I love Tyra Banks. I love the way she looks. I love her sense of humor and the fact that she doesn’t take herself too seriously. I admire the fact that she doesn’t project bitchiness. I’m having some minor issues with babygirl deciding to cut rekkids, though.
If you saw the recent episode of America’s Next Top Model, you know that one of the activities was having the remaining contestants appear in Tyra’s music video “Shake Ya Body”. On the track, Rodney “Darkchild” Jerkins does his best impression of Just Blaze and seems to be trying to recapture whatever magic he had with Brandy. Tyra sounds like J-Lo. I feel like I’ve heard this song a million times before.
Shake Ya Body Body
I Want it All
Thanks to Cheryl for giving me a booster for this particular soapbox. I think I have remained silent about this far too long, as I’ve never really considered myself an activist for anything. I’ve never felt the need to speak on issues concerning my blackness or my gayness, but now I feel compelled (forced) to do it.
The Smokin’ Grooves Entry
Muthafucka understand its full service to you
I don’t smoke the weed if it aint purple or blue
And you could name any rapper, if you want he could die
This is S.P. dump it in, you bitch I get high
- Styles, “Good Times”
I was telling SunRay last week at lunch that I really need to smoke.
Check the R
Thanks to Kanye’s workout plan / I’m the envy of all my friends / See I pulled me a baller man / And I ain’t gotta work at the mall again…
When Kanye West was my special little secret before everyone started creaming over him, he was cool as shit. But now ya’ll done gone and messed up the enjoyment of him for me.
Ya’ll did this with The Neptunes. I remember when I was back in high school with my SWV and Total CDs, talking about how hot these Neptunes cats were, but ya’ll didn’t want to hear it. Then ya’ll sweat the guys a few years later, and wear them out so bad that you now have the nerve to criticize them. You know who you are, the hip-hop public that boosts these guys egos and as soon as they start to believe your drivel, you tear them down. We can only blame the egos of Pharrell Williams and Kanye West on you. But before I send you to your corner, there’s a little something I want to bust up in your earhole, shawty.
Attention.
Baby, I ain’t trying to nag you. Just come talk to me. You know, we don’t get to spend no time no more. I miss you, Daddy.
SHUDDITUP!
Now that I have that off my chest, how’s all my gals, blacks and good judy’s? Crute? Aiight. Lean in close, I have something to tell you:
WHAT THE HAYLE WAS I THINKING???
I throw myself on the mercy of the court! While I was firmly convinced I had absolutely nothing to say and no life, I spoke too damn soon. As soon as I pull the shades down over the winduhs for hibernation, something happened. I kinda started getting a little bit of a life. And I found myself drafting entries. I can’t leave, the game needs me. So here’s a little Celestial Seasons for that ass: