourselves by the yardsticks calibrated by institutes and research facilities and universities. We define our quality of life by the way it feels to go to the French Quarter, spend only $20 and have the best day ever. We define it when we skip work to go hunting and fishing just because we would rather be killing an animal than punching a clock. We define it by going to Super Sunday or the Second Line or Bourbon during the Classic even though we may very well die for doing so. (Fuck it! I'm partyin', nigga!) We define it when we declare Good Friday a holiday worthy of closing schools an business because we intend to consume so much booze and crawfish with our families that we would be too tempted to just not show up anyway. We define it with impromptu excursions to the nearest body of water that turn into full blown extravaganzas because one person called somebody who called somebody else who called somebody else who had a BBQ pit and who had a set of dominoes and who had a deck of cards and who had the hookup at Budweiser and who had a couple fold out tables.

This is Louisiana livin' and mutha fucka THIS is peace.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

"DeDeT, Why Can't I Find a Good Man?"

Maybe it's because you're out here in these streets with a search light in the daytime like you're looking for escaped convicts.

Literally COMBING the streets for a man isn't necessarily the tried and true method of successful courtship. Yes your man is out there somewhere but must you look for him EVERYWHERE? Can you not CHILL for a second and just breathe and enjoy YOUR life? It's like some of you hoes are always on the hunt--ALWAYS. You're lurking around every corner for some fresh meat. There is absolutely no stone that will not be thrown over to find someone to put a baby in you. Many of you don't even care if he happens to be on the arm of another woman when you see him. As soon as she turns her back, he's fair game. And the level of preparation that some of you hoes undergo borders on outlandishness. You can't step out of your door without a 3-hour hair, make-up and wardrobe session because you have to be as fly as humanly possible so that you will be sure to catch SOMEONE'S eye in ANY venue. It don't even take drag queens that long to get ready and they have to tuck for God's sake!

I say this with much love... GET A GRIP BITCH! The last thing you want to be in this day and age is THIRSTY and blatantly so. Don't think that by being unconscionably thorough, fate will reward your diligence. All that's gonna happen is that you will find some clown who can't wait to take full advantage of the duck you appear to be. Men can smell the desperation on you and while the good ones may pass your hungry ass up, a ratchet one will jump at the chance to take advantage of the fact that you might drink a cranberry and bleach cocktail if you have to endure one more lonely night. The kind of man who wants a desperate woman is the kind of man who wants to kick back while your simple ass goes to work and supports his Call of Duty habit. He is the kind of man who will not miss the opportunity to fuck your friend/sister/mother/niece/cousin/hair dresser/gynecologist/anything with a pussy. He is the kind of man that will have his extraneous, bad ass, illegitimate children running around your house, tearing your shit down and drinking all your damn juice. He is the kind of man that will not hesitate to Chris Brown a bitch because all your desperate ass is gonna do anyway is straight DROP those charges.

So... what have we learned today, girls? *PAUSE* Very good! A desperate bitch is a gullible bitch and a gullible bitch is roadkill.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Birthday Toast

I felt it... so I wrote it... and then there was light.

Here's to hoping that with continued diligence that the chances that I've lost will somehow be found. Here's to being confident and secure on any occasion and in any weather. Here's to having hope for all of life's blessings even though sometimes they seem far out of my reach. Here's to having true friends and better yet KNOWING full well exactly who those friends are. Here's to having faith in myself even when I receive messages of deception addressed from "The World" to tell me that I am nothing as good as anyone else who is truly worthy of being loved, of being happy... of having dreams come true. Here's to seeing to the very end all the wonderful and exciting things I've started. Not to prove anything to anyone else, but because I started them for a divine purpose higher than anything that I can explain, for they came about without any planning or calculation on my part. Here's to showing all of myself without shame and knowing that whatever it is that I have in me is something worth having and it's worth being shared with everyone I see. Here's to CLAIMING my talents, pursuing my dreams without shame or fears of failure and ridicule. Here's to going where I've never been, seeing what I never saw and doing what I never did. Here's to walking before I crawl. Here's to knowing myself, my mind, my talent, my passion, my singularity, my worth and my truth... without any doubts to hinder me.


Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Despicable Me.

(This must be how Chris Brown feels...)

Today... I did battle. Today, again, I was challenged to look inside myself to find something worth holding on to or rather truth. I figure we all have to do this everyday but it seems the people around me would rather look to the faults of others than address any of their own. Now, I would NEVER call myself perfect or even better off than the next man (and I pray as I move forward in life that I would never be fool enough to think so arrogantly of myself), but I do know for a fact that I am not the only person in this world that is severely flawed. Sometimes I think the fact that I'm so imperfect so brazenly is what bothers the people in my life so much. I cuss LOUDLY when the spirit moves me to do so. If I don't particularly care for any length of words that may be aimed in my direction, I don't mind telling the offender just what I think of their tone. Instead of grinning and bearing it (the way society trains us to do) when something is requested of me that I ain't down for, I just say "No" without any refrain or pause. For this I am labeled "SELFISH."

"No you can't borrow my DVDs because the LAST time you 'borrowed' one I never saw that shit again and you NEVER replaced it."
"No, I don't want you to come to my house and run through my refrigerator and leave me with little to nothing while you go to YOUR house and then eat all YOUR shit too"
"Yes I want all my fries cause I fuckin' bought em and no you can't have any. Fuck if you mad because I denied you the pleasure of MY food while I was kind enough to let you have ALL of yours. Sounds like YOU would be the selfish one to me since you not only want yours but mine too..."
"If you pick something off my plate again I swear to GOD I will maul you like a FUCKING BEAR. That shit is mad disrespectful and you KNOW I wouldn't do it to you"

If selfish is what I must be called then let it be so. Of course people don't call me selfish when I'm letting them HAVE money or when I am physically doing things for them that they either did or didn't even have to ask me to do... but I'm selfish when I say no.

I don't hold any punches when I would rather roll alone than have to be bothered with the needs, wants and whims of someone other than myself. I don't dig small talk in the least and I will not entertain it to make you people feel better about striking up mindless conversation with a stranger as you nervously wait in line at the grocery store. (I get it. You're embarrassed to use your Louisiana Purchase card. Get over that shit. Money is money.)

In spite of appearing in a way that would please everyone around me, (the whole while making me ill with myself) I decided to be Deanna no matter who likes it or not. If I had all the love and adoration in the world and I got it by being something other than the best and most authentic me, how could it satisfy me in any regard? I figure one of the most difficult trials of humanity is to be yourself and love yourself when nobody else loves you for it. I may not be a dictator or a serial killer or child pornographer but for whatever reason I have been made with a certain mix of disparaging qualities which are offensive to the delicate natures of human beings.

Maybe I should have been born a wolf or a rhinoceros or some shit like that... 

Thursday, March 10, 2011

On Mardi Gras In "The City"

I hate that shit.

I could really end the entry right there but I am MUCH too verbose for such laconic fare. I would rather wax romantic about AAAAAALL the reasons why I hate Mardi Gras and AAAAAAALL the ways I was reminded this most recent carnival season.

1. PARADES: I'll be damned if I stand out in the elements on my feet for HOURS begging some boozed up white man for some beads that he's gonna throw RIGHT OVER MY ASS at some silly equally sloshed white girl who is classless and desperate enough for attention to show him her tits. And those damn babies up on people's shoulders?!?! My GOD I hate those kids. They are FOREVER dropping beads and stuffed animals and cups and shit on my head with their stupid little baby hands that have yet to achieve the level of fine motor skills necessary to manipulate such cumbersome items. THEN there are those avid Mardi Gras goers who are willing to go to war over worthless trinkets which they are absolutely POSITIVE that some masked man 10 feet in the air and 10 feet away promised to them by way of a universal pointing system that for whatever reason we have accepted to be accurate and precise. Bitches knockin over MY drink so they can scrap for some pink and white string of manufactured bullshit that they can sport around their necks for the next 14 hours then somehow lose while they drink to excess and lose their self-respect on Bourbon Street. The whole while a firestorm of stray throws rain over the crowd putting MY head in danger of being pummeled by a six-pound pack of beaded horror. No thank you. You can keep your 20 cent beads, sir. I'd rather sit at a quiet bar with an able, well-read bartender and learn something about life that I never knew before while I self-medicate.

