BET Hip Hop Awards

BET's Hip Hop Awards…
Hell, even that TITLE feels like a joke, not terribly dissimilar to "Churches presents The Chicken's connoisseur banquet"

Didn’t watch a single SECOND of them… I watched Operation Repo for the most of it, then whatever came on Tru TV after that.
Why?
Well, two reasons actually…

  1. I swore BET to be against my religion sometime around 2004-2005ish, and there is no going back on that now… Sure, as with EVERY religion, everyone slips up here and there and watches an entire season or 3 of American Gangster, but I have pretty much held onto that.
    They can syndicate all the bad black UPN sitcoms and whatever Tyler Perry of the moment they want to, but I would be damned if I am watching BET programming in general unless Free’s ass is involved anytime in the foreseeable future.
  2. I am SO SICK AND FUCKING TIRED of current-age hip hop music and especially artists… I was at the computer with The Tweeter and The Book of Face both awake while I worked on various other things. That said, I know through the rampant mention of Southern “acts” that I do not give a mad assfuck about, washed up formers resurfacing and the description of what they were wearing and the collective all-at-once mention of Dipset and how they needed Cam’Ron on stage with them – as if they ever ACTUALLY mattered as a collective even with him – that I was missing nothing in my choice to be entertained by what I chose to be entertained by. That said, I love cooking, so the salmon filets with buttery Brussels Sprouts and brown rice, combined with the presence of The Katie and Bruiser were more than enough for me when combined with the television I did choose to take in.

I am to understand that the most entertaining element of the show were the so-called “cyphers” that apparently didn’t get NEAR the shine they should have, with one blog even going as far as to say that this should become a show to itself. BET being BET, however, needed you to see Rick Ross’ chain and Nicki Minaj’s ass and chosen ‘tard face of the moment, so the thing that actual lovers of hip hop and not the circus that it has become are left watching Rehab: Party at the Hard Rock Hotel because he has left the remote on the coffee table 15 feet away.
The colored among us – being those who can NEVER call a black comedian unfunny so long as he is loud – will go on about how great Mike Epps was as host, but I am not too sure that sells me. I don't give passes for coonin', and if everyone had such facilities, then perhaps BET would have been put out of our collective miseries YEARS ago.
DJ Premier as host DJ intrigued me, but not enough to make me go get my remote.

All that said, I cannot pretend to have an opinion that is not conveyable through my preconceived notions, since I did not allow myself even a MINUTE of the programming, not even links to performances posted on FaceBook immediately following the broadcast… And I am not going to watch ANY of the rebroadcasts either. Iwill allow myself to remain purely in the dark on this one.

Now if you will excuse me, I need to go yell at the damned neighborhood kids for walking on my lawn.
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