The viewing for Marco Hall Spring 2011 collection during New York Fashion Week was one delicious 800 calorie serving of zestation delight swimming in a sea of creme brulée, but even more scrumptious than that was Gaymonn’s single ruby red lip and absentee eyebrows. Indulge!

Does this fever really warrant a write up? I didn’t think so. Prepare your pulsating Polly Pockets for take off! I’m sucking zest residue from a hundred bags of Doritos off my finger tips as we speak.

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Cooking up a gay joke at Go-Go’s expense? You might want to go and put it on the back burner and check the credits, heaux.

There’s one rumor that just, for whatever reason, will not die and I’m convinced that it’s just because they really can’t figure out anything else to say about me, which kind of doesn’t make any sense because if you really just wanted to talk bad about me you could. But there’s this whole gay thing that keeps following me around.

Apparently, I’m gay. Pretty much anybody that sings and has a penis is gay. So, I’m part of that elite squad according to multiple blog sites. I guess it’s because I never shot a person or talked about shooting a person or had a desire to shoot a person that I’m gay. (source)

Allow me to paraphrase Antoine Dodson for a moment:

Ne-Yo, you don’t have to come confess what you did. We looking for you, and we gon’ find you, so I’m letting you know that raht nah. So you can run and tell that, homeboy!