2. TOURISTS: I hate you. Stay out of my way. I don't care that you and your husband have been coming to Mardi Gras since 1993 and you LOVE New Orleans. Don't ask me about my "Katrina Story" because I don't care to tell it. That shit was way in '05. We're getting over it. You should too. That is all.

3. PARKING: Looking for a parking spot during Mardi Gras is the equivalent to spending an enternity in Hell sitting on a sharp rock with Gilbert Godfried rambling in one ear and Bobcat Goldwaithe wailing mindlessly in the other. You can circle the same 10 block area for an hour before you find one sad tight little spot that you just might get ticketed (or worse booted) for. If you're in the car by yourself (unlikely) then you may be able to at least find some peace through quiet mediation; but if you're packed deep (which is the usual Mardi Gras transport scenario) then you will have what seems like a thousand voices in your ear criticizing every choice you make behind the wheel. There will be the ones who know everything you're doing wrong and won't hesitate to comment on it (LOUDLY) at every turn. There will be the ones who just want to be "let out" so you can be endlessly inconvenienced later with the impossible task of FINDING ONE PERSON DOWNTOWN IN NEW ORLEANS DURING MARDI GRAS. There will be the genius who knows a great place we can park but it's a 10 mile trek away from the parade route. (Shut up. You're not helping by making the dumbest suggestion ever.) Then there will be the complainers. The ones who want to know why we're even down here anyway and why can't we just go somewhere that ISN'T on Bourbon and get drunk. (This would be the role I play.)

Once you finally grow tired of the chatter, snap at everybody who had a FUCKING opinion and just want to be out of that damn car already, you decide that you will have to settle on parking in a corporate lot where the prices border on utter in-fucking-sanity. The hunt isn't even as bad as how much you pay to get out of that bitch (at which point I would pay ANYTHING to be rid of the pandemonium characteristic of Carnival in the city). At those prices they may as well yank out my uterus and let me bleed out! You stay at a parade for four hours and they want you to drop a car note just for the pleasure of parking in some ducked off concrete lot where the spaces are so precariously close that you literally had to SLIDE yourself out of your vehicle and the attendant looks like the type of dude to have your shit stripped by the time you get back if he wouldn't just pay some Mardi Gras ho to get some hot nasty $40 strange in the back seat of your shit.

4. DRUNKS: I'm not talking about the respectable kind like myself who sit at a bar and pleasantly get wasted. I mean you staggering, drooling, vomiting, pissing, slurring, publicly humiliated drunks who use Mardi Gras as an excuse to be asinine. Don't bump into me because I am NOT sympathetic to your condition. I will knock that Huge Ass Beer/Hand Grenade clean out ya fuckin hand.

5. TOURISTS: I know I said that already but I really REALLY can't stand them. Especially when they drive their own cars to the city because when they're rolling all slow and shit down Canal, Poydras, Peters, St. Charles, etc. and don't know which streets are one ways or where they can make U-turns or where they can't make left turns, I can't help but be overwhelmed with the urge to shoot out their tires. Go home already and take a damn cab next time. Fuck a budget. You supposed to be on vacation.

6. TRAFFIC: It's horrible. OVER.

The moral of this story is... I don't do Mardi Gras because I am no fan of large crowds of people and the impositions they bring with them. While scores of others relish in such nonsense, I am not so amused. Therefore, in lieu of participating with complaint I'd rather seek higher ground until all the Bacchanalian antics die down and the city is back to normal with its senseless murder and infrastructural decay.