Valentine's Edition
When Cupid is shooting arrows to and and fro and a dozen long stem roses cost a hundred bucks it can mean only one thing...It's Valentine's Day! Some of you may be wondering, "Does a New Millennium Nigga, with all his venom and vitriol, with the weight of his race's...nay society's problems weighing on him...celebrate Valentine's Day?" The answer: He does if he wants any lovin' before the NEXT millennium.
So, in an effort to get into the mood of this holiday for the heart, I sat myself down and sought to answer one of life's eternal questions...
What is the Flava of Love?
Well, I can tell you that I mourn the 44 TiVo-assisted minutes that I spent watching that bullshit. 37 minutes in, I actually felt myself getting dumber. It felt like a mini-stroke and it occured in the part of my brain that governs racial pride. Holy shit! I can say that "Flava of Love" achieved something I thought was literally impossible. It was worse than I imagined.
I still don't know what the Flava of Love is, but I did surmise that it is dark chocolate and tart. Dear God. Where did they find these reject strippers? Did they hold the casting sessions at fucking Bellevue?
I sat there stunned, prepared to say that which, in 1989, I would have regarded as blasphemy...
First of all...fuck Flava Slave...I mean, Flava Flav!
"Elvis was a hero to most/but he never meant shit to me/He was straight out racist/the sucka was simple and plain/MUTHAFUCK HIM AND JOHN WAYNE!"
Ahhh yes...the music of my youth. Public Enemy let me know that I should be proud to be Black (not that I'd never heard that before) and that I was right to be pissed (that little gem got left out of most of the Black History Month celebrations in elementary school). As far as I was concerned, the revolution was comin' and the S1W's were the army I planned to join. Well, apparently Lieutenant Flav has gone fuckin' AWOL.
Where do I start? First of all, I turn this shit on and there is Flav talking to the camera...wearing Viking horns...maybe some viking named Pickaninny the Black. Anyway, he's going on and on about these "girls" who he has given new names for the show. I couldn't keep track, so for the purposes of this article, I have renamed them myself.
For the sake of those who have not seen this show, I have decided to use these names to paint a mental picture. I have named each girl (a term used loosely since one chick was at least 40 fuckin' years old) according to what time it would have to be at the club before I would leave with them. (Note:This New Millennium Nigga is married so this scale is used only for the sake of clarity and does not suggest any participation in night club shenanigans.) All times are on a 2:00am club closing scale.
So...first we had Midnight. She was a'ight in a strobe light hottie kind of way, but she was crazy. How could I tell? She is on television show seeking the affections of a man who most closely resembles Jimminy Cricket in black face, who is wearing somebody's kitchen wall clock around his fuckin' neck! How could I tell?!? I fuckin' guessed, alright.
Then there was 1:45. She was probably more of a Midnight when polka-dots were in style, but alas the years have been cruel. Also, her self-esteem was so low that she actually, referencing Flava Flav, uttered the phrase, "I don't know if I'm good enough for him." Crack kills, people. Don't do it!
Half-Past-I-Can't-Read-My-Watch-No-More is very confident. She believes that she can "win the heart of that beautiful man." I believe she is fucking blind, nuts or both.
Don't-Judge-Me-Just-Pour-Another-Drink was dressed in a red dress that was covered in red feathers. If Big Bird fucked a crack ho this goddamn train wreck would be their love child.
When-Jesus-Gets-Back was a hot mess and has too many fucking teeth. I think she's a descendant of dinosaurs...and thus an argument against intelligent design.
And, finally, When-Hell-Freezes-Over was a dirty lookin' White chick who kind'a looked like if she bumped into you, y'all might stick together. She was wearing cornrows. I'm sure she thought it made her fit in. It just made her look like a broke-ass Bo Derek.
