The Nappy Diatribe

HumanityCritic's Message to Russell Simmons: "Go Sit Your Ass Down Somewhere!!"

Posted 05/24/2007 at 7:46 PM  |  18 comment/s

As a guy who has a rather extensive history when it comes to juggling three or four girlfriends at a time, I'm certain that I'll always have a gig jumping from Ivy League school to Ivy League school acting as that particular school's guest professor - sculpting impressionable minds in a popular course that I plan on naming "Bullshit Artist 101." Don't worry, I'm no longer the philandering wretch that I was a decade ago - once taking pride in bedding a different woman every night while each one desperately tried to maintain her mid-coital chuckling at my undersized toddler-penis. Or miscellaneous dalliances who inquired about my whereabouts the night before, thus provoking me to respond with my standard "I was with my other girlfriend!" line - the only time that an absolute truth happened to escape my detestable mandible and she takes it as a joke. But based on my newfound germaphobia which makes it virtually impossible to fuck a woman unless she goes through a plethora of medical tests and a government-sponsored background check, and my feeling that I need Riot Gear or a space suit to get something as innocent as a lap dance or the time-honored "back alley hand-job" - suffice it to say, my days of a handful of women calling me their "boyfriend" are over.

Besides, maintaining your bullshit starts to feel like a career - between avoiding being photographed at all costs (The person she shows your picture to at her job, or the chick who sees your silly mug on her mantle could know your other girlfriend for Christ's sake), or making sure that you take each girlfriend to different eating establishments. (Nothing is worse than some asshole waiter blowing your spot, talking about "It's good to see you again!" when that's the first time you took THAT girlfriend there.) Not only that, you have to have intricate backstories to account for your time - the girlfriend that you only see in the wee hours of the morning knows that you work two jobs during the day, the ones that you see during the day are fully aware of your "night job" and the promising "rap career" that keeps you in the studio most nights. From experience I've found that the best thing to do when dating a few people at a time is to avoid calling out anyone's name, period - stick to the old stand-bys, like "Baby," "Nasty Girl," and my personal favorite, "Sugar-tits." Most women complain ad naseum about their boyfriends and husbands not listening to them, but take it from a scumbag like myself who a decade ago saw more genitalia in a week than your local OB-GYN does - you have to listen to every word a woman says as if you were working as a "court stenographer," because there is nothing worse than going down memory lane with the wrong person. Basically what I'm saying is, there is a lot of work that goes into maintaining a facade - you almost have to buy into your own bullshit for the shit to even come across somewhat authentic.

My sordid past came to mind last week when I saw Russell Simmons on HBO's "Real Time with Bill Maher" show (clip provided above). Some things are difficult to sit through because of how embarrassing they are - like bad rapping, the illiterate black person that your local news decides to interview at the scene of a crime - even those health shows where a woman is giving birth makes me sort of uneasy, but that's only because seeing a woman pass a person through her body makes my penis feel even that much more irrelevant. I started to feel the same sort of cringe-worthy embarrassment watching Russell Simmons being interviewed by Bill Maher last Friday night.

No, my embarrassment had nothing to do with the way Russell plugged his book - calling some of his marketing tactics shameless is a gross understatement akin to saying that Amy Winehouse sometimes has one too many drinks. But then again, I'm such a publicity whore that my "go-to" pick-up line when meeting women happens to be "Hello, I'm HumanityCritic, a blogger that lesser bloggers masturbate to!" I wasn't even embarrassed when he sounded blissfully incoherent about something that he claims to have fully embraced, yoga - you can tell when someone doesn't know what in the fuck they are talking about when they refuse to let the other person speak, the way Russell acted towards Bill Maher. Mr. Simmons came across like one of those brothers who reads one book in jail and when he gets out subjects you to constant nonsensical lectures. I guess my real embarrassment came when Russell casually let the N-Word fly out of his mouth while telling Bill Maher a story surrounding the retitling of his new book.

I mean, Russell, what happened to you asking record companies and broadcasters to remove or edit offensive words out of songs such as "bitch," "hoe," and "n*gga"? What happened to the man that we all saw sincerely trying to clean up the music that we all love, serving as a one-man task-force to singlehandedly do away with misogyny and the worst term of endearment imaginable? I'm just fucking with you Russell, we all know that said ban was just something that you pulled out of your ass so you could attempt to wash off that Oprah appearance stench that you had festering on your Phat Farm sneakers - but from one bullshit artist to another, you have to do a better job of maintaining the facade, man. I mean, you've already made people forget about the fact that you passed on Eminem, Nas, and didn't really want to sign The Beastie Boys or Public Enemy - based on those monumental acts of deception, not uttering the same words in conversation that you wanted to be banned seems like a rather pedestrian task for you. If you can't even do that, maybe you need to go sit your ass down somewhere...

(The same way Rick Rubin is the true brains behind Def Jam, the "white Yoda" as I call him - I have to shout out my homeboy Brother OMi, who sparked this very post. My Hip Hop Yoda if you will.)

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