Black History Month: Home to the weirdest and worst collages ever made

Whether it’s feeling a certain way about the fact that it’s the shortest month of the year, becoming annoyed with the underlying message that Black American history isn’t necessarily American and needs to be segregated, or being forced to remember the time in middle school when, since you were the only black kid in your class, your teacher — a well-intentioned 37 year old Irish-Catholic woman who thought it was appropriate to rock dashikis to school each Feburary — asked you to read a few pages from Jet Magazine aloud in front of the class each day for a month, there are few subjects that inspire the type of collective angst among a population that Black History Month does for Black Americans.

It’s the proverbial perpetually drunk uncle at Thanksgiving: You know he’s coming and you can’t not invite him, so you just hope and pray that he doesn’t get wasted and face-plant into the greens during grace like he did last year.

But, like the drunk uncle, we do actually love and appreciate Black History Month, and we’d miss it if it didn’t show up. Our angst comes from us just wanting it to do…better.

Here’s three possible ways we can make that happen.

1. Move it to May

Boom. In one fell swoop, one of the most common complaints about Black History Month — it’s the shortest month of the year — is rectified.

Why May? Well, two reasons:

A) Aside from the NBA playoffs and Memorial Day (which, for all intents and purposes, is a June holiday anyway), nothing that actually matters happens in May. I’d even go as far as to say that no one born in May has ever mattered¹. (There’s a reason you’re never going to see a coffee table book titled “A Look At The World’s Most Famous Tauruses Taureans“) Since this is true, why not just hijack the entire month? No one is going to feel bad about it. And, even if they do, they were born in May so their opinion doesn’t f*cking matter anyway.

B) Pushing it to the end of the school year will act as a drop-out deterrent for the tens of thousands of black kids who drop out of school every year. Many of these drop outs occur during the end of the school year (Why? The warm weather and the fact that, by that point, knowing they’re going to have to repeat the year makes it easier to chuck the deuces to school²), and putting Black History Month in May will allow black teachers to give em the ultimate guilt trips. You just can’t learn about Marcus Garvey and Sojourner Truth on Tuesday and decide to drop out of school Wednesday.

“So, Harriet Tubman ran barefoot and hungry through five states to escape slavery and your black ass can’t even walk three blocks to school???”

2. Add “Honorary Negros” to the Black History books

Look, I don’t want to minimize the contributions of any African-American who made their mark on history, but there are some things and people celebrated during Black History Month that have a way of making you think “Umm. I know he’s black and all, but does the guy who invented red Kool-Aid really need his own postage stamp?”

So, instead of grasping for historical straws, why not just add a few people who technically aren’t black but have a strong connection to the black community? How cool would it be to have days devoted to white men who date nothing but black women (i.e.: Roger Ebert, Robert De Niro, “Hesh” from The Sopranos, etc), people who invented things that black people love…even though they weren’t actually invented with that purpose in mind (i.e.: James Naismith, whoever invented the button that allows you to lean the driver’s seat back, the angel who convinced God to invent the ass, etc), and Shelia E.?

3. Pressure Congress To Enact “National Piece of The Pie Day”

While it’s great to recognize and honor those who’ve set the foundation for us, part of the Black History month angst has to do with the fact that, while things aren’t all peachy for us now, they’re much,much better then they were in the past. And, hearing about all the great things some of our ancestors did in legitimately sh*tty situations can make us feel like we aint sh*t right now (Which may be true — there’s a likelihood that we collectively aint sh*t — but that’s a different topic for a different day). 

So, to combat this feeling, why not have a day during Black History Month where the national script is flipped and it’s legally mandated that we have to be allowed to do certain things (i.e.: get bank loans, hail cabs, get great service at restaurants, point fingers in police officer’s and president’s faces, etc) that seem to be reserved for non-blacks?

And, as a way to appease the millions of non-blacks who definitely will have an issue with “Piece of The Pie” day, your special privileges will get revoked if you get caught doing certain “black” things the week before. Not going into detail on what exactly I mean by “black” things, but let’s just say that you may want to pick another time of the year to take a 75 minute lunch break or give a waitress a $2 tip on a $37 bill.

Anyway, that’s it for me today, but I’m sure I’m forgetting a few. People of VSB, can you think of any other additions/changes to Black History Month that would make it better?

¹I know Malcolm X was born in May, but why let facts get in the way of a perfectly good point?

²This could actually be true, but I’m totally making this up right now.

—Damon Young aka “The Champ”

…we got 21 more days to complain that America doesn’t do enough to celebrate Black achievements and accomplishments!

BAZINGA!

