A Woman's Right to Choose

"Uh huh...

Fellas... I wanna know if I can talk to you for just a minute.

Now, there's a certain kind of fella I want to talk to this evening.

I wanna talk to all these little dick ass mothafuckas runnin around here that think they got a big dick.

Now, if ya think ya got a big dick and you can tear a piece of pussy up... let me hear ya...

AHHHH HAAAAA, just as I thought... not one mothafuckin word.

Well, my name is Sweet Pussy Pauline... and I got a story I wanna share with you this evening. Is it ok?

Now, I recently had an incident... this mothafucker climbed up on top of me.. the littlest dick you ever seen in your mothafuckin life... He had the unmitigated gall girls to look into my pretty brown eyes and say 'Am I hurtin ya?'

I was like, 'Hurtin' me? Mothafucker you are tickling me... Get the fuck up off me, leave the coins on the dresser and hit the door.' I don't have to put up with that shit!

Girls, you know what I mean?

Aint you tired of these little dick ass mothafuckers comin up to you tryin' to waste your time... Knowin that you're lookin good, nice little ass back there... but you see let me tell you somethin girls... A lot of these mothafuckers see us walkin by, they wanna put their face in our asses and go blooobobobobob... BUT... they don't know how to ask.

I recently met this mothafucker... he comes by my house... we're sittin up there drinking a little wine & cocktails. We go to the bedroom. This mothafucker takes off his shirt. He had the nerve to be standin' up there flexin his narrow ass chest with these miniature ass shoulders... I had to clean my eyes out and ask 'Mothafucka is you still there?'

But we get on down to the waistline... I mean both waistlines cause it looked like he had two. Then he slides the pants on off.. but he kinda turned around. Now ass is ok if you're into that sort of this.. But you know what, it's whats the front that counts.

So he turned around kinda a slow... awww shit.. wait a minute motha- mmmhmmm girl oooooo shit wait a minute mothafucka where the fuck did that club come from? do ya play baseball? Mothafucka i know you aint gonna put all that in me... girls you should seeeen this mothafucker.. Big ol' hateful notorious club girl wooooo! But i said come on...

Girls, I put one leg on the nightstand and the other across the dresser. This mothafucker took fifteen steps back to dive in this here good hot pussy... wooo shit.. ahhh.. girls... i commenced to scream... 'work this pussy you big ugly bean-eatin ass son of a bitch'... ahhhh girls... wait a minute... girls... i then changed positions.

I put one leg on the ceiling and the other one just across the closet door... ahhh fuck me... ahhh just fuck this pussy just tear it up like newspaper cause it aint built right no way... ahhh shit... ahh mothafucker just work this pussy over... woooo girl...

girls then i took it doggy style... ahh mothafucker... ahh... ahhh.

NEXT"

"A Vision of You and Me"

It's Just


a Little Crush


Not Like I Faint


Every Time We Touch
Jennifer Paige - Crush (Dance Mix)

I'm Juss Like "De Bat" / So Fly in Ya Face

Cloying singer-songwriter Carly Simon has further cemented her Head (Adult Contemporary) Bitch in Charge status with her recent descent into YouTube Humor hell. Her first efforts as an auteur showcase a painfully awkward understanding of the medium itself, further emphasizing her well-known fear of performing live. Carly's later videos display a woman fumbling for self-preservation. She eyebrow pencils a canvas of deeply-set wrinkles all over her face in a feigned dismissal of plastic surgery. Another clip has her replacing her naturally vibrant visage with a similarly wigged and made-up chopped-wood doppelganger. Carly is dealing with getting older on her own twisted trajectory, and my YouTube Favorites list is richer for it. Get sweet on these scenes:



"Good morning ('Good morning'). Good morning. Good MORNing. GOOD GOOD GOOD good morning. Good morning. Good morning. Ah, my eyes. SEE MY EYES? Oh, not much. Good morning. Good morning. ('So Mama?') What?"





