Danity has been telling me forever and a day and I have been denying the warning signs. I admit it. I have been ignoring the obvious slow descent of this pop princess because at the end of the day, I like Ri-ho-ho. Really, I do. She’s cute, she’s spunky, she’s fun, and most importantly, she’s not Britney Spears. But now, I cannot stay mute any longer and pretend like she is not slowly but surely losing her shit. So now it is time for my open letter to Rihanna in an attempt to save a heaux.
Dear Rihanna,
You have hit record after hit record because Jay-Z works you like a two dollar trick in a five dollar alley, you’re naturally pretty and don’t need to be airbrushed and Photoshopped within an inch of your life like Katy Perry, Britney Spears, and Tricki Fromaj. You even have a burgeoning acting career now that Battleship looks like it won’t actually sink. People actually think you are a thespian! Beyonce is even jealous of that! So now I want to know…what the hell are you doing?
What kind of role model are you? You’ve already re-enacted the Ike and Tina Revue courtesy of Chris Brown and what do you do? You go and record a couple of duets with him as if the previous hits from him were not enough. Are you cray cray? Do you like being slapped around, Ri-Ri?
Case in point. This past weekend in Los Angeles at Coachella, you are photographed with the prince king, EMPEROR of weed, Snoop Dogg, smoking on something that I know good and goddamn well was not a cigar. Fine, fine, I say. You’re from the Carribean. I get it. Everyone smokes down there. Hell, you probably came out the womb with a blunt between your stubby fingers. But as a celebrity with cameras following you everywhere, you might want to smoke behind closed doors. Or at least fill the room with smoke before you stand in front of one! If your eyes start giving you away, put on some sunglasses. Endorse a brand! Get a check! Ray-bans, b*tch!
What’s in that kush? Is it laced? Something in the milk ain’t clean and I need an explanation.
I can forgive the Ronald McDonald wig, I can forgive you stealing Goldie Hawn’s look, and I can even forgive your flashes of nudity because titty balls are fun for everyone, but come now, Ri-ho-ho! It’s time to get yourself together before Jay-Z drops you like a bad lace-front! Talk about a downward spiral in Payless heels!
Heaux up…or blow up!
That is all.
