First the My President is Black All Black Affair, and now this? I realize that I’m just giving added publicity to this offer, but I had to ask:
How does this honor President-Elect Obama? What’s the logic here?
“Our president is Black… And Black don’t crack… If your face is cracking come on down for some face injections …”
Come on y’all. We can’t keep attaching this man’s name to any and everything. Let’s not cheapen this moment.
So I recently was charged with planning a bachelorette party for one of my girlfriends. None of the bridesmaids involved in the planning lived in the city where the party had to take place and none of us lived near each other, so it was a bit of a challenge to coordinate the logistics.
We figured it’d be simple: Find a dance club or a strip club (although I used to be a stripper myself, I’m not a fan of male dancers ;), pile a bunch of ladies in a car and call it a nite… But after we called around a bit we found that there were no male strip clubs — or is it female strip clubs (not sure what you would call a club where men dance — is it a male strip club because the dancers are male, or a female strip club because it’s primarily for women… who knows?…) Anyway, there were tons of places to see dancing girls, but none for boys.
Now we gotta find a freelance wardrobe-removal consultant (I believe that’s the proper PC term for this career). So naturally we turned to Myspace… The rate wasn’t outrageous — $200 for a private show — so I said sure let’s go for it, and we locked it in.
We rented a suite for the nite, bought a bunch of liquor, and had the bride convinced that we weren’t gonna do anything wild – just drink, listen to music and hang out on her next to last nite of single-ness ;) Dude was scheduled to arrive around 10:30 but he didn’t show up until well after 11. Then when he came to the door, he was still in his street clothes – no cop or electrician or room service uniform. Just a dude in jeans with a suitcase. Totally ruined the surprise “Where do I change?” he asked.
“Really?” I shouted back. Continue reading ‘No more strippers. Ever. Ever.’
Two posts about LL Cool J this month. Who’dve thunk? But this couldnt be ignored. The Ladies Love was being interviewed on the Steve Harvey Morning Show this morning. They were discussing — among other things – the keys to his longevity and his abdominal muscles. I don’t know one man in my personal life who is comfortable talking about another man’s attractiveness or body, but it seems like whenever I see or hear a man interview LL Cool J, he inevitably ends up complimenting him on his body. I think LL has mind control like Deebo.
Moving on… I said in my previous LL post this month that I have not in the past enjoyed LL interviews. So when I turned on my radio this morning I was excited to put my theory to the test… and I was pleasantly surprised. LL was giving a sort of testimony and pep talk to anyone out in radioland who ever had a dream. He said something like, “There’s no age limit to success. Colonel Sanders started KFC at age 65 and Russell [Simmons], Rick [Rubin] and I kicked off Def Jam when I was 15… If you dream of something do it.”
Go LL! … Maybe I was wrong about you.
But he then added that he also attributes a lot of his success to the fact that he tithes in church. Now, I know that should have really put me over the top — made me wanna renege on all my anti-LL-interview rhetoric. And it did — for about 30 seconds. Because about 30 seconds after LL talked about faith in God and being rewarded for that faithfulness, they played his new single, “Baby.”
Exhale.
I don’t know how many of you have heard this song (I’m sure I would never have heard it on the station I listen to if LL weren’t a guest) so I decided to post some of the lyrics below. I pulled them from the Web so I’m sure they’re not 100% accurate, but I heard it for myself this morning. The ‘important’ stuff is there… Check ‘em out and meet me on the other side:
I Met this little girl, she was off the hook
I got cold chills when her body shook
Hot sex on the platter no need to cook
I let her steal my heart like a horny crook
Had her grinding and winding against my leg
She messin with my head, wanna play in the bed
Sexy pumps on, toenails red
Your bodys a gun baby, pump me full of lead
It hard to hold you when you movin’ vulgar
Peace sign on your eyes like John Travolta
My pulp ain’t fiction, it’s an addiction
To see your booty clap on the floor in the kitchen
Nasty girl, taught me all the lingo
While mama play bingo, she ride mandingo
She dont give a damn if im married or single
She makes me tingleShe likes Hip-Hop and R&B
Her life time goal is to be on TV
She looking for a man that could give her a break
Like Usher or Justin Timberlake
Im really not sure if her breasts are fake
Cuz wit whipped cream on em, they taste just like cake
We drink some beer, inside of daddy’s ‘64
She shot me in the back with cupids arrow
We finish the 6-pac, she push the seat back
Pulled up her dress n she let me peep that
Im Drunk as a skunk, feeling all dirty
Truck stop bathroom at 7:30
Bought her some dessert, give a damn if its early
Head spinnin around like roller derby
Everything about her says you dont deserve me
I hope im worthyIn the back of the pickup, clothes are rip up
She see my chrome wheels, it gets more real
Running and laughing, music blasting
Side over the road, bent over crashing
Mouth all dry, can feel the urge
If you see my mama, dont say a word
The cops wanna know im a word are slurred
Dont ask me officer ask her
Wanna another drink baby she like sure
Wanna hit the club she like I dont curr
She all in the rearview doin her hurr
Hairspray and lip gloss everywhurr
This all happens on an average day
Your life is a trip girl, im here to stay
Never had a girl make me feel this way
Even tho I had to pay
I’m not sure God wants 10 percent of the proceeds from that. I’m just saying.
