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Kim Kardashian may count Paris Hilton as one of her closest friends, but that doesn't mean she wants to follow in her exact footsteps.
The socialite and daughter of late O.J. defense attorney Robert Kardashian will be filing a lawsuit to try to stop the DVD release of a three-year-old sex tape featuring her and actor-rapper Ray J, who she was dating at the time the video was made, E! News learned Thursday.
Vivid Entertainment shelled out $1 million to an undisclosed third party for the tape and is planning to add Kim Kardashian Superstar to the homemade adult entertainment canon in the near future, despite objections over the deal's legality.
"We are comfortable that we have the legal right to distribute this video, despite what others may say," Vivid cochairman Steven Hirsch said.
Those "others" are saying nay.
"Everyone is pretty disappointed and very confused as to what's going on and who's behind this," Kardashian, who says that she and Ray J have remained friends, told E! News. "We're just going to get to the bottom of this and do whatever we have to do to stop it."
She also said she's doesn't suspect her ex-boyfriend of turning the tape over to the porn peddlers.
"I've always said I don't think this would be something that he would do for some reason to spite me," Kardashian said.
The 26-year-old Ray J, born William Ray Norwood Jr., is the brother of Brandy and costarred on her UPN sitcom Moesha.
Kardashian, a stylist and fashion designer whose fame is also due in part to the high-profile crowd she hangs out with, is the stepdaughter of Olympic gold medalist Bruce Jenner and stepsister of The Hills' Brody Jenner. She was married briefly to music producer Damon Thomas and his since been linked to Nick Lachey, rapper the Game and, most recently, hip-hop artist Nick Cannon.
But although the pretty brunette appears more than happy to pose for the paparazzi while spending a night out on the town with Hilton 'n pals, she insists that she's not interested in giving the public a more explicit picture of her.
"Have there been tapes? Maybe, yes," she said Thursday on E!'s Daily Ten. "But are they for sale? No. Not for sale. That's our business."
"I don't feel like I really did anything wrong," Kardashian continued. "I was in a relationship, very much in love…It's humiliating; it's embarrassing. It's something I feel very betrayed by but I'm not pointing any fingers."
Pointedly denying rumors that she was actively involved in trying to sell one of her racy home movies, Kardashian, who co-owns the Calabasas boutique Dash with her sisters Kourtney and Khloe, said in a written statement to the New York Daily News: "I'm not poor; I'm not desperate. I would never attempt to sell a tape. It would humiliate me and ruin my family. I have two successful businesses, and I don't need the money."
Kardashian will be showing off her body this year, but only in hip-hop producer Christopher Stokes' multimillion-dollar ad campaign for his new street-wear line, Christopher Brian Apparel—some of which features Kardashian, who will also design some pieces for Stokes, in topless-yet-tasteful (i.e. no bare breasts) situations.
This week on “The White Rapper Show” John Brown, Jus Rhyme, Persia and Shamrock explore their inner gully in a series of challenges that, once again, test not their prowess and potential as MCs, but perpetuate the harmful stereotypes and idiosyncrasies of the ghetto.
Oh, yeah… and they got their asses handed to them on Hot 97, which is NOT a Clear Channel station, by the way.
Jus Rhyme in the morning symposium took the form of Xandir from Drawn Together. For those of you just joining us, Jus is on a lifelong quest to save his girlfriend, and rap from the white man.
Serch really tossed his mozzarella sticks into the deep fryer this time. Miss Jones, looking fresh out the BBW video, wasn’t about to accept any bullshit from these kids (or Ego Trip, or VH1 for that matter). Imagine if Star and Bucwild were still there! Okay, let’s not. That shit would have been messier than it already was.
See... A freestyle challenge would be great for a collection of MCs, but these kids can barely get through a 16 that they write and rehearse for 30 minutes. These kids officially can’t show their faces anywhere after this Hot “107” debacle. That touchdown cipher truly played out like a group of retards trying to hump a doorknob… and failing.
John Brown may have taken his marketing strategy too far. Didn’t Mr. Empowerment Zone say his clown ass was based out of Brooklyn? Shouldn’t this simpleton then know that Miss Jones would eat his narrow ass like a Grand Slam Breakfast?
I think it’s safe to say that my speculation was amiss. I guess Persia doesn’t want John Brown’s little viceroy in her white castle. In fact, no one’s wanted anything to do with our special boy in quite some time.