Anyway, being as its Black people month, and being as that I’m Black, I see it only fitting that I dedicate some posts in February to Black topics. Its gonna be on and poppin’. As well it should be since Black folks often get it on and poppin’ with things such as the bottle formerly known as Cristal, thongs, pills, and basketball. One could say we are a poppalicious people, though I prefer the bootylicious nature of Black women. And I don’t care how much you hate Beyonce, “Bootylicious” (written and produced/co-produced/conceived by Beyonce) was a great moment in Black history. Honestly…with lyrics like, “I don’t think you’re ready/for this jelly”, how could it not progress Black society. Kids everywhere were running around embarassing the sh*t out of us folks that can read talking about being bootylicious. Hell, even WHITE girls got into the act, further making me want to kill myself.

Okay, I swear that there is a point in there somewhere.

Ah yes, Black America’s secret shame. There are different kinds of Black folks out there. I know, shocker. Many have tried to paint Black people with one brush and say that we are all one and the burdens of my brother are my burdens. And I used to believe that until a strange thing happened one day. Can you guess what it was? Go ahead, take a gander.

*singing “I’m sexy and I know it”*

Done guessing?? Good. What happened to me was that I learned how to read.

*gasp*

That might sound messed up, but fret not, it gets worse. When I learned to read, a whole new world opened up to me. Butterfly’s in the sky, hell, I could fly twice as high like Aladdin and Jasmine! The older I’ve gotten and the more I’ve read, the more things have changed. Over time, I learned to not be afraid of information and actually seek it out causing me to do things that other Black men didn’t do like…go to college. Or even graduate. No Kanye.

So it was in this new world with new knowledge I obtained from reading new sh*t that I started to notice the differences between Black people. And just to be purposefully offensive, I’ll state some of the differences I noticed:

Some Black folks worked, some didn’t.

Some lived in suburbs, some lived in projects.

Some tried to assimilate into white society, some acted like assholes in public…almost seeming to be on purpose.

Some were reserved, some are just loud.

These are just a few of the differences. But that last one is the one that stands out to me. It brought to my attention and epiphanized a strange phenomenon in the Black community. It would seem that Black America’s Secret Shame is…

…hold on…

…it’s coming…

…wait for it…

…Black people.

Yes. Black people. Black American’s are secretly ashamed of other Black people. I know. It’s one of the most fucked up things you’ve ever heard. I hear you looking at me crazy. But it’s true. Black people that can read and write, and have gardens to tend, and garages that actually house cars, and have the OPTION to live amongst white people are ashamed of other Black people.

[***DISCLAIMER: These are fun, I swear. Which Black people am I talking about that are ashamed of other Black people??? You ninja. Yes you, the Black person that is reading this right now instead of in the projects affectionately known as WorldStarHipHop. The Black person who reads and writes. F*ck that, the Black person who ENJOYS reading. Yes, you. Does it sound elitist? Yes it does...but here's the test: if you have at any point in your existence, been somewhere, and an unruly group of Black youth have come into your presence and you cringed and/or uttered the word "n*ggas" under your breath...then this means you. Mmkay pumpkin?***]

Believe you me, it’s true. It’s a sad reality yet one that exists. Take for instance young Black folks on subway systems across America. Now those youth don’t care about being loud and obnoxious. Hell, it’s what kids do. However, you care. You wonder to yourself , why the hell they won’t shut up. Then you do scan the audience the kids have attracted. You scan the white faces for disapproval, and then you scan the Black faces for disgust.

For some reason, both the Black and white people are upset at the ungodly display of the youths. White folks will just have their notions reinforced, and Black folks will be afraid that the white folks are having their notions reinforced. And somewhere shame comes into the picture. Black folks start to think, “dammit, why won’t they just act right, they are making us all look bad. F*ckin’ cockaroaches!”

You have experienced…honest to goodness…

…shame.

Shame for fear that those Black folks who aren’t like you are setting us normal Black folks back years and years. It is that same shame that occurs when you take a ghetto member of your family out with you who then proceeds to act a damn fool on purpose, proving why they are the ghetto member of your family.

But you know what, they are ashamed of you too.

Sometimes they are trying to prove a point, too. The point may be that you aren’t any better than they are. And they are just as ashamed because they feel like you sold out when they remember when you all used to sleep three to a bed. They are ashamed, and thus shaming your bougie ass into realizing that you aren’t any better than they are. Hmm, ironic isn’t it. The better off we are, the more reminders we get from folks who aren’t so well off that we ain’t sh*t and didn’t come from sh*t.

Differences.

I’m not judging nor looking down on anybody. I’ve done more than my fair share in both worlds. As far as I’m concerned we all came from nothing. Essentially, I love all my Black peoples. EXCEPT those ignant somebodies who feel the need to make me look bad so that they don’t look bad by themselves. Crabs in a barrel are a b*tch. And it is those Black folks who draw my ire time and time again. The ones who are ashamed but secretly jealous of the Black folks who are doing well because those Black folks are sellouts and have no place in the hood. Those Black folks who are ashamed of other Black folks success because they don’t have it.