So, anyway 1:45 told Half-Past-I-Can’t-Read-My-Watch-No-More that she wasn’t sure that she had anything to offer Flav because she felt empty inside. Then, apparently, Half-Past-I-Can't-Read-My-Watch-No-More told Midnight, Don't-Judge-Me-Just-Pour-Another-Drink, When-Jesus-Gets-Back and When-Hell-Freezes-Over, because they all went to Flav right before the elimination – during which the nigga hands out personalized clocks…What?! – and they all ratted 1:45 out. That led to a big argument between 1:45 and Half-Past-I-Can't-Read-My-Watch-No-More during which 1:45 said -- and I shit you not – she said the aforementioned, “I don’t know if I’m good enough for him.” Honey, Flavor Flav looks like a Mr. Hanky in a top hat and is the biggest embarrassment to Black people since the D.C. sniper turned out to be Black. (Seriously, we have enough problems without venturing into the heretofore White boy dominated world of serial killing. Anyway...)
Flav goes around in a top hat, holding a cane and looking like Mr. BoCrackles as he decides who will be going home to the existence that was so shitty that a life of coonery and buffoonery with Flav was an upgrade. I mean, seriously, at one point he was sitting there wearing a crown, looking like the King of Coonville.
Finally, he put not one, but two girls out of their misery. Now, I am just waiting for somebody to put me out of mine. Or may be they could convince Flav to melt down all those gold teeth and buy himself some fucking pride.
Flav, 911 may indeed be a joke...but now so are you. When "she watches Channel Zero," I'm betting there'll be a "Flava of Love" marathon on and Flava Slave will be betraying everything that Public Enemy stood for and stands for in my life.
It may be the world I've chosen to live in, but I must say it...
Burn, Hollywood, Burn!
So, in an effort to get into the mood of this holiday for the heart, I sat myself down and sought to answer one of life's eternal questions...
What is the Flava of Love?
Well, I can tell you that I mourn the 44 TiVo-assisted minutes that I spent watching that bullshit. 37 minutes in, I actually felt myself getting dumber. It felt like a mini-stroke and it occured in the part of my brain that governs racial pride. Holy shit! I can say that "Flava of Love" achieved something I thought was literally impossible. It was worse than I imagined.
I still don't know what the Flava of Love is, but I did surmise that it is dark chocolate and tart. Dear God. Where did they find these reject strippers? Did they hold the casting sessions at fucking Bellevue?
I sat there stunned, prepared to say that which, in 1989, I would have regarded as blasphemy...
First of all...fuck Flava Slave...I mean, Flava Flav!
"Elvis was a hero to most/but he never meant shit to me/He was straight out racist/the sucka was simple and plain/MUTHAFUCK HIM AND JOHN WAYNE!"
Ahhh yes...the music of my youth. Public Enemy let me know that I should be proud to be Black (not that I'd never heard that before) and that I was right to be pissed (that little gem got left out of most of the Black History Month celebrations in elementary school). As far as I was concerned, the revolution was comin' and the S1W's were the army I planned to join. Well, apparently Lieutenant Flav has gone fuckin' AWOL.
Where do I start? First of all, I turn this shit on and there is Flav talking to the camera...wearing Viking horns...maybe some viking named Pickaninny the Black. Anyway, he's going on and on about these "girls" who he has given new names for the show. I couldn't keep track, so for the purposes of this article, I have renamed them myself.
For the sake of those who have not seen this show, I have decided to use these names to paint a mental picture. I have named each girl (a term used loosely since one chick was at least 40 fuckin' years old) according to what time it would have to be at the club before I would leave with them. (Note:This New Millennium Nigga is married so this scale is used only for the sake of clarity and does not suggest any participation in night club shenanigans.) All times are on a 2:00am club closing scale.
So...first we had Midnight. She was a'ight in a strobe light hottie kind of way, but she was crazy. How could I tell? She is on television show seeking the affections of a man who most closely resembles Jimminy Cricket in black face, who is wearing somebody's kitchen wall clock around his fuckin' neck! How could I tell?!? I fuckin' guessed, alright.