That is, no one except the one contestant more desperate for attention and acceptance, Powder.
That moose head bit was pretty funny, but man, looking at a grown man geek out like that is disturbing. That was some serious “I Am Sam” shit.
So, after completely destroying their hopes of being respected rap figures on the biggest rap radio station in the known universe, Serch dresses the kids in the finest thug fashions and immediately inserts them into the real-life version of Grand Theft Auto III. As the challenge began, I was so past criticizing the reverse coonery that all I could think was “Damn, they suckered Just Blaze AND Saigon into this shit?”
As I, of course, ponder the societal relevance of what I’m watching like the Negro Freedom Writer that I am, I observe the saddest piece of television this program has produced: The Thug Disclaimer.
Oh, yes, I of all people, understand the importance of the disclaimer. Trust me. However, a disclaimer does not absolve you or your company of responsibility for what you produce for the mass public. When your program, which is supposed to cultivate rappers, does nothing more than make a mockery of the musical genre, culture and the kids who have put their lives on hold for the carrot you dangle, you are definitely still on the hook. No cheeky disclaimer can put you in the clear.
“I hope y’all got that.”
While Jus Rhyme bust his ass on a bicycle in a manner I hadn’t seen since I was 9, the combination of summer sun, poor conditioning and pernil damn near killed The Queen of Queens. I guess the rule applies. Just because you can catch a case doesn’t mean you’re built for the urban jungle. Being that we’d seen Persia carted off in an ambulance in various commercial spots, most of us knew what was on the other side of the commercial break when homegirl went to purify herself in the waters of Lake Minnetoilet.
GTA champion Jus Rhyme had the opportunity to select any remaining contestant with him to his prize “A Thug’s Night Out” with N.O.R.E., who was quickly bored with both clown-asses. For those of you who don’t speak the dun language, N.O.R.E.’s words and body language translate as such:
“Aight. We were gonna bring y’all with us to the club and maybe to a house party after that, but we can’t be seen in public with you bitches. Y’all can finish off this champagne and cookies. I’m gonna go get my dick sucked. Peace.”
What makes all of the above even more awesomely awesome? NONE OF THAT SHIT factored into elimination!
After running around like assholes, catching cases and having heart attacks, they are told that shit was purely for the amusement of the viewing public. I’d have been ready to kill me an MC Serch. Sometimes I rub my eyes in disbelief that Prince Paul is involved in this buffoonery.
The true challenge came in the kids having to write thugged-out nursery rhymes. Persia seized this challenge as an opportunity to shank John Brown in the shower and fucked it up something terrible. Once again, all that bark and Persia couldn’t bring a damn thing to the table. I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was. She and Sullee have been choking on the black dildo since day one, but damn. I really expected her to gun up with all the bacon on the line.
I guess John Brown gets the last laugh and his claim of Persia only having 3 verses rings true.
With that said… I’ve never had a synthetic dick on my lips.
Fellas, (and some ladies), I got the new pictures from Deelishus’s new magazine spread. The powers that be over at Smooth Magazine liked Dee Dee so much that they gave her two covers for the special ‘Live In Jamaica’ issue.
Here is the first set. I will post the rest of them tomorrow!
Talk to y'all lata,
-SOHH Gyant!
Posted by SOHH Gyant at February 20, 2007 7:15 AM
I Love New York: Who's Your Daddy And What Does He Do?
Tuesday. 2.20.07 3:05 pm
Before we delve into another 2-week hiatus from “I Love New York” we are greeted with quite the road to our Fab 5. Since it’s cheaper to use a group of orphan girls than pay for paternity tesses, New York turns her handful of remaining bitch niggas over to The Brat Pack for assessment. Immediately following, she has the boys take out their testosterone-laden frustration on one another in the boxing gym.
…and you thought the basketball was fun to watch.
In the wake of Tim Hardaway’s All-Star Weekend commentary on gay people, I examine just how unexcited the contestants are to see Chamo in the morning. I know it’s not right to judge what people are thinking, but quite a few of them gazes just clamor “chingado maricon.” I wonder if they’d feel better if they saw the video we did last week. (Chamomillionaire’s not gay!)
I’ll tell you who the Blair Switch Hunt should never have let up on, fuckin 12 Pack. As soon as these foster kids come out, nigga wastes zero time in getting a free facial and foundation. “Who wants to put makeup on Uncle 12 Pack?” Can’t fool me, nigga.
