A Letter to Beyonce…Signed & Sealed with Love (Commentary)

August 30th, 2009 | By Alejandro Ford

Commentator/EX-Beyonce fan, Alejandro Ford, explains why he’s no longer a Beyonce fan in a scathing letter to the R&B superstar.

Daaayum Bey Dot Carter aka Bey-Botnik (OoO NoO this N@$$@ di’nnnt) …wait, Bey-Botnik?! …Err YES ugg-toes, BEY-BOT-NIK…you’re officially the hottest/fake-as-hell-est trip..err, double (…and 1/4) threat on the planet and nothing more than a lace-frontalicious BEYcepticon who will NEVER touch Tina Turner, Diana Ross or Barbara Streisand (…respectively) no matter how much you infuse their legendary performance styles/musical concepts with your own blatantly unoriginal, criminally contrived, pre-programmed-POP-icon persona(s).

Ha, Me = Stone-Cold Hater?! …Uh, *Negative*, you remote-controlled bald-skullded booty wobbler… but rather a fearless ultra-realist whose watched you grow from a southern-smathered cutey-patootie with a bright future into a track-jacking, group-wrecking, attention-lusting, POP-burbling label-puppet devoid of any discernable humanistic emotions or internal organs closely resembling a functional brain/beating heart …

Pleaaase Bey-Botnik… drop the mic, take five steps back and press your head against Optimus Prime’s plasma cannons so we can end this madness and focus on your (…more tolerable) younger, fashionably superior replacement — RiRi Fierce — who certainly cuddles with Hov more than you ever have (I’d say you’re kissing RiRi’s poon-de-replay with a sprinkle of Breezy whenever you kiss Hov) and actually has an interesting ‘story’ unlike you who was born with a diamond-studded spork lodged in your mouth and raised in the deliciously spacious outskirts of Houstonné  aka Houston …

…Not true?! … Hell, you confirmed this with your own fibb-stained lips:

YOU = “I grew up in a very nice house in Houston, went to private school all my life and I’ve never been to the hood … Not that anything’s wrong with the hood.”

…OK yea, I know…how dare I knock your ‘Upper-Middle-Class’-ish upbringing and disrespect your beautifully balanced (…and ‘un-business related’) marriage, but DAMN, we all know the truth, which explains why you’ve slept in the guest room ever since Rihanna Fenty scribbled the ‘y’ onto her Def Jam deal and settled into your lavish queenie with the HOVster (…while dropping three albums in three years and sashaying across the globe as the princess of a genre that you now find yourself lost in).

Face it wifey-turnt-side-piece #2, RiRi Fierce is the fresh, new, less talented YOU, that will continue to snatch headlines and blog space from you if you continue to drop these whack azz albums = I Am…Sasha Fierce, torture your ‘fans’ with utterly predictable pot-boilers like Obsessed and rock butt-azz-fugly, sequin encrusted debutante ball gowns aka Disney-themed costumes on the red carpet courtesy of Tina/obscure designers …

(…WoOo YES… how I loved that Little Mermaid-inspired, salt water-splashed onesie (by Balmain) that you rocked during the ’09 BET Awards …Sabastian the Crab thought it was Fierce…Mon…Fierce!).

Seriously, Bey-Botnik, you’re too damn grown, wealthy and widely-recognized to still be playing ‘dress up’ with your mama and would definitely do your career a favor if you 8-6’d Tina and hired a well-respected stylist like Rachel Zoe to prevent you from routinely being thrown behind bars by the Fashion Police…

… And, uh, I’d also expect you to roast your ‘Acting For Dummies’ books and hire a ‘real’ acting coach like Tasha Smith (‘Angela,’ Why Did I Get Married) to help you develop the respectable acting chops that you’ve NEVER EVER, in your life, possessed but would definitely need to somehow play Eartha Kitt (…in the upcoming bio-flick) and possibly *gulp* She-Hulk in the new Avengers movies …

