I don't even know what to say about this. Serving breakfast all-day long seems like such an obviously great decision that it feels like I'm missing something.
There's enough space within Blackness to be Black and be however and whoever you want to be
Pretty please, with ice cream and cake and sprinkles and shit.
Please stop doing this. And by "please stop doing this" I mean "don't ever fucking do this again."
Despite its oft-publicized recent increase in diversity, both on screen and behind-the-scenes, TV is still overwhelmingly -- and, some would argue, intentionally -- White
Forget accidentally running over squirrels. I want to sideswipe a sparrow. I want wings, motherfucker.
Yesterday afternoon, the newest and youngest member of Team VSB was welcomed into the world.
There's nothing to be happy about -- no feel-good takeaways -- when a middle school girl gets insulted by a man and has to be the "bigger person."
Because the only thing worse than an interrupted shit is a shit interrupted by a bottle of Pantene thrown at your spleen.
Math isn't here for your post-racial bullshit. And neither is Blackness.
The people have questions. I have answers.
Sometimes things just make you very happy, and sometimes all that's needed to be said about it is how great the news is and how happy it's made you
Bad spades hands carry a cruel inevitability. You know you are going to lose badly. And worse, your opponent knows. But you can't exactly quit. Which means you have to sit there and take all the shit-talking and faux self-deprecation until the hand is done.