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Do you love me now that I can dance?
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In his apparently never-ending and televised quest to find a soulmate, Flavor is definitely covering the important bases again. We find that the nex,t most important characteristic of a Flavette-to-be is the ability to dance… and well. “Flavor of Love” is apparently about to begin a 2-part mini-saga I’d like to call “Showing Your Black Ass For The Stars.”
Sorry, “Dancing” didn’t seem appropriate.
Oh, our good friend Toastee! How we appreciate your snail trail on every surface you are mandated by contract to grace. You can tell Slimer’s been drinking since she was 12… like 5 years ago. These girls need to be on rationed alcohol consumption! Big Rick gotta start taking glasses away. Eh, fuck it. Let the alchies weed themselves out.
Anyway, on to the premise of the episode. After effectively shitting on the self-inflicted minstrel show damage that was allowing Brigette Nielsen to act a god damn ass at a Public Enemy concert, he effectively convinces that he needs a woman in his life who can dance better than whatever you would call that.
The part that fucked me up though was when he was introducing the dance instructors/stoochie squad leaders. “My man, ‘Tommy The Clown’—” Man, I damn near lost my shit. He introduced dude like it was normal or commonplace to see a god damn hospital clown in the middle of the living room or some shit.
I say hospital clown because dude didn’t look much like a krumper to me. That was ‘bout the hoest krumpin I’ve ever seen. Nigga ain’t do shit but the Rerun. I was waitin for some "Rize" shit. My homeboy EOB alerted me that it was indeed Tone Loc in the clown costume and that I should chill on the negative feedback. Nigga’s doin his best.
Buckeey was luckeey to be the certified video ho-fessional of her group because Toastee and Tyson didn’t stand a crack rock’s chance on Flav’s nightstand of surviving. They easily had the best performance though. It’s a damn shame they had to face off against Krazy and The Pussytrap Dolls.
Tyson’s desperation attempt was also classic. “I am a far better stripper than I am a dancer.” You know it’s bad when Flavor doesn’t want his face that close to the gas chamber. “I wasn’t sure what might come out her ass.” Indeed, Flavor! Lest we forget, bitches been shittin!
How did I know Flavor was gonna get all Tyrone Biggums polished up to take that poor girl to KFC? The coonery! The amount of money it must have cost to shut down the restaurant and indulge in all the Original Recipe romance the Colonel has to offer must eclipse the amount it would have cost to just take the girl to Roscoe’s or some shit. TGI Friday’s? Friendly’s? SOMETHING!
I know you all peeped the hot tub scene! I wanted to vomit on the spot. Brother Valdez “kicked it up a notch” by removing the drizzaws. I was waiting for the bubbles to turn black. That is gross. I’m sorry. When you do that with Flavor Flav, you’re not playing a game anymore. I guess he’s putting these girls through Fear Factor. I don’t know how these girls can break the previous [conscious] record of 17 seconds, set by Brigette Nielsen, but damn… just put me in the coffin with the worms. Fuck it.
As if going to the KFC parking lot for date #1 wasn’t enough, Flavor took A Ho Named Scarback to the damn cotton fields for some slave lovin’. That’s what this shit is to me now, Slaver of Love. My “The Color Purple” flashbacks were violently disturbed as the bright red gear they had on blinded me temporarily. You ain’t escaping the plantation looking like 2 big Kool-Aid packets. Massa was pretty smart with the wardrobe selection.
As there was really no drama to speak of, Toastee apparently looked to create some. Feeling threatened by Nibblz’s lisp and cock-induced overbite, French Toast Sticks decided to spread some shit around the house (not in the Somethin' sense). For some reason she didn’t think that shit would get back to her. Her plan backfired miserably as Ms. Tyson immediately dropped dime that, as expected, Toastee is a porno chick.
Flavor’s problem wasn’t so much that she was a porno chick, as he is surrounded by “innanet skrippers” and the like, but that she refused to come clean about it and he had to air out her Barely Legal flicks [NSFW] with the fingers where they not supposed to be… you know… not all publicized like that.
Ironically, he sends this girl away for being a hoe-bag of sorts… when we all know that next episode is the official BET UnCut tryout. Any of these girls who have not yet experienced working in a BET UnCut environment will have ample opportunity shortly.
I can’t wait. Free DJ Quik… and Warren G.
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It's Method Man week, so we're gonna be discussing Mr. Mef in days to come. Also... the Petey Greene was for tomorrow. That was a mistake today. We'll go back to that one.
