I once had to explain to this dude the difference between would fuck and wanna fuck and after a few painstaking hours, he finally got it.
In that vein, the problem I have with most beauty pageants is that very rarely are any of the contestants bitches that I actually wanna fuck.
I mean, you see a bunch of ‘ok’ faces and even a few decent racks, but when them bitches turn around during the swimsuit competition, a nigga starts to think he’s back in algebra class because so many things have been squared.
The one exception to this, of course, was Kenya Moore; Ms USA 1993.
And, high on ecstasy like I was, when I saw that bitch at the Harlem Book Fair back in ’07, I grabbed her by her arm, trying to kidnap her right on down to the iHop on 135th and 7th.
Her handlers were there and I think they were ready to beat me up and I was ready to take my beating but the dude I had rolled to the Fair with was an innocent and I didn’t wanna put him in that position.
Of course, a couple of nights ago and as the host of the Miss Universe pageant, Steve Harvey read out the names of two bitches I only would fuck – Miss Columbia, the runner-up and Miss Philippines, the winner – in the wrong order and internet trolls wasted no time in calling him a “stupid nigger” as if:
- He’d been only a “regular” nigger before
- By the way they use the term “nigger”, the “stupid” isn’t already implied.
These are the types that get mad when their moms tell them to turn off the television because it’s getting late and again when mom asks them why don’t they just “get a job or a girlfriend or something,” because some men in their late 40s have been known to have one, the other, or both.
To troll them back would be a waste of time. It would be like throwing a lit match into hell itself.
Interestingly though, but consistent with my inability to judge celebrities when a TV or movie screen separates us, I’d never been the biggest fan of Steve Harvey’s comedy. He was too much of a Straight Man for me, and seemed to take himself too seriously.
Not that he didn’t have his moments – usually during his radio show – but most of his stuff seemed forced; though I’ll admit, his timing is usually on point.
I read his first Act like A Lady, Think Like a Man book and it was surprisingly not horrible.
But nothing could have prepared me for this one day when I was pretty much sitting on the street on 57th and Lexington; working, but dressed like a bum and easy to dismiss as one.
Steve Harvey came walking along.
“Steve Harvey…” I said. I always just say a celebrity’s name if I’m not particularly a huge fan. I do gush when it’s appropriate, though.
“What’s goin’ on, Breh?” Harvey returned quickly, taking me in all at once, passing no judgement and then affording me the dignity of possible kinship.
I nodded to myself thinking, good dude… good dude.