Roses are red, violets are blue and Future is a terrible fucking person. This should not be a novel idea to anyone who has ever read a Future interview, scrolled through Future’s social media accounts or listened to most of his catalog.
No one should need a member of the Mystery Machine to connect the dots. It’s the sort of tidbit that ought to be as clear as the color of those pearly teeth T.I. purchased a few years back, or those X-Men-character-inspired eyes his estranged wife, Tiny, had installed on another continent.
Yet whenever Ciara manages to do something with the child she shares with Future, suddenly, select members of #FutureHive and lifelong members of misogynoir manage to misplace their memory banks.
The latest instance of this concerns Ciara’s Harper’s Bazaar maternity shoot. Your cousins have tweeted things like this: “Ciara so disrespectful and I think she does the shit on purpose to get a reaction from Future and to blow up in court.”
Others, like talk show host Wendy Williams, have offered similar musings.
I love Williams, Lord knows I do, but sometimes her musings remind me of Leave It to Beaver.
Williams is right that Ciara aspires to be a black Kardashian, but Future is not Trap Ward Cleaver, and since he engages in public beef with her, they’re both attention whores in that respect. As far as the court thing goes, Future was sued by Ciara after he called her a bad mother and a “has-been” and ranted on Twitter about how he has to go through lawyers and $15,000 a month in child support to see his son. The end result was Ciara’s dropping her libel claims last October and the two of them settling the custody battle in January.
Here’s the thing, beloveds: Ciara doesn’t need Future’s money. One assumes that she saved some of the money she made from Goodies and invested, but even if she didn’t, she is married to Russell Wilson. Rocko, Future’s estranged friend and record producer who’s hit Future with a multimillion-dollar lawsuit, can’t get any money out of Wilson.
Now factor in what Future recently said about the sacrifices his children have had to make because of his career.
Speaking with Zane Low on Beats 1, Future explained:
You gotta sacrifice so much, even the times with your kids. You have to just do music and you’re becoming this entertainer and so many people require so much of your time for different things, different obligations you have to make money, or just different obligations you have as a person in whatever the situation may be. You gotta leave town and miss out on certain things, that you feel like you should be there. Like, your dad should be a part of this moment. I gotta be like, “Damn, man, your daddy really a superstar and entertainer.” My kids gotta understand, they gotta make a sacrifice, having a superstar dad. My career choice is my career choice. Just stepping out of that zone, to be able to be a provider. I understand my position as a provider and my role as a dad also. ... Just being able to be comfortable with it. Everybody wanna be a super dad and the best dad ever but sometimes, I’m just realizing that I’m not perfect.
For context, former President Barack Obama made it certain that he would have dinner at 6:30 p.m. every night with his family. Obama was so committed that he annoyed leaders like Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu by chunking him the deuce and telling him that he had to go have dinner with the loves of his life. Granted, Obama probably called Bibi a “bitch” numerous times, but that aside, if Obama could make time to be a father while running the nation, Future has no excuses.
DS2 is important, but c’mon, nah.
To Future’s credit, he’s been pretty clear about his terribleness in his art.
Let’s just look over select lines from Future, the first of his two recently released albums:
Your baby mama fuck me better when the rent’s due.
Trash.
She sucked my dick, she came home, I bet she kissed you.
Rude.
I hate if you love her, I’m gon’ fuck her.
Even ruder.
That’s yo’ bitch? I just bought her.
The rudest.
Fuck your squad, they some queers.
Homophobic rudeness. If you’re wondering, yes, I did that thing a lot of folks do when they’re dancing to their debasement at the club or party: “He ain’t talking about me.”
Spoiler: He is.
And do we not remember that sexist game he released three years ago?
Not to mention, Future is basically Rap Karen Walker from Will and Grace. This man talks about Xanax like it’s water. He has me out in these streets rapping out loud, “Percocet, Molly, Percocet” like a crackhead well-off, white-collar professional. Sure, he denies being as druggie in real life as he is in his music, but people lie.
I love Future’s music so much, but I have to wrestle with my conscience and my Black Jesus that I am listening to a bunch of vile, misogynistic and overall awfulness to great production value. Yeah, that’s most of hip-hop, but Future reminds us all that there are levels to the shit. I maintain a level of cognitive dissonance about a few things, but at least I know Future ain’t shit.
You can be a member of #FutureHive and know what one plus one equals and know that Future is an ain’t-shit man squared.
My saving grace is that unlike Ciara, Plan B would be my BFF if I were dating this conflicted a man with multiple baby mamas. Ciara didn’t need an Yvonne from Boomerang to wave a warning sign in front of her; she had Google, iTunes, DatPiff and all of Atlanta.
So when it comes to the words “Ciara,” “Future” and “wrong as hell,” what should come to mind is her ditching Future and Mike Will Made-It after the success with “Body Party.” Why would Ciara go from the people who handed her the biggest hit she’s had in years to generic B-sides from Dr. Luke? Apparently she thinks she’s international pop star Kylie Minogue and not the girl behind “Goodies,” “1, 2 Step,” “Promise” and “Ride.” Ciara could have been the chicken-fried-steak version of Janet Jackson, and she blew it. Bless her heart and the flop road she keeps paving.
That choice may be unforgivable, but as far as criticizing Ciara for moving on with her life and celebrating her new family goes, who didn’t hug you, you heartless sum’bitches? What do y’all do when the man you procreated with disses you multiple times and shares with the world that he puts aside daddy duty to hit the studio? If your answer is, “Don’t take pictures with your new husband,” y’all are the early Mary J. Blige albums, while she’s The Breakthrough.