(*PAUSE* …Be real, you were channeling Oprah’s ‘Sophia’ circa 1901 with a drip-drop of Angela Bassett’s ‘Tina-Turnerish’ over-the-topness during your infamous telephone scene in Obsessed weren’t you?! …You know, the scene where you glare ‘intensely’ into the camera with the phone against your ear while trembling, before muttering: “Youuu’s came into my’s house … yooou’s touched my’s chile … you’s think you’s cra’see … I’mma shows you CRA’SEE!” *claps*…WoOo Bey… you… were… GOOD! *laughs uncontrollably*)

…But then again, you probably LOVED everything about Obsessed (…and pocketed 63% of the $68 million that it grossed at the box office…) even if it gave Black women another excuse to despise ‘Brotha lusting white women’ (…or white women in general) and currently reigns as the worst reviewed film of the year (rottentomatoes.com) with the worst acting featured in any film this year + the most atrocious auburnish-burnt-orangy weave in motion picture history …

Believe me, Obsessed will NE-VER be allowed within 575 feet of any sensical movie buff’s coveted DVD collection (…including mine) and will continue to force cultural critics like myself to label you as a double and ¼ threat (damn that triple-threat shyt) until you prove otherwise. *Sorry*

And with that said, I now expect this letter to be shredded into a million pieces because you feel like a ‘victim’ whose been viciously ebullied by some random music head with no valid reason for harboring such deep-seated animosity toward YOU — a supremely-talented flagship artist with a raucous fan base spanning across the Milky Way galaxy well into the never-ending space time continuum…

…BwaaaHaaaa, fall back Fraud-Bot, you know exactly why I’m GOIN’ (Alllll The Way…) IN on your sheisty azz especially after you sh*tted on your supposed ‘idol’ Michael Jackson during BET’s ‘tribute’ to promote the second disc of your commercially-successful double-disaster I Am…Sasha Fierce (…with 5 ‘up-tempo jams’ on one disc, 6 ‘ballads’ on the other and 4 different ‘special editions’ *smh*).

..Mhhmm… how could your ME-first-Earth-second-minded azz forget your crowning achievement?! …Pssh, I never will, because I was the dude with the ugly scowl stained across his face when you ‘magically appeared’ on the stage in an absolutely mind-molesting ‘Bootylicious Nutcracker,’ Cinder-relli-No-The-Helli Bridal apparatus (…with a couture camel toe cut) made out of femme-polar bear fur/African insect wings and belted out the million-year-old opera favorite “Ave Maria” as if no one in the global viewing audience had ever heard it before…

…Yeaaaaa OK, aiight, so it was Poppa Knowles who forced that dress on you…eh?! …and made you sing that Jesus-kissed concerto piece?!

…DAMN Bey-Botnik… then it also must’ve been Poppa Knowles who dismantled Destiny’s Child 1.0 & 2.0 (I know you see LeToya and Kelly makin’ MAJOR moves), obsessively jacked other artist’s tracks (Haven’t you heard Jon McLaughlin’s “Smack Into You” that sounds eerily familiar to your album cut/Obsessed end theme “Smash Into You?!” *side-eye*) and demanded that you snub J. Hud after Dreamgirls hit theaters because it was supposed to be YOUR movie… not hers …Uhh, errr… :-/  …

So there Bey-Botnik, here are the rocks and I suggest you kick them on your way to the 2^nd place spot behind RiRi Fierce who will slowly convert your thirsty azz fans to Team RiRi over the next several months…And YES, it’s true, I definitely used to rock with you and can never deny your untouchable talent but you showed your azz for the last time and will no longer receive my support in any of your future music/movie-related endeavors.

However, I highly recommend you read between the lines of this letter and realize that you’re living on borrowed time in the public’s eyes and will continue to be attacked if you don’t OPEN UP and prove that you’re not just some label-controlled, ultra-private, cootch-contorting-cyborg but rather a living, breathing, mega-successful supa-starlet (…with a story to tell) whose definitely more than meets the eye.

Love,

‘Alejandro’ Ford

http://twitter.com/AlejandroDaGr8

P.S.

There’s a reason why you’ve never been formally recognized for your ‘acting ability’ (NOPE, not even an NAACP Image Award) and my money says you’ll never win an Oscar during your career or even be nominated twice for the two that your ‘idol’  Barbra Streisand smootches every night before she falls asleep … *Good Luck*