Veredicto Final recaps soon join the Divorce Court blog. On now: Priest/exorcist instead falls in love with a stripper and a family argument about either moving out or illicit relations, rudimentary Spanish tells me.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Wednesday Addams -- oops, I mean Monica Gray -- wants to purge Jonathan Gray from their marriage because she fears his mean streak onaccounta the fact that her father killed someone in front of her when she was young. And, CHiPs officer John Baker -- oops Jonathan Gray -- wants trade her in for a Thursday because she failed to tell him she'd been married not once, but twice before.
After sifting through 22 minutes of blah, he lies; blah, she says I'm irresponsible; blah, "he stripped me of my independency" and blah, we're governed by anger issues and call each other nasty names; it all seemed cut-and-dried to me: VH1 should give these two a few bottles of Hennie, and let the cameras just roll. If he was black-out drunk on the wedding night -- which he was -- America needs to see what happens behind the Grays' closed doors.
Call the show Gray's Insanity and let the chips fall where they may.
I know I'd watch. You know you would, too.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
So, a few years ago, when Roseann Jones said "I Do" to William Jones, he was 17 years older than she was. In fact, he's three years older than her parents. Fast-forward to this week, when they was on Divorce Court, because she wanted to take off because -- wait for it -- -- just a second longer -- he's acting like he's 17 years older than she is.
Well, there is something else: He don't like Young Jeezy, and he doesn't like watching Lifetime and BET with her in lieu of his soaps. They don't sleep Plus, "I smoke cigarettes and he doesn't likes that." I think she said "likes" to deflect attention from her smoking in bed. And that she calls him a "fat b[itch]." And, fat bitch seems to have a calendar of some dude he knew, in drag, laying across a pool table, 12 months of the year.
Seems William was in the midst of a mid-life crisis and someone hooked him up, in New York City, with a step-daughter who asked him to marry her after a month or so. The story's hard to follow. But what isn't is that William looks fly in his post-mid-life-crisis cornrows. "She was all about the money," the bus driver says. Beep beep!
Remember Miss Parker, the one who be banging midgets and ministers in Friday? Roseann be looking like that tramp, but with a whole lotta tracks or weaves or whatever them fake-hair jawns called these days. And William looks like a weight-bearing Mos Def at 45. Roseann, she grates on the nerves after 8 minutes, let alone 8 months or 8 years. When you break it on down to the bare elements, the whole point of running tight with a young broad is that the eye-candy do and treat you the way you want to be treated in exchange for a sweet ride and sweet house and supa-sweet dolla-bill stack in her pockets.
William, this Roseann chick and worth the investment of time or bed-side earnings. So git on ya bus and restore our faith in money-centered sexual relations.
Monday, December 7, 2009
In no way, shape or form should Sherrod Coleman be in the running for Pimp of the Year. He mumbles, he wears plain clothes (he wrapped sweatpants 'round his neck "like it was a fashionable scarf") and his bloodline probably hasn't sipped from a chalice since the days of Merlin. I think his wife of nine months, Angela, would agree. Even if Sherrod says she too bossy like the times she "steady telling me" how to drive safely, or when she complains about how fast his windshield wipers is on.
All that said, Sherrod's got a wannabe-pimpin' streak. Or at least that's how it seemed after Angela was all like People was watching us do a little dance so he asked onlookers at their regular bar, "You got some money for her. You want to buy her?" (Sarcasm, he says, because the dude was watching. Not pimpitude.)
The more I heard, though, the more I wish the voyeur had told Sherrod yes. Not only for the black-market profitability of a woman, but because I be thinking he's right: This woman's annoying, and averse to cooking and cleaning like Sherrod thinks a wife should do. But is she more annoying that Sherrod saying "why she thinking I always gotta leave a tip? If I pay for the meal, why I gotta leave a tip too?!" I'll leave that up to you to decide.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Sweet f'in Christ. As if it isn't bad enough that Derrick Peavey stole $425 off of his ladyfriend Tylinda. No. That's nothing. Here's what's bad: Derrick's temper. Maybe temper is too weak of a word. But pathologically violent isn't. He's brawling at hoops games. He's brawling at clubs. He's brawling in front of her kid. And here's what the kind of dude who delicately shaves a skinny beard-and-stash line on his mug has to say about allegations that he be brawling with his wife:
"If you big enough to put your hands on a man, you big enough to get hit back," says Derrick.
Oh really? So, Nicole Simpson asked for it? I don't wanna be hearing about Tylinda's purported cheating and mouthiness and box-cutter wielding and controlling nature.
Derrick's a punk-ass girl-and-child-punching bitch.
And, I ain't got no time for them on this blog.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
I think I should just let this story tell itself in over the course of a paragraph. Here goes:
Brittany Jenkins, a roomy girl, found a pair of size 5 panties in Chris Jenkins' car and, knowing full-well that she couldn't fit an ear in size 5 panties, figured Chris was cheating on her with a woman who could fit in size 5 panties. Chris Jenkins blamed Brittany Jenkins' mama, who'd recently borrowed the car, for leaving unmentionables under the seat. "I don't wear bikinis," said Brittany Jenkins' mama. "I wear the full cut." She then pantomimed pulling full-cut panties up over the hips. She had a cane in one hand. I didn't hear anything else they had to say.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Right out tha gate I was loving me some Michael Salley. Specifically, Michael Salley's "poof poof" magic trick in which he did a hand gesture twice while saying "poof poof" because he thought that'd make Irene disappear. That's some rad shit right there. Rad shit.
So anyway, Irene's all suing for daycare and Michael's all saying kid ain't be his. Claims he moved out to Cali, out to Cali, out to Cali, from Memphis to do right by her. But, after a week he knew she was gonna done do him wrong.
Well Irene's all glaring and laughing and shaking her head at ery-turn. She done programmed the remote to only let the TV tune to channels and shows she like. "I love Spongebob," says Michael. (Porno control, for the kids, she says.)
She also put a lock on the electrical box to keep the utility bills down and teach all of 'em that she meant it when she said turn the lights out when you leave the room.
And, says Michael, closed the kitchen when he was trying to make a sandwich after 8 p.m. That was the cleanliness cutoff.
This dame, she cold-hearted.
When Michael done met her, she had one foster kid. When he moved out to Cali to be a better dude, she had five. "She went and got some more. She got extra kids!" Well, he's got two of his own "by ring." Irene says she likes helping teenage girls. I'm sure a lot of my readers do as well, so that cool. At no point does Michael seem absolutely certain of how many children he has. He's a laundry attendant, too.
Oh, it keeps going.
She tried to get Michael a job "on the Internet ... but I'm not going to dress up like Chuck E. Cheese. There are some things I won't do!"
Then, he explains that she went to Louisiana for three weeks and came back pregnant. (I thought that happened to everybody, no?)
When she had the kid, she says he said, "I'm gone. I'll holler." Michael says he did NOT walk out. That he "escaped."
He claims Irene actually ate his birth certificate. "He had, in our closet, it was a walk-in. He had all these papers on the floor and I'm a nit-pick, I like a clean house," Irene retorts. "I told him if you don't get 'em up, I'm'a throw 'em in the trash. NO! He didn't want to pick em up. So I start pickin em up. ... They in the trash now."
She once called the cops saying he was holding her hostage. The rub: He was in Memphis. She was in California.
Oh, that DNA test? Kid's his.
Ironically, I sense a lot of love amid the chaos in Judge Toler's room this day. They gonna end up banging again. Bet.
Poof, poof. Hickey out.