But it goes the other way too. Those Black folks who are educated and well to do, who are ashamed of their lower income brothers and sisters who may not have had the same opportunities that they’ve had. The ones who turn their noses up at less privileged Blacks with no provocation. The ones who talk about the ghetto without ever having been to the ghetto or lived there. The ones who laugh when some of us drink Kool-Aid. Hell, the ones who don’t realize that “red” is a flavor, and judge Black folks who know that it indeed is a flavor. Basically, Black folks who have the time to castigate other Black folks because they’ve made it and refuse to accept that making it where you’ve made it wasn’t solely on your own merit. Sometimes, folks believed in you enough to not let you fail. And it’s those folks that refuse to recognize or accept that, who are ashamed of lower income Black folks and their lot in life. Those Black folks piss me off too.

And there you have it. Black America’s secret shame is other Black people. From rich to poor, we are all ashamed of one another for reasons that are beyond me that will continue to keep us down. Sometimes we show out for white folks by showing them how comfortable they should be around us. We have a term for that…selling out. And sometimes we show out for white folks to show them that we don’t give a sh*t about them, except what we’re doing is furthering their own beliefs that Black folks have no damn sense anyway and are all useless. We have a term for this too…being a dbag. And they all lead to the same end…shame from some other member of the Black race.

And this is why we won’t make it as a people…and you know what…

…it’s a damn shame.

Ain’t it?

What say you?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. SUPER B.A.S.S. aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

For the DC heads, its time again for another edition of REMINISCE! at Liv Nightclub this Saturday, February 4th, 2012 from 930pm til 3am. It’s all 90s everything and anybody who has been will tell you this party is a motherf*cking monster. It’s FREE BEFORE 11PM WITH RSVP ($10 after) (click the link to RSVP), OPEN BAR FROM 930-1030PM (doors open earlier b/c people keep showing up MAD early) and no dress code. Supa Qool DJ Quartermaine on the 1s and 2s. Come on out and we’ll see you on Saturday night! Peep the FB event here!

Now that's some good dome.

One of the most common myths in the Black community (yes, the whole entire Black community) is that Black women aren’t brain surgeons. And I don’t mean the types with M.D. after their names either, though I’m sure for the women with M.D. after their name the double entendre has to be hilarious. I’ve heard for years that oral sex was a white woman sport, even being immortalized by poet laureate Plies in his now famous song, “Becky”.

By the way, please don’t ever listen to Plies. Listen to me now; believe me later on.

Well, the myth, along with the devil, is a lie. On “Braxton Family Values”, WEtv’s show about the lives of Toni Braxton and her sisters, Trina admitted that she gave some dome to a band mate of hers causing Tamar, the loud-mouthed, often wrong, and absolutely most extra woman on the planet, to claim that Black women didn’t do that.

Scrrrrreeeeech.

Say what? Oh no she didn’t. I can personally say that I’ve only known two Black women ever who “claimed” to have never “done that.” And honestly, I don’t believe them. At all. Both of them protest that the act itself is too nasty to do with anybody outside of their husbands, of which neither has one. Coincidentally, neither is engaged or married OR opposed to any man giving her special kisses where the “sun don’t shine”. And to complete the murder, they’re not smart enough, fine enough, or funny enough to NOT do it. And yes, I wrote that out loud.

I can honestly say that aside from those two women, every other woman I know not only engages in the act, they actually enjoy it. Hell, some women are to the point where they enjoy it so much that they offer tips to their wayward friends who either don’t know, don’t show, or just don’t care to learn what’s going on in Mr. Roger’s neighborhood. At this point in our collective sexual histories, very little is taboo or even off limits. Sex is everywhere you want to be. It’s like Visa. Not to say that anybody should be acting reckless with their sexual exploits and yes, you should use protection and preventative measures if you’re going to casually engage in any type of sex.

But real talk, a Black woman – or any woman for that matter – giving a man head is so not a big deal. Trina was right to say that. It’s a part of the sexual experience that most men and women share with one another. And very few men are really going to look at a woman with disgust after she’s dropped down and got her seagull on. If she’s any good at it, he just might propose. Take note.

Now of course, as a man you can’t go expecting every woman to top you off just because. And maybe that’s where it all gets lost in translation because a lot of men view it as an entitlement as opposed to a privilege, like we do with sex. And yes, that is a problem. So maybe Black women just like to teach their men a lesson about entitlements and I suppose that’s fair.

But that has NOTHING to do with the fact that women actually enjoy the act of giving some of that good ole kneepad love.

So Tamar is again, as with so many other things in life, wrong. Plus she’s married. You can’t convince me that she’s not topping off Vince. She’s WAY too annoying to stay married to if you aren’t being satisfied in the bedroom.

