Full Frontal Feminism

This hot, stale, non-breeze against my skin can only mean one thing: the season of the summer blockbuster is upon us. I know I haven’t done a movie review yet, per se, but if we’re being honest, the field is sorely lacking. Gene Siskel’s been dead forever, The Critic’s been off the air for years and Roger Ebert’s only got half of a goddamn face left. Message received, Jesus, message received.

It probably comes as no surprise to you that the only movie I’ve even kind of been sober enough to see once (three times) this summer is “Magic Mike” and as such, I think it’s time for a full-frontal review. Like the rest of you, I purchased tickets well in advance for the midnight premiere of the much-anticipated (at least in my ladycave) movie and like the rest of you, I won’t hesitate to say that I left nearly satisfied. That night I purchased the soundtrack and loaded Ginuwine’s “Pony” onto my iPhone and have yet to regret any of it.

I loved the movie, and not just because Channing Tatum could dance on my stepfather’s dead corpse and I wouldn’t mind. I won’t waste anyone’s time with a plot review (it was so gripping, by the way) or complaints that there weren’t enough junk shots (even though there weren’t). If we’re being honest, I didn’t go to “Magic Mike” for any of the above; I went because I’m a feminist. And you should go for the same reason (and also, the man dancing and flat-brimmed hats).

Before everyone goes bananas, allow me to delve deeper. I am, in no way, drawing a comparison between Steven Soderburgh and Eve Ensler nor do I consider Channing Tatum to be a slightly less masculine Jane Fonda. But I am all about equality. Women may not earn as much as their male counterparts; we may not be deemed intelligent enough to control our own reproductive destinies; and we certainly aren’t doing ourselves any favors keeping the Kartrashians on the air, but goddamnit, we finally have “Striptease” but with better looking and more age-appropriate dudes. And it’s about time.

Speaking of men, the dudes that aren’t in “Magic Mike” that is, their reactions varied a bit – and all left me more satisfied than most of them ever have. I mean, let us have a turn, guys. But, really. Please? My favorite guy-response to a tweet or drawn-out conversation or forced showing of “Magic Mike” was some homeboy assuming his hot and bothered lady would be more than ready to release her pent-up sexual desire for Channing Tatum as soon as she got home. Player, please. There’s an epidemic of pretty (and even normal-looking) bitches settling for what-the-fuck ever in this country and if your girlfriend saw the same “Magic Mike” that I did, she’ll do herself a favor and put a bag over your head while she’s thinking of Matthew McConaughey.

I know that might come off a bit harsh, but shut up, men. I know I’ve personally had to sit through “Basic Instinct” and that one movie with Jessie from “Saved By The Bell” and that was just with my Dad. I didn’t say one thing until I could safely record it into my boom box, Felicity-style. I just think ladies deserve a good time, even though “Magic Mike” isn’t getting us any closer to breaking the glass ceiling.

I mean. I never said I was Siskel or Ebert, did I? And votes for women! (and “Magic Mike”, too) 

GOP Money Millionaire$: Part Two.

Before we continue, did y'all note which ultra-celeb endorsed a GOP candidate the other day? That's right. Snoop D-o-double-g put his weight behind Ron Paul. Melding the republican and hip-hop worlds ... just like I'd done hours before. I hate calling Mr. Broadus a poser, but, if the shoe fits, the lace the fuck up Snoop Doggy Dogg. Do I think the endorsement is worth rolling a J to celebrate? Absolutely not. Everyone knows stoners don't vote. But I appreciate Snoooooop for trying to rock my vote.

Let's get back to gangsta rappers and the sweeping generalizations we love about them.
 
Hoe-ing.

Do you all remember back in middle school, that story you heard about Lil' Kim? The rumor that she had to have her stomach pumped because she ingested man juice from all of Junior M.A.F.I.A. and their entourage(s) (which I bet includes Puff Daddy). Don't even pretend you didn't hear that shit. I remember exactly what I was doing when my friend shared that ... Diddy (get it?) with ya girl. Needless to say, I did not do very well on my Counties of North Carolina pop quiz. It's also unnecessary to note that the (hopefully) tall tale scared the fuck out of me - to the dismay of anyone I've ever had a one-hour stand with (succkkkas).