Chance must definitely be trying to lineup a career in acting or sketch comedy, because in his character, he’s zero good to anyone. How you gonna tell a little homeless girl “Your edges look tough.” Alright. Let me stop. I’d probably do that same shit if the little devil spawn put cake in my face. If New York were actually looking for a good daddy, I’d put those wenches in check real quick like.
New York: Why do you girls love Tango so much?
Girls: Tango taught us how to snitch! He even showed us his wire! Oh, god. He told us everything!
New York: Why do you hate Chance so much?
Girls: “That is not a real man!”
Even a 9-year old can tell as much! Ah, I hope she finds those orphans’ daddies eventually.
“This is my first date with New York or any saucy black woman, so I’m gonna be extra cool.” This obviously entails dude coming out of his room looking like Bobby Kennedy. I had been trying to figure out who he reminded me of for the longest. This mawfucka is a lost Kennedy.
Ewwww. No, no, Boo Boo! New York’s eye makeup look like she gettin ready for the 9:15 performance of “CATS!” What the fuck, mane?
VH1 once again listened to my blog suggestions and cut from ManBearPig at the dinner table to the horse pulling the fairy tale carriage of Boston and the Tramp. [Play At Home: insert fairy tale parody here]
After all goes well, New York apparently has made up her mind that she’s gonna try her out some bangers and mash. Sadly, Bobby Kennedy looks like he’s never kissed a woman before and she is devouring that little ass.
Back at the plantation, Chance wigs out when MBP told him he’d make a terrible father. The shit struck a chord as he was… on “I Love New York,” away from his 2-year old and being a bad father all at the same time. Damn, Chance. I'll tell you what. None of the other guys are worrying about their kids. You good, dog!
No, seriously. If you put some of the indignation of your monologues into taking care of a child, the world may be a better place for us all tomorrow. Take your Dipset ass back home and raise that kid right so he don’t try to carjack me in 15 years. As the MBP previously stated, “Be a father to your child.”
Sister Patterson been listenin to that old school hip-hop.
Thanks to the distraction/unintentional cockblock, Boston couldn’t get that wondrous chocolate nut off in the hot tub. Instead, he gets to watch his curious little prize convince Cam’ron to not raise his son. Couldn’t have scripted a more fucked ending for Boston, or could we?
Chamo in his Don Flamenco gear alerts the boys the next morning that much like they did with the basketball competition, they are going to pair off and pummel each other for New York’s entertainment. The shit was divided into weight classes, undercards and everything!
Real vs. Whiteboy: Real got his ass knocked dizzy quick-fast like by Whiteboy, who never disappoints the crowd. I expected a little more from Rick James... a slap... something, Charlie Murphaayyy!
12 Pack vs. Tango: Pac went Prince Naseem on this nigga. He doin flips in the ring and everything. He dropped “Tango, the big frickin Wango” with a filthy uppercut (a rarely used, but highly effective punch) in the first round, but Snitchin’ Randy got round 2.
Chance vs. Mr. Boston: “I’m ready to land a couple sweet punches on that cocksucker’s face.” Oh, how I wanted to see it go down that way, but Chance rather handily ate dude’s food. Bobby Kennedy’s obviously never been hit in the face before. With that said, he stood tall… even if he got knocked the fuck out of the ring like SoulCaliber.
Chance “Sorry I spit on you through my gap” Giles was feelin real big beatin up on punk ass Boston. He bodied Jay-Z and Nas… now he can add Sully to the list.
Alright, so, when we thought it couldn’t get any worse for Boston, he got cockblocked, knocked the fuck out and then eliminated when he was a tantrum away from penetrating… getting knocked the fuck out… and probably still eliminated. I’ll tell you what. I was pulling for dude until I noticed he really be diggin for fuckin gold! I never noticed the full extent of his nosepicking until last night. You gotta check that nasty fuckin finger for brain matter before you let him touch you, girl!
At least he didn’t hit the bricks without a little love. The entire room didn’t need to see the New York/Boston makeout session though… especially when he been in his nose the way he was. Ugh. I think he eats them too.
“Too bad New York missed out on the Irish Curse! That’s 2.5 inches of jackrabbit fucking fury!”
I’m gonna pour a little out for nasty-ass Lee Greenfinger today anyway. This program won’t be the same for me without him.