Then there was 1:45. She was probably more of a Midnight when polka-dots were in style, but alas the years have been cruel. Also, her self-esteem was so low that she actually, referencing Flava Flav, uttered the phrase, "I don't know if I'm good enough for him." Crack kills, people. Don't do it!
Half-Past-I-Can't-Read-My-Watch-No-More is very confident. She believes that she can "win the heart of that beautiful man." I believe she is fucking blind, nuts or both.
Don't-Judge-Me-Just-Pour-Another-Drink was dressed in a red dress that was covered in red feathers. If Big Bird fucked a crack ho this goddamn train wreck would be their love child.
When-Jesus-Gets-Back was a hot mess and has too many fucking teeth. I think she's a descendant of dinosaurs...and thus an argument against intelligent design.
And, finally, When-Hell-Freezes-Over was a dirty lookin' White chick who kind'a looked like if she bumped into you, y'all might stick together. She was wearing cornrows. I'm sure she thought it made her fit in. It just made her look like a broke-ass Bo Derek.
So, anyway 1:45 told Half-Past-I-Can’t-Read-My-Watch-No-More that she wasn’t sure that she had anything to offer Flav because she felt empty inside. Then, apparently, Half-Past-I-Can't-Read-My-Watch-No-More told Midnight, Don't-Judge-Me-Just-Pour-Another-Drink, When-Jesus-Gets-Back and When-Hell-Freezes-Over, because they all went to Flav right before the elimination – during which the nigga hands out personalized clocks…What?! – and they all ratted 1:45 out. That led to a big argument between 1:45 and Half-Past-I-Can't-Read-My-Watch-No-More during which 1:45 said -- and I shit you not – she said the aforementioned, “I don’t know if I’m good enough for him.” Honey, Flavor Flav looks like a Mr. Hanky in a top hat and is the biggest embarrassment to Black people since the D.C. sniper turned out to be Black. (Seriously, we have enough problems without venturing into the heretofore White boy dominated world of serial killing. Anyway...)
Flav goes around in a top hat, holding a cane and looking like Mr. BoCrackles as he decides who will be going home to the existence that was so shitty that a life of coonery and buffoonery with Flav was an upgrade. I mean, seriously, at one point he was sitting there wearing a crown, looking like the King of Coonville.
Finally, he put not one, but two girls out of their misery. Now, I am just waiting for somebody to put me out of mine. Or may be they could convince Flav to melt down all those gold teeth and buy himself some fucking pride.
Flav, 911 may indeed be a joke...but now so are you. When "she watches Channel Zero," I'm betting there'll be a "Flava of Love" marathon on and Flava Slave will be betraying everything that Public Enemy stood for and stands for in my life.
It may be the world I've chosen to live in, but I must say it...
Burn, Hollywood, Burn!
posted by New Millennium Nigga at 9:45 AM
3 Comments:
I HAD to leave a comment on this one. This was MAD HILARIOUS!!!! But funniest part is what makes it the saddest - yes - 911 is indeed a joke in many of our neighborhoods - and so is Flava "Slave". I am just waiting for Chuck D to pimp-slap some sense into him.
NMN and NMN's wife - I hope that you two have a Happy Valentine's Day! ;-)
-Forever a Faithful Reader
Okay, I feel partly responsible for your misery, cuz I think I’m the one who suggested you watch it. I think maybe your approach to the show is wrong. You shouldn’t have looked at it like a show. But more like an exercise in the current state of female self esteem in American women. For all the reasons you hated it – I love it. I can’t get enough. I’m amazed that these women are actually on this show. And I’m even more amazed that some of them kiss him! I mean like, grody to the max!. Whew.
What you should do is put this away, watch Trapped in the Closet, and then come back. I think then, maybe your brain would have clicked over and readied itself to receive such imagery coupled with the amazing dialogue.
nik
Clearly my brother in law has forgotten since I left him last summer what watching a car accident of a television show and loving every minute of it was...oh Orlando..let the California Raisin have his fun! It's VHI for pete's sake...happy valentine's day!
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