They’re finally here. Thanks to Whitney for scanning.Edit: I ripped Chris Brown’s performance with Rihanna at the 2007 VMA’s. You can download it by clicking hereP.S. If you’re wondering who I am, I am the girl who runs Oh-Rihanna.com. Just dropping by to help one of my best buddies out.
To those of you that have counted me out, ‘Hello!’. To those of you that have continued to support me and will do so, ‘Thank you, but see you later.’I am not leaving the site, but hopefully, by the end of the week, I will be on an extended hiatus.Bianca, Whitney, Ashley, and our new love Mike, will be holding you down for the time being.The most I do from time to time is post media, but you’ll never know when it’s me.So, (until)/(if I don’t return), I just want to take the time out to truly thank you and bless you all.Is been what it has been, and it’s been nothing but real.– Dominiquemyspace.com/soulsincere ps. I’ll leave you with one last piece that resounds with so much truth, it’s literally sickening for me: ‘You’ll never see it my way, because you’re not me’ — Britney Spears
..today.(If/When the image archive gets repaired).
According to Sony BMG Australia’s B2B site, ‘Exclusive’ will be released on 11.03.07 in Australia.
Sorry for the slow hiatus! CBWeb should be back on track soon, I came up with this great idea, now all you CBWeb addicts can subscribe to posts with our RSS feed! That way you’ll be up-to-date with everything and won’t have to miss a post — ever again! You can even receive the latest on Chris Brown via your inbox! Pretty dope, huh? Now get to it and subscribe! And please bare with us for the time being…
Hey guys, this is Mike from Think2Wice, I’ll be helping my friend Dominique out with CBWeb for the time being so stay clicked!Meanwhile, make sure you tune into the 2nd Annual BET Hip-Hop Awards show October 17, at 9pm (ET/PT). Stomp The Yard is nominated in the Best Hip-Hip Movie category with Smokin’ Aces, Shottas, Idlewild, and Gridiron Gang following suit. Click Here for more information.
Chris Brown is all grown up. From chasing models to having “friends with benifits,” there’s more to him than a chipmunck smile and relentless dancing. With his new EXCLUSIVE, he’d like to take you to bed.Harlem, USA. 114th and Lenox. Martin Luther King Jr. Towers. Saturday night in late July. It’s hellish hot, but not scorching enough to stop a good game of basketball. At the Kingdome, a seedy but legendary court in the middle of the ‘hood, the Sacramento Kings’ Ron Artest is warming up.He jogs up and down the fractured concrete. With each poetic motion, spectators’ eyes dance along with his sweaty moves, gasping to his body’s every chord. But suddenly all eyes are no longer on Artest. Suiting up underneath a blue tent is Artest’s younger teammate. His name is Chris Brown.When the MC announces Brown’s arrival, spectators strain to see. Camera phones flash. The bleachers tremble. When he walks onto the court, the screaming crowd warms up, as does a fortysome-thing heckler wearing a white tee and a face that’s seen better days.”Yo, Chris!” he barks from the top of a bleacher. “Is your man on the flo’, if he ain’t, let me know?” he cracks, singing lyrics from Brown’s 2005 “Run It.” The crowd bursts out laughing, but Chris ignores him. His face is tight and firm, like a boxer ready to beat the hell out of someone.If he’s mortified by the trash-talker, it only shows once he starts handling the ball. Someone throws him an easy pass, and he fumbles it. He gets the ball again and starts dribbling fiercely, channeling Allen Iverson. He crosses over, drives to the basket, and.. .misses. Brown gets the ball again, swivels on his heel, and heads back to the hoop –air ball.”Why he trying to get all crazy?” a teenage boy on the sideline says, sucking his teeth.Soon enough, it’s time for Chris to leave. His road manager, Maceo Price, gives him the neck-slicing “cut” gesture. But as Chris inches toward the gate, so do an army of teenage girls. Then, suddenly, kids male and female, big and small, race across the court after him. A big-chested girl about the age of 15, rocking a worn-out weave and miniskirt, slows down to catch her breath. “Chris Brown,” she mutters with a smile, “is the shit.”By then, though, Chris is a block or two away, ensconced in a shiny black Escalade, leaving exhaust fumes behind him. A gaggle of screamingkids become a mere speck in the rearview mirror.
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