Excuse me. I’m slightly drunk on vodka and cranberries and I’ve got a bed full of obsidian-eyed men drowsily offering to run their fingers through my hair and lick me so expertly I swear off English-speakers for life, but I had to interrupt my fun because Martin Fucking Brady said, when talking about Whoopi Goldberg, and I quote:
His mother was 16 when she gave birth to him, and he was her second child. (Whoopi was 18 when she gave birth in 1973 to her daughter, Alexandrea, who in turn went on to have a child herself in 1989 at the age of 16. But I digress…)
And girl, get your good self a good map!
I have no idea—and neither does Whoopi—why Michael Vick got into dogfighting, but it seems wise when pondering the issue to leave your own stupidity and bigotry at home.
I have no words. None. I mean, I consider the performative contradiction to be one of the most exquisite art forms ever, but this goes too far. You cannot insinuate that there’s something inherently immoral about being a young mother and you cannot call a grown black woman a girl and then turn around and complain about other people not leaving their stupidity and bigotry at home. Not without running the risk of the universe collapsing in on itself right where you are and crushing you. It just cannot happen.
That’s it. I must retire to my bed.