Soulful singers soothe sorrowed souls with wise words and affectionate affirmations as they purposely promote positivity while standing as soldiers fighting for folks to feel solid senses of self-love and self-worth. “I’m not the average girl from your video, and I ain’t built like a supermodel, but I learned to love myself unconditionally, because I am a queen!” If botched bodies, bad BBLs, bubbly boob jobs, fake facial features, etc. aren’t indicative of intense insecurities among the world’s women, why would women popularize phoniness and plastic personal parts? India.Arie, at this point, every Earthly entertainer knows who I am, Beau Amoureux—Christ’s chosen champion. And my opinions obviously hold weight with many misters and ma’ams who popularly pontificate publicly. I haven’t heard the song that prompted pushback from you—one of said soul-soothing soulful singers. But as a victim of vicious, viral allusive attacks and subliminal slights intentionally initiated by conspirators controlling the inimical, injurious industry that broadly broadcasts malicious messages that you’ve tried to counteract with conscious content your entire career, I know for a full fuckin’ fact that they want the biggest big-named black women to represent indecency, inferiority, and intense insecurities. Sex sells, as well as sheer stupidity. The broadly broadcasted bullshit is by design, as we all already know. So, why would women want to portray predetermined presentations of pitifulness and repulsively represent their culture in the worst ways possible? Incontrovertibly, it’s because it’s popular—trendy and typical. Again, individuality isn’t typically trendy, but pretending, performing, and playing phony parts is always pretty popular. Being yourselves must be badly boring, huh? If y’all know that famous folks are fake as fuck, with flamboyant fellows like Fat Joe fibbing for fun, and 50 Cent proudly being the pettiest, most puerile person in hip hop, what in this wildly wicked, war-ridden, worrisome, wasteful, worsening world are you lamebrains looking up to?! If there’s “no business like showbusiness,” and showbusiness is the big business that pays people to perform and pretend, what the figgity fuck makes you think “real niggas” and “real bitches”—who’re paid to play parts—are really “real?” Moving on, Your Honor, they think this shit is over! How the fuck how? Stupid motherfuckers, Lizzo, “the fat lady,” ain’t stopped singing at all, and still, the show goes on. Do you know how I know y’all are stupid? It’s because I told y’all time and time again that “Beau don’t break,” but you’ve been bending backwards without breaks believing you’ll break me. That’s some stupid-ass shit! Anyhoo, Tigger’s triggered tantrum stays tacked to my totally taken-over timeline, so the country’s chief conspirators must want wise words from a decent man on this touchy topic. Domestic violence is super scary for everyone experiencing it—whether witnessing, being innocently involved, or as an antagonist or assailant. And without question, wildly wicked women are antagonists and assailants all the time. What makes said wildly wicked women think that vaginas definitely disqualify them from being guilty of causing chaos and conflict? Again, stupid-ass bitches, stupid-ass bitches exist everywhere! It’s unreasonable and unimaginably unrealistic for folks to feel that females can’t be fiercely feisty fighters who’re super stupid shit-starters. Come on, now! Notwithstanding, there are distinctive, defining differences between womanizing wimps or misogynistic meatheads and frustrated, fed-up men making major mistakes. Needless to say, Tigger has no history of hitting hoes or beating bitches, or even calling chicks bitches and hoes, so something really ridiculously regular and repetitive surely set him off. Tig, “Rap City’s” fire, flame spitter, you’re probably the humblest host in hip hop history, and I don’t think any less of you for having your humanity salaciously scandalized. I only called your temporary temper trip a “triggered tantrum” because that would be a hot headline in hateful humans’ eyes, it’s a demonstration of petty, puerile people’s predictability, and alliterations are my calling card at this point. But at the end of the day, “bitches ain’t shit but hoes and tricks!” No, seriously, there’s nothing new about domestic disputes. I’m not on the “believe women” boat, because liars love lying and grudgeful gripes ain’t gender-specific. And if I thought you were a bald-headed bitch, I’d have said that shit. Players fuck up, sir. Ask Mike Epps, a celebrity co-conspirator. As for the lovely lady, if you’re reading this, I hope your head heals without scarring, and let this be a lesson in love. Ain’t nobody got time for a bunch of bullshit. Which is why soon…
Omniscience