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Posted by Ron Mexico at February 20, 2007 11:26 AM
Jennifer Hudson Breaking New Ground, Scores Cover of Vogue
Wednesday. 2.21.07 12:28 pm
Jennifer Hudson is the third African American woman since December 2002 to grace the cover of Vogue magazine.
I got the chance to meet Jennifer at the AEC/ASCAP luncheon at the Beverly Hilton this past Sunday morning in Los Angeles. We'll have footage of that a little later in the week.
I was working the red carpet and Jennifer was the last to come through. She was on tap to honor original Dreamgirl, Sheryl Lee Ralph for her philanthropy and commitment to AIDS prevention and awareness.
It was a quick interview. She was being dragged down the carpet by her handlers. Her quirky yet bubbly personality kept it lively. (I'm being nice here.)
She did however stop to speak with me answering questions on her new album, Oscar hoopla and having just bought her first home in Chicago.
What I did like is that Jennifer made it clear to me that there would be no movies, plays, commercials or projects that would happen before she completed her album. "I want to concentrate on my album and give it my all. You should hear something by March," she said as they pulled out of my camera shot.
Oh, what I would have given to see the new-superstar Jon Boy in this episode instead of Powder.
This week on “ego trip’s The White Rapper Show,” our crowded three journey from the Mecca of all hip-hop (no pun intended), to the city that has over the years become the “Mecca of White Hip-Hop.” If Jus Rhyme, Shamrock or John Brown are to make a Rabbit run, it’s gotta go through Detroit.
From the moment I heard they were going to Detroit, I had the strangest feeling they were going to Saint Andrew’s to get their asses handed to them.
After a brief John Brown/Shamrock Prison Peace Summit by the bunk beds, we observe a true-to-life cost of being a VH1 buffoon. Fixing the scope of his AR-15 at the $100,000 prize instead of rolling with the notoriety that would have come to him in already having excelled so far in this nationally televised “competition” (i.e. Persia), Jus Rhyme spurns his PhD grant in Colored Liberation and Salvation Studies to chase his new dream of becoming the next white rapper MC Serch Shanghais in the cold, cold industry.
Powder putting his entire educational future on the line for this shit proves him to be an even bigger shithead than I initially thought. You know you’re fuckin up something terrible when John Brown has that concerned face as he advises you. “Just not the wisest move, man.”
Actually, let me have that one back. That face could either have been concern or John Brown’s general discomfort “around too many white people.” Ghetto Revival, baby! Hallelujah, Holla back!
Bringing these assclowns to “The Mecca of White Hip-Hop” to pay homage to the likes of Eminem and Kid Rock is akin to bringing a bacon egg and cheese to the mosque on 127th & Lenox. Not only are they not welcome, but they are sacrilege in the eyes of the city that molded those Caucasoid champions. Besides, Jus Rhyme got a white woman pork face. The bar has actually been raised since the early 90s. I’m surprised Serch of all people couldn’t come through there with a trio of rappers that he might be able to beat in a battle himself.
At the site of the once integral Hip-Hop Shop, TJ the Trouble Man gave the white rappers a little history on the establishment (turned lingerie shop) and the Detroit scene. "Eminem, yadda, Proof, namedrop, blah blah, yadda…" Did that nigga say Maurice Malone was pumpin his shit out of there? Damn, that gives me a tad more respect for the nigga with them terrible underwear ads of the late 90s.
Ironically, hip-hop music itself is now a lingerie shop-- A collection of panty-drawers and a complete farce of what it once was and could have been. If they wanted to bring this shit full circle, they should have hung John Brown up on a rack next to a tried-on thong.
I don’t have much to say about ICP except them motherfuckers really look like some disgruntled molester birthday clowns. Their makeup jobs are supposed to be the scary part, but I’m more alarmed at how they just talk to people normally like they don’t have that shit on. I wonder if they “clown up” every morning before they start their days. Do they have makeup artists on site? Oh, the questions that arise.
Later, talking to Kid Rock, as former Mr. Anderson-Lee explained the ills of growing up the lone white kid in a circle of hostile silverbacks Serch is like “Nah, they wasn’t takin my chain. I paid entirely too much for protection for some shit like that to happen.”