In by far the most entertaining episode of "The White Rapper Show," Grown Ass Men Sullee, John Brown and Jon Boy make complete UnCut asscakes of themselves while Persia, Shamrock and Jus Rhyme bring us Throwback Thursday a tad early.
Do the Jerry Lewis!
As we now expect, MC Serch wastes no time in embarrassing these kids. Right off the bat, the 6 remaining trailblazers are coerced into Marc Ecko's Swap Meet Challenge. In each team's case, three people have to get fresh with $300... in 2006.
I remember back in the early 90s when my SYEP check would do just that. For those of you who may be unfamiliar, Summer Youth Enslavement Preparation is about 7 weeks of usually backbreaking child labor for like $300. That money barely got a nigga right for the school year. I shudder to think what kind of knockoff gear a youngster would be forced to don in this day and age on a budget like that.
I must say, Shamrock's leeriness of Jus Rhyme was 150% warranted. Powder's string of ideas was probably the most hilarious minute-and-a-half of programming this show had produced to that point. Homie came out in full-on Richard Simmons mode.
"Mmm-hmmm. How about we put lavendar and green earrings on you, Shammy. Persia, let's get you in some Ooompa Loompa one-piece, and I'll get the sweatpants with the cut-off wifebeater. Yes. Definitely 'Street on Vacation.'"
Meanwhile, put a little funky $300 in some people's hands and they lose their goddamn minds. Jon Boy in the damn sneaker store signing autographs and shit! Dude is entirely too gassed to notice that the man who asked him is 3rd and Goal on the 1-yard line. He's obviously also too gassed to notice that the entire South Bronx is trying to figure out a way to cover its ears. If Giuliani hadn't locked all the gangsters up already, there'd be a Saturday Night Special in his mouth.
Fuck Giuliani. Sometimes a neighborhood needs to police itself.
Persia's "Gangsta's Paradise" collective came to the challenge looking like a Teletubby exploded on them. Coolio must be rolling over in his grave.
Coolio is dead, right?
Anyway, as per usual, they aren't going to just get dressed and walk a runway. They're competing to be the flyest dogwalkers in Crotona Park. Under normal circumstances, the flyest dogwalker in Crotona is the one not heating a glass bulb. Under these circumstances, the flyest dogwalker is to be determined by former Crotona's Next Top Dogwalker winner, Polka-Dot Ass Kwame.
I can't stop laughing at Serch saying "so Kwame and I are going to be the judges--." I'm sorry. I can't.
Kwame judging fashion? Even in '89 I thought this nigga was on the "Karma Chameleon" side of things. Didn't niggas think that the 90s would be over one day and that there would be videotaped evidence? Dude still looks a hot ghetto mess. I thought it was Bobby Brown at first.
After losing the challenge to Persia and a pooch with matching pumps, Sullee finally has his emotional breakdown, citing the elimination rounds of a VH1 reality series as "too stressful." Well damn, Sullivan. If this shit is too stressful, I don't think you're cut out for the real rap game, Heffy.
Fortunately for us, the rappers and what's left of the program's credibility, the challenge that actually matters lies ahead. The teams have to write, record and shoot a video for a song they create in a couple hours' time. After they select their props 4th grade kickball-style, Serch presents Persia with her prize for catching Kwame's eye with high heels.
VH1, Ego Trip & Serchlight Publishing present: Miniature Negro in a Cage!
That's right, for your personal amusement you can rent Bushwick Bill! Complete with iron cage, this delightful little dreaded eggplant leprechaun will brighten your Saturday afternoons with party-rockin tricks like the running man. The best part, you only have to change his diaper once daily. Slap a Fitti on the nigga in the morning and he's good to go for 18 hours.
As you can see above, One-Take Bobby Sullivan & Co. created a complete embarrassment to the genre while "Gangsta's Paradise" was smart enough to go the DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince route with what they had. Superstar rap video director Little X agrees. "She's A Stunner" is bullshit the likes of which you'd find on The Negro Channel at 3:22am immediately following or preceding "Slap It, Clap It" or "Money In A Ziploc Bag (Uh Huh)."
"She's A Stunner" is what Monday Madness is all about though. Quiet little Virginia Jon Boy Walton has finally found himself! That boy was born to stunt! Let him live!
*cue Diana Ross - "I'm Comin' Out"*
Obviously, the Grown Ass Men found themselves in the Cold Ass Ice Chamber fighting for their minstrel show lives. When given the topic (battle rap your teammates), Sullee and Jon Boy, who apparently both voted for Bush (not a good look), decided to put on the "Stop Snitching" t-shirts they got at the swap meet. As a result, both contestants became "The Departed."