Word.Life.

Anyway, the larger point is, where the hell did this myth even come from? And why does it persist? Does it even persist? Are there any women out there who really believe this to be true?

Inquiring minds would like to know.

Civil rights, y’all. Civil rights.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. GEORGIA DOME aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

For the DC heads, its time again for another edition of REMINISCE! at Liv Nightclub this Saturday, February 4th, 2012 from 930pm til 3am. It’s all 90s everything and anybody who has been will tell you this party is a motherf*cking monster. It’s FREE BEFORE 11PM WITH RSVP ($10 after) (click the link to RSVP), OPEN BAR FROM 930-1030PM (doors open earlier b/c people keep showing up MAD early) and no dress code. Supa Qool DJ Quartermaine on the 1s and 2s. Come on out and we’ll see you on Saturday night! Peep the FB event here!

Oh, and click here if you need a refresher on what exactly a Diva Dude is. 

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

(Today’s post is a response to each of the dozen or so people who’ve already asked me if I’ve seen Red Tails yet, and the dozens who’ll probably continue to ask me after today.)

1. The guilt-based marketing has completely turned me off. 

I’m going to expand on this a bit more later this week at Ebony.com, but nothing makes me not want to do something I was already kind of “eh, maybe.” about than being told I need to do it. And, being beaten over the head for a month with the completely disingenuous and manipulative idea that I must support Red Tails if I ever want to see a black face on a movie screen again has made me go from “eh, maybe” to “f*ck you.”

2. I don’t need to see black faces on screen. 

Do I like to? Yes. Do I think it’s important for young people to see “positive” (more on this in a minute) stories concerning black people to help counterbalance the negative imagery they’re constantly inundated with? Sure.

But, while I do recognize the importance of representation, it’s not something I personally need as a moviegoer. I’m not interested in our stories or my story as much as good and compelling and entertaining stories. If these good and compelling and entertaining stories happen to revolve around black people, great!

This isn’t to say that Red Tails wasn’t good and compelling and entertaining to many of the people who’ve seen it already, and I’m not so much of an asshole that I’d trash a movie I haven’t even seen yet. But, PG-13 CGI laden war movies just aren’t very interesting and entertaining to me, regardless of what color the pilots happen to be.

Also, I realize that certain duties — voting, voting for democrats, voting for black democrats, etc — are required to keep your black american card and the perks that come with it. But, maybe the handbook has changed since the last time I read it, but I don’t remember seeing anything about any obligation to make your leisurely activities dutiful too.

3. I don’t need to see positive stories on screen either. 

While positive movies are great and important and meaningful and sh*t, I don’t particularly need to see them to be “uplifted” or “fulfilled.” That’s what bacon and strippers are for.

4. Ok, I’ll say it. Nothing I’ve heard, read, or seen about it makes me think it’s going to be very interesting. 

Yeah, I know what many of you are probably thinking right now. It’s completely unfair to make a judgement on a movie (or any art for that matter) you haven’t actually seen yourself. And, while I definitely see we’re you’re coming from, that sentiment is a big, fat, steaming pile of bullsh*t.

We make judgments and predictions on sh*t we haven’t actually seen or done yet all the f*cking time, and reading a couple story descriptions and watching a couple trailers and thinking “Eh. This sounds kind of boring.” is no different than riding past a club you’ve never been to before, getting turned off by how the club looks/the people in line/’the fact that you used to bone the bouncer, and deciding to hit another spot.

Sure, maybe you would have had the time of your life at that place, but past experience has told you that you’re not very, um, “compatible” with clubs with those conditions.

For instance, although I (obviously) hadn’t seen the movie yet, I knew I was going to enjoy The Social Network the first time I saw the trailer.

On the other hand, I first saw the trailer to Red Tails while at Blogalicious.

And, while nothing about that footage screamed “bad movie” to me, nothing didn’t scream “I’ll guess I’ll catch it on TNT during Black History Month in 2015″ either.

With all that being said, I’m actually glad Red Tails seems to be exceeding expectations at the box office. I hope they’re able to continue to ride their strong opening weekend, and I hope that its success helps black filmmakers get their projects green lighted.

Still, I just can’t get behind supporting something I’m pretty sure I won’t enjoy, just because that something has something to do with black people. If I want a history lesson about the Tuskegee Airmen, I’ll go visit his office instead.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

I majored in sociology and I'm still gonna make more money than you pretty soon, white man.

I came across this article at Clutch Mag yesterday entitled, “Black Students at Duke Upset Over New Study Claiming They Take The Easy Way Out” that linked to a Durham, NC, Herald-Sun article about a study that pissed of Black folks from near and far. In a nutshell, two Duke professors and a grad student wrote a paper stating that Black students at Duke changed majors from more traditionally difficult majors like economics, engineering, and natural sciences to less rigorous majors (like humanities) at a higher rate than did white students. The paper was an attempt to explain why the GPAs of Black students tended to trend towards the GPAs of white students as ninjas made their way through college and is being used as a bone for opponents of affirmative action policies.