After the jewels of wisdom from Detroit rap legends, the rapster barbecue is interrupted by an eclectic group of classic Midwestern weird folk (which are different from the weird folk of other regions in their own special way). For example, shit heard at the gathering include but are not limited to: “Uh, oh. Here comes Tupac! He sometimes he’ll sneak up behind me and start fucking me in the ass when I’m doing my yard work. You boys had better be careful.” “Ain’t no shame in my game. I’ll warm a sausage or two.” And of course, lest we forget “I’m trynna promote this uh, fishin!”
A soiree like that would propel me to pursue racial harmony as well, Jus! However, them 15 Anti-Racist Principles that comprise AR-15 are highly disturbing. They are creepy, whiny, roundabout, redundant and don’t express to me that anyone involved with the organization has any serious plan to make a difference by doing anything but whining self-hatred to whoever would be stupid enough to fucking listen.
“Study legacies of resistance?” “Sustain an anti-racist culture?” “Choke on my own dick?” What the fuck does it mean, Jus?
The only thing that held my attention through the "Marshall's Law" media blowjob challenge was the anticipation of the prize. You know how they like to play on words all the time. I thought when dude said “A very, very hefty prize” he was gonna pull some Majin-Buu lookin’ broad out or something. You know these ego trip people don’t know how to act!
Jus Rhyme was salty when he didn’t get picked by King of the Burbs and Champion of Eminem Interview Knowledge. Still, he relished the opportunity to devise anti-racist principles in solitude back at the “How White People Really Be Livin’” house. That trailer reeks of bologna and welfare. I can tell.
Jus’ monologue to the camera parallel’s Dave Chappelle’s "8 Mile" sketch entirely too well.
I don’t know if he was going for “School of Mexico” but Mr. Serchlite is definitely trying to show these kids how to “hate” in preparation for being slaves thrown into the coliseum only to catch a rousing thumbs down. By his approach, I can tell Serch caught that "Mad Ciphas" marathon on BCAT and MNN public access cable networks.
Quote of the Day: “You left this outside! Ohhhhh!” *tosses police t-shirt* - Jus Rhyme (see, even Jus hates snitches!)
I know I ain’t been to Detroit to see my folk in a while, but I know for a fact y’all got better niggas than them Cardi Boys to bring to the battle table. They ain’t horrible, but they ain’t say Eminem, One Man Army (who goes by OneBeLo these days), nothing… I’d rather have seen them battle the Cheddar Boyz. At least the battles would have been somewhat entertaining. The crowd acted like the locals ripped it, but from what I heard, both sides should have been booed off stage.
If Shamrock had any composure, he wouldn’t be so bad. Unfortunately, to an MC, that’s like saying if New York wasn’t so plastic, horse-like and whorish she’d be fuckable. That Gatorade “it” that needs to be in you to perform at a high level in moments like this… Shamrock doesn’t have. It’s a shame, because from day one, he’s the one I wanted to root for. However, I don’t feel right pumping a rapper that doesn’t believe in himself.
I have to admit, Jus Rhyme’s problem is not lack of heart. In fact, the clown is quite courageous and I commend him for that. Unfortunately, when you can’t rap worth shit AND are a complete corn ball I can’t pump you up at this level either. Go listen to some black people rap; loosen up your bandana and come back when you’re done with school.
Damn. White people need to get their shit together. Stay in school!
I’ll give you one more jewel for that cloudy brain of yours John. You can’t call a nigga an “Uncle Tom” and ridicule him about being harassed in the burbs. People can usually tell the difference between one who is joking and being clever and one who is speaking out of his milky ass in complete ignorance. Once again, you are the latter. I’d like to meet the “serious people from the street” that support your jackassery.
With that said, these kids were put into a very tough situation and stood strong. I’ve watched people get their asses handed to them in that very hall growing up. It’s nerve-wracking even for a teenage spectator. My hat does go off to the contestants for not crying, running away, collapsing or calling anyone the n-word. (That’s what I do when I’m frustrated. I just call everyone in the immediate vicinity the n-word.)
They still suck though.
Jus Rhyme’s pre-elimination WWF Saturday morning hype speech was pathetic and indicative of why it was obvious that he wasn’t gonna get a chain from Flavor Flav to stick around the house a little more. Goldie deserved it anyway. Still, out of the remaining finalists, I still don’t see a champion in this regard. We’ll have a winner, but we won’t have a rap star. Sadly, Touchdown Brown and the kid who took a meathook to the face as a baby have a better chance of being America’s Next Top Model than they do being taken seriously as recording artists.
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Posted by Ron Mexico at February 21, 2007 11:02 AM
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