Never had a girl make me feel this way / Even tho I had to pay
Really??? Had to pay???
Hey LL, Jesus just called. He said you can keep your dime.
So after spending a crapload of money on brakes and a new windshield yesterday, I went to the DMV to get my car inspected this morning. It took forever — I saw 5 or 6 cars go thru the whole process while my baby just sat there. When they finally pulled her out of the garage I went over to the inspector guy to find out the results…
Me: Did it pass?
Inspector guy: No
Me: What do I need?
Inspector guy: A new car
HA! That is so funny. It actually did pass, but for about 3 seconds I was tuning up for the biggest cry I’ve had in months. Everyone’s a comic.
Oh and don’t forget to watch me on Live at Gotham tomorrow nite at 10pm Eastern on Comedy Central. They just put up another clip on the CC website… shecketout below!
So I came across this gem of an interview with DMX over at XXL magazine’s site… What are you smokin, X? This is sad, sad business.
Let’s hope this was some fake i’m-tryin’-to-keep-my-hip-hop-cred-i-need-publicity-ignorance, and not just the effects of years of crack smokin’. (Clearing throat)… And I quote:
Are you following the presidential race?
Not at all.
You’re not? You know there’s a Black guy running, Barack Obama and then there’s Hillary Clinton.
His name is Barack?!
Barack Obama, yeah.
Barack?!
Barack.
What the f*** is a Barack?! Barack Obama. Where he from, Africa?
Yeah, his dad is from Kenya.
Barack Obama?
Yeah.
What the f*** ?! That ain’t no f***in’ name, yo. That ain’t that nigga’s name. You can’t be serious. Barack Obama. Get the f*** outta here.
You’re telling me you haven’t heard about him before.
I ain’t really paying much attention.
I mean, it’s pretty big if a Black…
Wow, Barack! The nigga’s name is Barack. Barack? Nigga named Barack Obama. What the f***, man?! Is he serious? That ain’t his f***in’ name. Ima tell this nigga when I see him, “Stop that bullshit. Stop that bullshit” [laughs] “That ain’t your f***in’ name.” Your momma ain’t name you no damn Barack.
So you’re not following the race. You can’t vote right?
Nope.
Is that why you’re not following it?
No, because it’s just—it doesn’t matter. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do. It doesn’t really make a difference. These are the last years.
Oh yeah… an in case you skipped right to the bottom, the article starts off with him talking about the gospel album (yes you read right) that he is working on.
Precious Lord… take my hand.
OK… so my friend Keisha and I went out to this bar/lounge last nite for the launch of this new Wednesday nite hot spot (hopefully) in downtown D.C. My friend Ra helped to promote it and I hadn’t been out in D.C. for a while, so I told him sure I’ll come.
While we were there I ran into a girl I’m friendly with and know socially–she seems like a very cool girl, but we’ve never actually hung out. Keisha and I were at the bar batting our eyelashes in hopes that men would buy us drinks–like any self-respecting women would do–and we were talking with this young lady. Anyway… to make a long story short, it was a Wednesday nite so I didn’t feel like staying out too late and the three of us all decided to leave at the same time. But as we were walking out of the door and saying our good nites, she slapped me on the butt.
?
I was so shocked I just kept walking and didn’t tell Keish til we got down the block what had happened. Is that what’s poppin’ in the streets, now? Ladies, are we just going around slapping each other on the butts like we just won the pennant?
I know she and I have had conversations about guys in the past, so I know she’s not gay. Maybe she thought I’d be cool with that. Maybe that’s how she and her friends say “Peace.” Or maybe… maybe… maybe?