Oy vey.

The unpublished report, “What Happens After Enrollment? An Analysis of the Time Path of Racial Differences in GPA and Major Choice,” looked at the Duke freshman classes that matriculated in 2001 and 2002, in their first, second and fourth years of college.

It found that among students who initially expressed an interest in majoring in economics, engineering and the natural sciences, 54 percent of black men and 51 percent of black women ended up switching to the humanities or another social science.

By comparison, 33 percent of white women and just 8 percent of white men made the switch to majors that are considered less rigorous, require less study and have easier grading standards.

According to the paper, 68 percent of Duke’s black students but less than 55 percent of white students ended up majoring in the humanities or social sciences other than economics.

The authors of the paper suggested that the switch to easier majors was predominantly responsible for why the grade point averages of black undergraduates ultimately became similar to the GPAs of white students as they progressed through school.

The paper is included in a brief submitted to the U.S. Supreme Court by opponents of affirmative action. The court is considering whether to hear a lawsuit challenging race-conscious undergraduate admission at the University of Texas.

 

[Nina] Asante (president of Duke’s Black Student Alliance) wrote that the authors failed “to account for the societal, complex and institutional factors that must be considered in any attempt to delineate trends in racial differences in grade point averages and major choices, in a scholarly manner.”

The paper’s authors — professors Peter Arcidiacono and Kenneth Spenner, and graduate student Esteban Aucejo — write that their work calls into question other studies that play down the academic difficulties initially experienced by those who benefit from race-conscious admissions by saying that such students eventually catch up with their nonminority peers in GPA.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Although yesterday’s “Things Bougie Black Girls Say”¹ may have implied otherwise, I don’t have anything against them at all. In fact, I’d say that the vast majority of the 25 to 35 year old women I’m close to qualify. Many of my homegirls are Thai-loving Deltas, and how else would I know that Target makes bougie black girls squirt without being in the room while it happens?

Also — and I’m sure this admission won’t shock anyone reading this — I’m (somewhat) bougie myself.  Brunch is my favorite meal, I too find myself asking “Wait, who else is going?” whenever I’m invited somewhere, and while I won’t join you at the Smiling Banana Leaf, I won’t think twice about dropping 25 bucks for a gourmet cheeseburger.

Despite this bougieness, there are a few particularly anti-bougie things I just can’t get enough of — sh*t that’s about as legitimately tacky, gaudy, uncouth, ignant, and, gasp, ratchet as one can get. I wouldn’t call them guilty pleasures either, because there’s absolutely no guilt involved, no shame in my game. I like it, and if you don’t like the fact that I like it, you can like deez.

This list includes…

Rick Ross

I know his subject matter is about as varied as the skin tones of the crowds at Rick Santorum rallies, and I know his incessant grunting, “uhhh”-ing, and “whooo!!!”-ing occasionally makes it feel like I’m listening to a warthog masturbate, but I can’t deny the fact that his music makes me repeat things like “I levitate on all you p*ssy n*ggas” to myself while waiting in line at Au Bon Pain.

Also, he actually is a good rapper. Panama mentioned this to me a year or so ago and I scoffed at him, but he actually does check all the cadence, word play, and “beatrideability” boxes you’d want.

(Btw, with both Twinkie and Maybach going under within days of each other, isn’t Rick Ross having the worst week ever?)

The Twerk Team, and various other strippers, pseudo porn stars, and kitchen sink twerkers on YouTube and WorldStarHipHop

You ever happen to view some video of some random hoodrat bootyclapping in her bathroom, see that the vid has like 400,000 views, and wonder “Who the hell are these 400,000 people that sit around and watch videos like this all day?”

I’m not saying I’m one of those people, but, well, I’m just not saying that I’m one of those people.

Kool-Aid

Yes, I know it’s nothing but water, sugar, compressed paint chips, and asbestos. Yes, I know that too much of it will give me the gout or the diabeetis. And yes, I know “Hey, you want some Kool-Aid?” makes bougie black girl’s panties drier than KG’s lips.

But, there’s no other beverage that manages to go well with hotcakes, hotdogs, and hangovers alike, and the Kool-Aid test — Can you make a half gallon pitcher without looking at the directions? — is my version of the bougie black girl’s passport test.