I dunno what compelled Miss Simon to ruin her ecstatically angular and wind-eroded features with her eyebrow pencil. She's giving me Anna Nicole Smith in Clown Drag moods. Her jewelry collection displayed as door art is radiates Continuing Education in Metal-Smithing realness, too.





The lazy journalist living inside my lazy journalist self wants me to deem this entity weakly waved in front of the camera a log with make-up, but it could very well be a rolled-up ply of sturdy poster board. I also unironically relish the Eyes by Carmindy effect. What not to wear with those peepers!

Carly Simon - De Bat (Fly in Me Face)

Top Armen

If Philip Core could reanimate his deceased self to pen an addendum to his brief but authoritative "The Original Eye: Arbiters of 20th Century Taste" he would certainly expound upon the unlimited virtuosity of Armen Ra. Born in Tehran and cosmically blessed with a concert pianist mother and an opera singer aunt with a knack for Ikebana, Armen first came to prominence in New York City as a jewelry designer, make-up artist and performer. Armen Ra's inborn skill of combining the esoteric with the aesthetic turned every NYC luminary into a veritable frothing fanboy. As a performer she eschewed the ubiquitous and beehived bimbo kitsch in favor of a raven-haired and jewel-burdened tragedienne, on a Maria Callas tip. In 2000 she began to explore new expressions in High Cunt Theatrics via the theremin. Natch, Armen Ra quickly mastered the notoriously problematic instrument and has succeeded the late Clara Rockmore in becoming America's reigning thereminatrix. Armen Ra's first solo performance was captured only two years later on CNN, and dozens of highbrow and lowbrow venues later she graces us with her presence at the New Museum tonight at 7PM; information about the event can be found here. The fifteen dollar cover is a mere pittance for the shows and face that Armen Ra will bestow upon you. Lap up these rehearsal clips (and her Belle Époque-assed interiors):

"Excuse My French but Fuck U Bitch"

KP DatGuttaGurl's flow is so diesel that she lactates nothin' but Muscle Milk. When not giving a small fuck about a maggot, duck or hater she's emerging from under the vast umbrella of the Decatur, GA-based Lady Mobb Posse with junts more lethal than her rapped-about hands. But KP is still makin' bodies leak like a fat breast on nightmarish boasts like "I Ain't Gotta Flex" and "Yeen Fuckin Wit Me". Her syrupy but gruff promises of peril tear through eardrums like a butcher knife through a bed sheet. The accompanying instrumentals are inherently evil, natch, and never deviate from that Southern Gothic sonic creep that envelopes even the most remote Lady Mobb Posse track. KP is truly the successor to all the lame ducks who are palin' in comparison in the rap game.

KP DatGuttaGurl - Yeen Fuckin Wit Me
KP DatGuttaGurl - I Ain't Gotta Flex

More of a 90's Fashion

Pussy Tourette, Dick in Houston. 1994

Pussy Tourette has been giving body, face and voice to us mere mortals since her official clu' debut at San Francisco's Dekadence in October of 1990. Natch, this honorary lady went national only three years later with her debut platter Pussy Tourette in Hi-Fi!". The album spawned "French Bitch", the ultimate diss to girls with the Gaul to trifle with her. Pussy's double-dipped croon deftly weaves through slinky saloon bar ballads and rock-drenched temper tantrums alike, and her ooh ooh timbre drips equal parts Marlene Dietrich and Marc Almond. Although on more of an underground tip, Pussy killed it throughout the rest of the decade via her video studies in highly-stylized cunt theatrics. Eat these clips and 86 the Ipecac; you'll be gagging without it:

Big Swag Tent Revival

Jesus rappers bore the hell out of me if they aren't unironically bitin' some misogynist rapper's instrumental or lyrical phrasing. How could one not appreciate the thinly-veiled insult of a JC-reppin' emcee that pillages, then transmutes the vice-soaked hard luck stories of heathen entertainers into praise and worship drivel? I'm not going to kick Evangelical Christianity while it's down but I will lift up the righteous realness that is Lil Sainsta:




What gets me gaggin' about Lil Sainsta is her blatant appropriation of Foxx's "Wipe Me Down" instrumental for her pre-invocation boast, "Worship God". She raps of catching the congregation's attention with her "fresh heels, fresh long blue dress, fresh nails, fresh hair" and throughout the track refers to the Devil as a "hater". Natch, Lil Sainsta's realness is in full bloom when her verses aren't overshadowed by her desire to stunt in the name of the Lord. "Away Out" is her best chance at converting her audience, and not through the song's baseball-assed organ and vocal pad arrangement. "There's a way out from your crackhead service, and smokin' that purp'" she implores in the chorus. Not surprisingly, her protagonist's rags-to-religion experience is convincing and poignant. I'd be eating communion wafers out of Lil Sainsta's hand by now if it weren't for that literal pussy between her legs in the third photo.

Lil Sainsta - Worship God
Lil Sainsta - Away Out

Bring Me the Eyelids of Lisa Ling!

No, it ain't the Korean populace lambasting Ling for ignoring Oprah's 2004-era sweeping generalization that obtaining an artificially-creased eyelid equals an "obsession with plastic surgery". The latest craze in female rap swagger is a monolid; dukes and donks, sit down. In all seriousness I'm putting Ms. Cristal and Nicki Minaj on blast for using racial slurs (what) to jock creaseless eyelids and epicanthic folds on their records. Cristal drops the ch-bomb within thirty seconds on "Hoe U Just Mad" while the same adjective is littered all over the introductory skit and beginning sixteen on Minaj's "Cuchi Shop". Who is in charge of these girls and their lyrical output? Peep the videos below for poorly-composed slideshows set to these jaw-dropping junts; I'm not makin' this shit up!


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Generic sexual assertions aside, slur-ing your words is not a cute look and there are so many other ways to appropriately pen a sexy eye-themed stanza without resorting to elementary school banter. Even multiracial Minaj can do better than to jock her ancestry. Being a sister knows no color; one woman's hair glue is another's eye glue, right? Star Jones tell 'em!

Fam' on Deck, Betta Yet, TC!!

"Why You Boostin' When You Can't /
Do You Know My Fuckin' Name?"


Blame it on Diamond and Princess from Crime Mob for bringing out the ana in every Georgia Peach that raps today. You already know that these dimes brought about a renaissance of hypnotically hyper-violent lyrics that never detracted from their candy-coated swag. But leave it to the more relevant TC Missez to drop a house of piercing screams and frequent shotgun blasts on the old guard of ATL girls. This gruesome foursome throws more bullets than hands on the mic and knucks with tips of the hollow, not French, variety. "Itz Whateva" and "We Bussin" are built around foreboding synths that could soundtrack the noisiest of uninterruptible gunfire from "Assault on Precinct 13". Yet these Too Crunk Missez are pulling their sound away from a Law & Order Realness tip and are pushing it into the club with a forthcoming mixtape. Let us hope that they can say it without spraying it, or anyone else that ventures too close on the dancefloor.

TC Missez - Itz Whateva
TC Missez -We Bussin
TC Missez -Shawdy Got Swagg
TC Missez -We Makin Moves

Tanjee-rine Dream

Shampoo Part Two?


But rilly tho', Diva are giving me teases of all varieties. They employ the same sapphic intertwining and hemangioma-red lipstick as Shampoo. Both are also into over-saturating the living hell out of their already-porcelain mugs on celluloid. But Diva gives you Bongo Jeans and Candie's Realness. Straight outta Norway, Helene Sommer & Elene Nyborg transcend Shampoo's staid trappings of adolescence with an overly ambitious 'n' grown-assed Euro House feel. Leave it to a couple of Scandinavian shorties to exploit their biological heritage so perversely it nearly becomes an advertisement for skin bleaching creme. In total opposition to their Catharsis in th' Club Sound, their sole video résumé shown above brings out your inner stoner. Did you even see those CGI billowy 'n' striped purple pipes blow out all of those gummy bells? Very motherfuckin' delicious, indeed.

Diva - The Sun Always Shines on TV (Original Version)
Diva - The Sun Always Shines on TV (Sexy Dub Disco)