Black Women's Improvement Project (BWIP)

BWIP: Fantasia is the Reason for the (BWE) Season.

I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this. But I have realised that I’m simply not to be trusted with my own promises to myself, so I’m writing about every one’s favorite (fallen) American Idol star, Fantasia Barrino. I mean, this poor woman, who just RECENTLY learned how to read, is a walking, talking cliche for how some of us black ladies feel so compelled to have some piece of a man and take what scraps we can get.

Exhibit A (I had to dust of some files to find this one:

You hear the part where the SOS Band lead singer keeps saying (?!!), people always talkin’ bout reputation? And then proceeds to say she doesn’t care what people say because, well, after dude has run around and poked the hoes—ehrm—I mean, the holes of as many women as HE wants, she’s got the fire ready with some Alize and a cheap swap-meet teddy waiting for that douche the come walking in at 3AM smelling of the Jessica Simpson perfume knockoff you can buy for 10 cents at CVS Pharmacy.

Fantasia recently had to admit that she NOT ONLY knew Mr. Just B. Goodtomie was MARRIED, but aborted his baby in August, which probably explained why she caught the crazies a few months ago and had to be hospitalized.

And you know the worst part about it? [Some] Black women DESERVE this crap. THAT IS, if ALL you want is a Negroidian man, knowing FULL WELL there ain’t enough of them to go around, and with the knowledge, resources, money and the newly-found comprehension of the English alphabet you STILL say color trumps character, then you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit. Plain and simple: even with fame and fortune, Fantasia eschewed looking for the best man for the job and just settled for what was comfortable and familiar. But I guess if all you’ve ever had to eat is bat guano, it just starts to taste like chicken, right?

Listen here, lurkers and BWE tender shoots: You elevate ANY man-I don’t care what color he is–to a level that you are willing to be the dog poop smear at the bottom of his Nike’s as he runs and stomps you further in and digs you out and dumps you in the trash, then you need a psychiatrist. THEN take two aspirin (or Vodka, whichever is handy) as visit Sojourner’s Passport, Acts of Faith Blog, Betty Chambers Has Spoken, and Interracial Dating Coach.

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