American Muscle Cars

My love for Chargers is well-documented, but I don’t think that linked article fully encapsulates my infatuation. Let’s put it this way: You ever play the “what would you buy?” game, where you’re asked what car you’d purchase first if you had an unlimited income? (Btw, if this sentence urges you to leave a comment talking about how we’ll never rise as a people as long as we keep talking about spending money on the white man’s chariot, please quell that urge, and please go stick your head in a toilet and flush it)

Well, while my first choice is usually the Panamera, my second choice is usually “You know, I’d probably just buy a 700 horse power engine and put in my car.” Who cares if this choice shows that my imagination game is on “comatose,” and who gives a damn that the only time I’d actually be able to use the extra horses is when I’m speeding through a yellow light on the way to Trader Joe’s. That’s what I want, if you still have an issue with it, we can meet outside after brunch and “settle” our disagreement.

That’s enough ignance and ratchetrey for me. People of VSB, we already know that you negroes skew bougie, so list some decidedly non-bougie things that you’re not afraid or ashamed to admit that you like.

¹Thought you all might like to know that not only did “Shit Bougie Black Girls Say” have the most unique visits in VSB history, it beat the next closest entry by 17,000. I guess the bougie nerve is quite sensitive. 

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

The bougie black girl's patron saint

Unless you’ve been hiding under a rock or one of Rick Ross’ breasts for the past month, you’ve undoubtedly seen, read, or heard about “Shit Girls Say” and the dozens of increasingly contrived spin-offs it’s spawned. (Seriously, at this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if went on YouTube and saw “Shit Gay German-Ethiopian Boys Say To Baltimore Strip-Club Bouncers”)

As a friend and I were discussing these videos earlier in the week, she half-jokingly complained that no one made a video about things her demographic — the biracial woman — says. I corrected her, saying that “Shit Bougie Black Girls Say” would definitely be more appropriate for her “Hampton undergrad, Harvard grad”-ass ass.

Her response was predictable. First, she did what every single black person who’s ever been accused of being bougie by anyone at any time always does first: deny the fact that she’s bougie. Then, she denied the fact that bougie black girls even say or do anything “special enough” to warrant an entire video for them.

As you’ll begin to see in the next paragraph, I disagreed.

“Does he own a passport?”

If you’re ever in doubt as to whether a black girl is truly bougie, ask her if she’d date a guy who didn’t own a passport. If she says something normal like “I guess. I mean, I don’t see why not.” she’s probably not. But, if she recoils in fear, breaks out in hives, and starts running in circles while crying and screaming “NONONONONONONONO!!!!!!” you’ve probably found yourself a bougie black girl.

Bougie black girls reading this, can you explain something to me? What is the big deal with the passport? I mean, I understand loving to travel and wanting your potential beau to be able to travel with you, but what’s preventing you from just asking him to get one. Seriously, the conversation would go exactly like this:

“Hey, I want to go to Spain this summer, and I’d like you to come with me. Do you have a passport?”

“No, nubian princess, God of my Earth, but I’d love to make that trip with you, and I can get one.”

“Cool.” 

(See how easy that was?)

“That’s my favorite Thai restaurant”

For whatever reason, Thai food has catapulted past all other international cuizines as the bougie black girl’s default food of choice, leaving Ethiopian food, Indian food, and p*ssy juice in it’s curry-scented dust.

Perhaps the collective decision to be Thai food philes occurred in one of those mysterious early Saturday morning meetings Delta chapters love to have. If that’s true, it helps to explain why they each have to devote like 30% of their yearly income to Delta dues. They’re not giving back to the main office. They’re putting their money together to fund all these gotdamn Thai restaurants popping up all over the damn place.

Also, note how the bougie black girl says “that’s my favorite” — a linguistic trick letting the listener know that her bougie ass has been to enough Thai restaurants to be able to deem one her favorite.

“I’m not bougie”

I referenced this before — bougie motherf*ckers never seem to want to acknowledge their bougieness — but, the more I think about it, the more I think this denial is inauthentic. I think they enjoy being thought of as bougie because it assigns a certain social status to them. But, since they know it’s not socially acceptable to relish that status, they verbally deny it while doing mental jumping jacks of joy. (“He called me bougie! This means that he thinks I’m worth some effort! Lemme pretend not to be bougie so he doesn’t think I’m too siddity“)

“Where’s brunch?”

Panama’s already touched on this, but bougie black girls love brunch more than fat crackheads love Home Depot.

“I’m so ratchet.”

Sign #318 that you’re definitely, unequivocally, absolutely, unmistakably, positively, and emphatically NOT ratchet: You refer to yourself as ratchet.

“Wait, who’s going to be there?” 

It doesn’t matter if they’re going to a party or just going out to the front lawn to pick up the newspaper, bougie black girls don’t even consider going anywhere unless they know exactly who else is going. Now, finding out that some of the “wrong” people are going doesn’t necessarily stop them from going, but it does influence their attire, mode of transportation, intoxication level, tph (tweets per hour) count, and whether the guy she invites back to her house later “adds to her number.”

