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I Man, You Man, We All Hate the I-Man
The five syllables you don't say on the radio.

by Richard Mr. Moo Moore
April 15, 2007

Once again, the choice for bull and bizarre of the week has little doubt.
Don Imus, better known as the I-Man to radio folk, has hit the top of foolishness and has captured an award that has placed him in the recent company of Vince McMahon and Sanjaya. Not for the same reason, you understand. Matter of fact, Imus would probably settle for being a bald billionaire or a tone deaf survivor of American Idol. But he made it to the "Bull and the Bizarre"
The five syllables? "Nappy headed ho's"
We are in an age of shock jocks. The more bizarre, the more attention. The more attention, the more listeners. The more listeners, the more high priced sponsors want to advertise on your show. The more high priced sponsors want to advertise on your show, the higher you can have your salary demands. And get them met. And soon you can be the subject of the column from 2 issues of the Observer in one week. (I'll get there in a minute.)
But all "good" things come to an end! I-Man is gone. See ya. Outta here. Hiz-tow-reeeeee. (That's history for those of you new to my "spell it the way it sounds" vocabulary.)
The Pot Calling the Kettle White -  by my fellow observer, Michael Thomson,  takes a good look at one angle of the story. And he is so right. Thanks, Michael.
Now, I will admit that the first time I ever heard the phrase "nappy headed" was in a Stevie Wonder song in the 1970's. But I get it. At least Stevie didn't lead the way for gangsta rap music. That came with the addition of the fifth syllable. I also don't have to be explained what is a "ho". I get that too.
Black or white, bald or Mohawks or corn rows, I realize that the five syllables – nappy headed ho's - are not complimentary. Imus blew it. He apologized. Over and over again and seem to make it worse with each "I regret saying what I did".
Being the basketball fan that I am, I loved watching the Rutgers team advance from round to round and eventually make it to the finals. I did enjoy the fact that Rutgers didn't quite make it to the Summit. (For explanation of the pun, see the name of the head coach from University of Tennessee.)
These girls, yes I'm old enough to have children of that age, busted their butts to get where they could be called everything but national champions. Great job ladies! You deserved every great thing said about you. Except, you didn't deserve the nappy headed ho's.
Your hair is different than mine. Your tattoos are different than I would get if I was in the market. Your music styles are different than mine. You still didn't deserve the five syllables.
But for Imus, the week was salvageable. Except for one thing. He didn't figure out at what point to keep his mouth closed so he wouldn't change feet. But I don't worry about millionaires working after 65. Let 'em retire to their ranch in the southwest. Let them do night clubs that some might notice. And soon enough, he will be back on the air on SIRIUS, XM or something similar.
Howard Stern is there with his over the top rants. Two clergy that embarrass common sense clergy (Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton) are there with their "holier than thou" racist rants. And there are plenty others who have found a home preaching to the choir.
I-Man will be back preaching to his choir, no matter the size. It'll just be on a different frequency.
You know, my I-Tunes is sounding good. Hey, dead air is sounding better all the time.

About the Author:
Mr. Moo understands that you reap what you sow. And Imus sowed a bunch this week.

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