Serch proclaimed that he would toss all three losers if all three verses were weak, but he needed four contestants for next week, so John Brown was spared.
--along with my dignity - and what’s left of my sanity - please, let me testify as I’ve come to a few realizations. First, After watching last night’s episode of “I Love New York” I haven’t been as embarrassed by a group of black men since "State Property 2". Secondly, I would not fuck ashy-ass New York with Pootie’s dick dipped in sherm. Thirdly, I’m embarrassed that I couldn’t tell Heat was a junkie. Finally, I lost a Final Four pick.
Let’s throw his undercover-ass a party. Yeah. A surprise party for my new best friend.
As Chamo YMCA's the remaining manwhores into their challenge of carpentry and architecture, I can’t help but notice that every member of the collective either looks like 2Pac, a Village Person, an extra from “Blood In, Blood Out,” or some combination of the three. VH1 finally flexes its muscle and shows that these dudes weren’t going to sit around for 11 episodes holding their dicks and smiling. Nay! They’re going to make doghouses for Majesty, Princess Tiffany’s only friend.
While the Boston vs.Chance saga rages on (with an argument about a champagne room in their doghouse), 12 Pack proceeds to display the mighty goon hand over his prag, Heat, who apparently can handle wood with the best of them.
Impressed with the chain gang sweating all over Flavor Flav’s lawn, this wophead New York fantasizes about using a damn power saw in bed. Shit, whether that’s her natural coronation of ash or some cheap-ass moolie-colored pantyhose she's rocking with the G.I. Joe drawers, this broad already looks like somebody done gave her the once-over with a power sander. Lookin like Roadblock, girl!
Since 12 Pack and his 2 flunkies Bootz and Buck… umm… Heat and Real won the dollhouse challenge with some Project Runway-worthy shit, I got a chance to examine Heat in his confessional. I’m sorry I’ve egregiously overlooked the fact that this man is a raging cocaine monster. It’s not like Mr. “Heat is ON! *sniffle*” is just showing this now. Nigga look like Michael J. Fox in a butterfly collar. That tingle is called Simplex 5, Butterlips. That’s that instant herp!
And oh, yeah. Heatrock ain’t talkin bout no damn woman when he says “Yaya” has to eat first. That’s the little pet name for his yayo.
He bows to the table mirror and thanks Yaya every day for carrying him this far.
Yaya also drove this broken man to aid and abet Rick James in a criminal plot to stalk and kidnap Tiff Pollard. Al Cowlings over here held the ladder while calm, quiet Captain Cockblock crept around the balcony like Agent Lee in “Enter the Dragon.” I love how the nigga had time to eat and drink champagne while on special ops recon.
After the triple dong date ends, Psycho Real is the only one with sense enough to take his ass upstairs. Heat and 12 Pack decide to spoon, sip and smoke a wet Dutch. Onix was about ready to jump in on that lovely scenario. He could smell Heat in heat. O-Dog wanted to join Heat and 12 Pack for a drunken late night game of “gookie cornbread” …and throw the match.
“We’re just drinkin buddies, Alma.”
Boston, don’t let Darth Vader fade you. She is pressing the issue. We know you’ll be okay if you and New York have a little Jeter baby. I'd be more wary of that 25% chance of ManBearPig though. Them genes is dominant than a mawfucka too.
That Cicely Tyson spectacle in the church house, Sister Patterson… God don’t like that, boo boo. I’m with you, Onix. Testify, brother! You ain’t supposed to play like that in a church… filled with cameras… and fake ass bourgie niggas.
With that said, Tango, you continue to disappoint me. You disloyal, bitchmade, fool-ass motherfucker. I thought you’d take a stand lined up against these soft-ass niggas. First you let Whiteboy punk you, then you cry like a little bitch with a splinter in your pinky. I didn’t tally that initial count of snitchin against you because Pootie was crazy, but now I see this is just how you operate. We once had Red Oyster, now your ass is Blue Oyster. I wonder what poor, unsuspecting nigga is gonna catch a Captain Harris next week.
Yep. Tango & Cash. Rico Suave and this dude playin the 2007 C.H.I.P.S. on niggas. We gonna see how they get dealt with in the coming weeks.
We knew Onix was gone from the moment he opened his scrotophile lips to “disrespect [New York’s] mama’s fate.” (Note: Not faith but fate.) Heat goes home to Mama and Yaya. Mr. Boston lives!
I was gonna do up some T-Shirts, but that’s a little extreme. Instead, I’ve decided I’m gonna have a Mr. Boston at the bar every weekend until dude is eliminated.
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
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