“Is he Greek?”

“Greek” can also be replaced with “from here,” done with school,” “driving that,” or “gay”

“Where’d you get that?” “Target, girl.” “OH MY GOD!!!”

You haven’t lived until you listened to two bougie black girls practically orgasm with surprise over a recent purchase one of them made at Target. What makes it even better is the fact that they have the exact same convo with the exact same orgasm of surprise each time at least once a week.

Anyway, people of VSB.com, that’s it for me. Can you think of any more shit that bougie black girls (or guys) say?

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

So happy togetherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Or not.

9:59: As I begin to prepare for my second annual minute-by-minute recap of the season debut of “The Game,” it’s probably not a good sign that it took me three minutes to find BET on my cable box. I feel extremely white right now. (And by “white” I mean “grown”)

Anyway, as “Lost In The World” — the Kanye song I listen to whenever I want to think about my dead goldfish — is playing in the background, they’re in the middle of an montage of things that made me wish I’d actually watched more than one episode of “The Game” last year so I can know what the hell is going on.

Confession time: You know how you’ll be watching some trailer for some sh*tty movie, and you’ll see a “much too established to be in this sh*tty movie” actor in it, clearly just there to collect a paycheck and go home?

Well, that’s how I feel about writing this summary. I have absolutely no interest in this show, but I’m only writing about it because I know people are going to want to read about and discuss it tonight and tomorrow. I’m officially a sell-out.

10:00: Another confession: I was kind of stressed about doing this. Live blogs, while fun, are pretty difficult to navigate because you’re watching, thinking of clever/relevent sh*t to write, and writing simultaneously.

But, since BET has five minutes of commercials for every three minutes of air time, I’m surprisingly good. Thanks Debra Lee!

10:01: I’ve never not been entertained by an Underworld movie. Just wanted to put that out there.

10:02: The show begins with Twin Mowry and Derwin Davis in a hospital. I really have no idea what the f*ck is going on right now. This — me not knowing what the hell is going on — will be a recurring theme with this summary.

10:04: Do laugh tracks make anything better? Seriously. Have you ever seen something funny happen in real life (i.e: a fat man in a little coat slipping on a patch of ice) and thought to yourself “Damn. This is funny as hell. You know what would make it even funnier? A gotdamn laugh track.”

(Ok, I actually have thought that before, but I think you get my point. Laugh tracks suck.)

10:05: As Derwin and the good Doctor McWhateverTheHellHisNameIs have a pissing contest, I’m reminded of something a few of my soon to be PhDed friends joke about all the time.

According to them, doctors (surgeons especially) usually are a few sandwiches short of a picnic basket, and aren’t exactly the smartest people on Earth either. They’re known as the dummies in the advanced degree world. I have no idea why I’m telling you all this. Perhaps I think you’d find the years long MD vs PhD feud to be more entertaining than my summary of this scene.

10:07: We see Jason Pitts for the first time, as he’s completing a mid-day booty call with some onesie-clad chick named Gloria. Don’t bother asking me why someone would have sex, put a onesie on, and get back in bed, because I have no answers for you.

She chides him about his pattern of not dating black women (I smell a recurring theme!!!) before inviting him to a wedding. Hmm. Shouldn’t booty calls make baby steps when they’re trying to score some “lets do something in public now” time? I mean, a wedding? It usually takes at least 20 sessions to even make it to a Wendy’s drive-thru.

10:09: Seeing Rick Ross on screen reminds me that his “Rich Forever” mixtape may be the best mixtape I’ve ever downloaded. (And yes. You just read a hip-hop purist put “Rick Ross” and “best ever” in the same sentence. If you have a problem with that, I’ll levitate on all you p*ssy n*ggas)

10:10: Pooch Hall Malik walks in while carrying a drunk hoochie, and the drunk hoochie is carrying 15 pounds of ass and 115 ounces of weave. This probably won’t end well.

10:11: Sign #3453 that I’m getting old: I remember when Anne Marie Johnson — the mom in the Kevin Hart Ford Explorer commericals — played the token hot chick in all of Robert Townsend’s movies, and the plastic woman in “I’m Gonna Git You Sucka.” I wanted to sleep with her before I even know what “I want to sleep with her” meant.

10:13: Derwin Davis is having his Emmy moment as he speaks to Twin Mowry. Nostrils are flaring. Cheeks are flushed. Voices are cracking. This is some high-level, Inside The Actor’s Studio-type sh*t right now.

10:14: Checking to see if they were joking about the show being an hour long.

10:14: Finding out that it is actually an hour long, and that I’ve already committed to writing this entire f*cking recap

10:14: Contemplating suicide.

10:15: The producers of “The Game” must have ESP, because as soon as I was thinking about giving the peace sign to life, they threw on some Kanye to snap me back to reality.