Her Republican counterpart? Well, counterparts, I should say? Michele Bachmann, obviously! I know I wasn't the only one to take pointers on Michele's corndogging skillz (which I would wager have paid more than the billz at one point or another). And yes, I know how nauseating that last sentence is - I did have to type it, after all. I'm not saying I heard any man juice stories about Bachmann (Michele, not her husband) before Drop-Everything-And-Read time during my last year of middle school, I'm just saying a picture is worth a kazillion words. Plus, there's no way Michele is smart enough to break though any kind of glass ceiling, she got that representative job somehow - I'm just saying.

Yuck. Let's hope 2012 brings Lil' Kim back and puts Michele at home with a tube down her throat, eh? Oh gosh! I don't mean any malice! She wouldn't even gag!

The Donald is Ludacris! (lit/fig): Part One.

Have you guys been as busy in this New Year as I haven’t been? I surely hope so; an idle mind makes my longer-than-brief absences all the more painful. I think it goes without saying I hope you had the happiest of Chinese New Year celebrations, and would like to express my disappointment in you not even R.S.V.P.’ing for my annual C.N.Y. party at the local Panda Express. It was very authentic, trust me.

I surely would have thought that by now, the start of February, the Grand Old Party would have settled on one candidate to represent their party in the Presidential Election, which, at this point, is a mere 282 days away. Unfortunately, we still have four in the running.  I know you’ve all been watching the debates (19 down so far! And America is better off for it!), and I sympathize with y’all. Who are we going to pick to run against Baracka Flocka Flame? (cue up “Round of Applause.”)

Speaking of award-winning hip-hop music, the other day I got to thinking just how similar the G.O.P. candidates are to rap stars, both past and present (I mean, among other people, of course). I had been working on this blog post for about a week when I noticed, this morning, Touré quoted BIG’s “Juicy” in describing Florida’s second favorite homeboy: Newt Gingrinch. I, by no means, am claiming that Touré stole my idea (that I had been diagramming for days, as mentioned above) – I mean, he hasn’t been over in weeks! I am saying great minds think alike, and that I realized I better get to this shit before another candidate drops out of the race!

Let’s get started. For your reading pleasure I’ve broken it down by characteristic, rather than candidate.

Endorsements (or “Endorsementz”)

It’s no surprise both rappers and presidential wannabes love that cold hard cash (paper, $crilla, or any other appropriate jargondepending on “where yo’ hoot at”). Dropping those beats (both on the debate stage and off) doesn’t always line your pockets immediately, and god knows there’s always lag time while we wait for your follow-up album to drop. If we’re keeping illegal hobbies out of this comparison (which, from the rap stars and politicians I know, we are) then a side-hustle is a must. The key to this endeavor is to endorse a product that allows you to stay true to you, and maintain your street cred.  It’s also important to associate yourself with a solid brand, and one that won’t drop you when you catch a case – embezzlement or weapons charges or anything, for that matter.

Donald Trump. Remember when he was running for President? I know, it was far too short-lived for my liking, but thankfully, he’s managed to stay enough in our spotlight to be laughed at on the daily. Now, like myself, I know the first thing you think of when you see his adorably-rosacea’ed face is his cameo in “Home Alone 2.” I also know that immediately after remembering Kevin McAllister’s clever antics in the big city, you consider Donald Trump, the man, and then you think of Double Stuff Golden Oreos. Am I right? I know, we are so in sync. Who doesn’t love the white-trash cousin of America’s favorite overstuffed cookie? Exactly. The same people who love The Donald.

Donny’s has-been counterpart? Ludacris, of course, and you already know I’m talking about his surprising, but super enjoyable Radio Shack commercials this past Christmas season. Before hearing the sweet bass of Chris Bridges’ voice pushing some shitty, overpriced BeAttTtZzZZ headphones, I hadn’t thought about Radio Shack since I had to do that circuits project in middle school (I got an A, BTW.) The advertisements certainly didn’t compel  me to travel to my nearest Radio Shat (typo, that, even though it makes me cringe, will stay), but I’m pretty sure if my grandfather could’ve turned the volume up on the television in time for the commercial, he most certainly would have put on Bermuda shorts and his newsboy cap and checked the inventory. Talk about Ludacrissmas!

I can’t say whether or not either endorsement was worth the time or the money (certainly wasn’t worth mine) but, I digress. When I started this, I had no idea how many likenesses existed between the candidates (both for the Republican Presidential Bid and to be the Illest MC in the Game). The loss of their dignity has already been our gain. Be sure to catch me on the flip for the next installment. Until we go on to the next one, I think it’s safe to say Donald and Ludacris, for now, are fired.

I've titled this: "Looks Like Trump got Trumped, bitch!"