Dearly Beloved Barbz

As the world, and when I say world, I mean Black Twitter attempts to pick its shock soaked jaw from the ground on which the career of Nikki Minaj now lays.  I find myself in an unadulterated serendipitous state of total and complete indifference.

 

Bypassing the tried and tested methods of good old fashioned murder, massacre and crucifixion; Remy Ma instead chose torture.  Teasing her victim, she painstakingly dismembered the body that once was the Minaj Legacy.  Cruelly scattering the charred and unrecognisable remains for all to see.  Though, of late, Nicki has been drug up and down the social media battle field more times than a piece of farm equipment at harvest time; I’m having trouble locating the balm of sisterly care, I am told exists within me.

 

For years Minaj has behaved like a Chihuahua, unaware of its size.  Snarling at other dogs regardless of their stature and fighting abilities.  Almost forgetting the inevitable circumstance would arise in which she would agitate a dog who would ultimately bark back.  But in this case, not only did Remy Ma bark, she bit, and did so savagely.

 

Let’s face it Barbz, you can wrap this situation up in a bow any way you want, but she had it coming. I’m no Taylor Swift fan, (if ever they held a ballot of women who should be voted of off the planet, I know who my ‘X’ would go to) but when Minaj tried to call out Swifty, because she felt overlooked by the VMAs, and then pretended she didn’t.  Few including myself leapt to her defence.  Why?  Because, though Nicki boldly declared she was speaking on behalf of Women of Colour, anybody with two brain cells knew Nicki Minaj was speaking on behalf of her-damn-self.  The only time Roman ever seems to find a voice to speak on issues regarding race is when it directly affects her.  Prosecution I refer you to her confrontation with Miley; her tweet based exposition of Iggy Azalea’s ghost-writers and her recent spat with Giuseppe Zanotti who apparently spurned her desire for a sartorial collaboration. The star’s protestations over the treatment of black women in the music industry all boil down, to the bitter soup of self interest; and when you take into consideration her consistently disrespectful, belittling and disdainful approach to the original Queen Bee; become at once laughable.

 

It is universally acknowledged that the emergence of a Chris Brown or an Usher is entirely dependent upon the existence of a fierce burning star like Michael Jackson.  Similarly, there would be no Nicki Minaj, without the wondrous multi-coloured be-wigged fabulosity of a Lil’ Kim.  No one is asking Onika to fall to her knees at the altar of Kim, in preparation of an hour of self-flagellation.  But a simple ‘thank you’ would be nice. Nicki snatched Kim’s wig off, like literally, snatched it off.  Along with everything else that made Kim the legend she is.  Instead of waiting for the torch to be passed, she stole it, not realising that eventually its flames would burn.

 

So, Dearly Beloved Barbz, I want you to remember the times of joy you shared together.  The jarringly, over-bright lipsticks; the wrongly matched foundation, the tooth decay, and the flipped implants.  Here lies the body of one who sang, who rapped and who sadly and untimely was Shethered.

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