10:18: Brandy the bartender tries not to peek at her cue cards while exchanging barbs with Jason. Honestly, is there a 30-something celebrity with a weirder and more random resume than Brandy? She was a legitimate pop star, Kobe Bryant’s prom date, actually killed someone in a car accident, has been surpassed in pop culture relevancy by her much less talented and likable younger brother. It’s like her Wiki page was written by a dyslexic.

10:19: I have to say, Jason is easily my favorite character on the show, and since they give him all the best lines, he must be the writers’ favorite character as well.

10:22: Wendy Raquel Robinson (“Racks on Racks” for short) is in great shape, but I think she may have gotten to that strange point some women get to when they work out so much that they’re in danger of going from “she looks good” to “find the nearest methadone clinic”

10:27: Literally nothing important happens in the five minute span from 10:22 to 10:27.

10:27: I misspoke. Something important did happen. My feelings about the laugh track have gone from “very annoyed” to “I wish a plague on the family of whoever thought this was a good idea”

10:28: I’m going to put my serious hat on for a second and say that the relationship between Racks on Racks and Pooch Hall Malik is what happens when moms fall in love with their sons. Please, single mothers out there, if you ever find yourself falling in love with your son, suckerpunch him in the eye. Trust men, in 20 years, you’ll be a better woman and he’ll be a better man for it.

10:28: Since when does “naked chick found dead from an overdose” = “cue laugh track?” Am I missing something here?

10:32: As I’m beginning to get progressively more bored with the show, my mind begins to drift to more important things, most notably have Twin Mowry and Derwin Davis ever slept together in real life.

(I don’t think so. In fact, I hate when people say things like that. (pot meet kettle) But, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.)

10:33: Abortion Bombshell!!!!!!

10:35: Gotdamn. These two really go for the jugular when they argue with each other. Am I just naive? Do people actually argue like this in real life? Seriously, they say things to each other where the only rational response would be murder.

10:35: Cue Kanye again as Twin Mowry gets her own Emmy moment. I kind of like her’s better.

10:36: Really? You’re going to stop in the middle of giving the OD-ed weave monster mouth to mouth and argue? Really, “The Game” writers, you thought this would be a perfect time to add some levity?

10:38: Even Dead Ray Charles can see that Jason and Brandy are going to start dating. Perhaps he’ll even hit it tonight.

10:39: Or get married

10:41: I feel like I should be mad about this, but this KFC “wingman” commercial may actually be the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen. My favorite part is the slow motion face shimmy while one of the women is eating a wing.

10:42: Two things this Mexican honeymoon scene makes me think about:

1. How much money did they have to pay “The Hangover” people to borrow their phone camera montage trick?

2. Why does Brandy look like she’s wearing a sock in her panties? Seriously, forget about camel toe, it looked like she was hiding the camel’s entire f*cking face in her draws.

10:45: Who’s going to cry for the poor little yellow kid who couldn’t get rhythm from a sister? Who’s going shed a tear? Are you going to cry for him? You?

10:48: This new movie “The Vow” was great the first time I saw it, when it was called “50 First Dates.”

10:51: Brandy. Race. Jason. Brandy. Race. Big Booty Keisha Jackson. Race. White women. Race. Black Women. Taye Diggs.

10:55: Awww. Derwin and Twin finally made up. BTW, is it just me, or does seem like Twin Mowry always dresses like she’s from the future?

10:56: You know, I’ve been thinking if this — my girl telling me she got an abortion a decade ago and the baby actually wasn’t mine — would piss me off. Honestly, it would. Don’t know why.

10:58: The chick from everyone’s favorite Progressive State Farm commerical makes her annual appearance as Derwin’s baby-momma, which reminds me of problem my dad has with “black” commercials.

He thinks that white casting agents don’t know how to cast black couples in commercials because the women are always much too good-looking for the men they’re with for it to be believable. When I told him once that it was actually realistic because this — getting with women who rate much, much, much higher on the “looks scale” than I do — was the story of my life, he said “You played basketball, though, so you don’t count.”

10:59: Seriously, who ever is the lacefront technician or weave grip on this show must make like $200 an hour.

11:00: As Derwin ends the show by killing a guy in his driveway and running his bag of presents (That was actually some gangsta-ass sh*t), I’m left to wonder how much longer “The Game” will stay on the air. I don’t actually want it to be canceled again. Many people I know seem to like it, and even though I’m still kind of salty that their write-up on the Ebony Power 100 was like 1000 times longer than ours, the husband/wife team of Salim Akil and Mara Brock Akil seem like good people

But, snark aside, it feels like the show is on auto-pilot right now, and I’m not sure if it can be fixed or if they even want to fix it. Perhaps “The Game” is the game they’re running on black America because they know we don’t have sh*t else to watch.

 —Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)