Whatever the reason I was uncomfortable all the way home wondering if I should have addressed it, so that it wouldn’t be awkward the next time we see each other, or wondering whether other people saw the little exchange and my non-response led her and/or them to believe I was OK with it… I dunno. Weird-o nite indeed.
OK, I know I’m gonna get some comments from you parents out there about how this isn’t new… yada, yada, yada… but I don’t have kids, so I’m allowed to be a bit behind the curve.
Handy Manny? Really? My very pregnant friend Angi is cramming and learning about all things baby in preparation for her new bundle and she brought this cartoon to my attention. I realize my tardiness in learning about this show means I’ve probably missed whatever backlash–if any–surrounded this cartoon when it first began. And I’m sure it’s educational and the kids love it because it’s from Disney, but I gotta assume that there were at least a few Latinos who weren’t too happy about a Latino handyman cartoon.
Talk about perpetuating a stereotype. Why aren’t there marches going on right now? I know damn well if Disney or whoever else came up with a young black girl cartoon and named her something like… I dunno Preg Nancy, we’d be marching, well… until.
Have you ever had someone shout an insult at you, and you knew it was bad, but you also had no idea what the heck it meant?… I was listening to a prank CD–I’ll Slap You to Sleep–by buddy and hilarious comedian Roy Wood, Jr. of roywoodjr.com…suckas, and I heard an 87 year-old woman refer to the woman who set her up for the prank as a “Shit house shorty”… wait I’m sorry an “International shit house shorty.” Huh? Roy didn’t know either.
Clearly the use of the word ’shit’ lets me know it was an insult, but what kind of insult? I’m guessing it wasn’t racial. Doesn’t sound like she’s calling her a ho. Is this equivalent to the ‘b’ word? Is it a jab about this woman’s mama or her kids?
If someone said this to me, for real, I’d be like could you please explain that random ass insult as I’d like to know exactly why I’m headed to jail. I don’t wanna be explaining myself to the cops like, “Well yeah I hit the old lady. No, I’m not sure what it means. When do I get to call my mama?” I wanna at least be able to rile up someone behind me… “But what would you have done, officer? She called me a shit house shorty. I mean, what other option did I have?” Random.
Also random is the response I got from someone I didn’t know about the blog I posted yesterday. I thought only my friends read this blog. Hahaha… This Internet thing is WILD. Anyway, apparently she confused erinjackson.net for MSNBC and wanted to set me straight on a few issues… I’m glad she found the blog however she found it, and I’m glad she left a comment because now I can tell the rest of you about it and laugh. I’m not in the habit of commenting on the blogs of people I don’t know or haven’t met… unless its like a major blog like the Daily Dish or something like that. Anyways, hope y’all have a good weekend. I’m off to Ocala, Florida tomorrow to kick it with the gators and the wild horses… Y’all remember my boy Frank I met last year while I was down there…
Holler at you on the other side. Jackson, out.
I am opening for comedy legend, icon, GIANT Robert Klein this week at the Improv in DC. A huge fan of the process of writing, I love to see the greats at work. He’s working on material for his 9th HBO special. Man… can you imagine… A couple years ago, when he was working out for his last special, I went to the club and saw the show 2, maybe 3 times–I can’t remember… So when Allyson, the manager at the Improv asked me if I was available to do the show this time, I was super excited and of course jumped at it!!! I’ve pretty much been counting the days until the show. The first one was last nite.
As a few of us comics were chatting in the back of the room after the show, this woman comes up to me and starts gushing about how much she enjoyed the show–which would make any comic blush. And then she follows it up with “And you… You are so articulate.”
(Insert Screeching tires)
As my boy Dawan would say, I gave her the ‘big eyes’… but then I reeled myself in because really she was trying to be complimentary and I knew that and I could tell she’d just really enjoyed the show, plus she was an older woman. But it got me to thinking what is it about that word that pisses me off so much? Would I have even been bothered by it if I’d never heard Chris Rock’s bit about Colin Powell being so “well-spoken?” Would I have just smiled and taken it as a compliment?
What is it about someone calling me articulate that makes me want to respond with ”NO, I AIN’T!” Or something worse…
Back in September, I opened for Mark (Mr. Cooper) Curry at the very same club. And after the show, this young-ish, really drunk white woman came up to me and said, “I really enjoyed you, but you were so white. It’s like you’re a white girl trapped inside a black girl’s body.” Then she said the “A” word.
And it took everything I had for me and my diction not to go upside her *bleep* head. Continue reading ‘The ‘A’ word’
OK so this is random.
Your two cents