Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Bishop Magic Don Juan's church days exposed (please nail me to my cross now)

I can't do this shat no more but you can press play and have the soul of Kunta roused inside of you if you dare.

I am reminded of a time in my life, lo just about four years ago, when I found myself at what was ostensibly a gospel conference (clearly recruiting for the Prince of Darkness) and stumbled upon a treasure trove of church gear. Oh it was vests. Space hats. Cuff lanks (yes, with an a). Gators. Pocket squares. I almost shat right then and there, in the Majestic Hall of Church Coonery.

And still I held on. Until this. I suspect this fuggery was born of the early 80s, but nowadays, hell there ain't no tellin'. This could've popped off in a Macon Motel 6 last week.

I just want the sale of those fu-manchu robes to cease. THAT, dear readers, is what I believe is behind all this ministerial fragganacklery.

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