Friday, May 20, 2011

THN Likely To Close After Rapture (PS: You're Not Invited To Heaven...)

That great getting up morning has finally come! So the world is ending tomorrow.

Eyyyyeahhhh GlORY!

That shat really sneaked up on a sister mane! The movies told me I had at least until 2012. I had so many more tilted wigs to snatch – so many more batches to slap. I’d only gotten up through 1988! Le sigh.

Eh well. It’s really about damned time the credits rolled on this piece. I mean, all the clues have been there – or did you think JLo and her insistence upon making “music” was NOT a sign of end times? I saw two horsemen run behind her in that last video…

Hell, the emergence of Donald Trump as a political contender was directly referenced in the New Testament! (And there shall arise one of withered peen and flapping jowl and he shall wear a crown of dryer lint…)

You’d better check your Revelations heathen!

Since I’m among the hardest Mahalia Jackson fan-flapping jaysus enthusiasts out there (halle-LEU-jah!) , I have no doubt I shall be getting sucked up in the heavenly vortex and doing the cha cha slide with Marvin Gaye around this time tomorrow – you know, while you’re back here enduring all the pestilence and destruction that your persistent abuse of weave products has brought upon you. (I offered you help heathen, and yet you continued to abuse the wet and wavy….)

I must admit that there are a few things I will miss – mostly to do with food products and the joy that comes from telling someone to go to hell (in due time, in due time…) I w ill also miss my cat, who’s been backslidden for years and will NOT be coming to heaven to be entertained by the Winans and served mojitos made from jaysus’ tears.

But there are plenty of things I won’t miss. Among them:

Flo-Rida’s hairline: Among my very few sins has been the negligence I have shown in not giving the full press coverage to one of the most offensive hairlines to emerge in decades. When that man teamed up with Brandy “Invisi-temples” Norwood, it was like a dream team of hairline shazzamery. I truly won’t miss the many furrough-browed nights I’ve spent struggling to divine the mystery of why this man would allow his hairline to be shaped like the letter W.

The Braxton Sisters: As much as I seem to love talking about these graceful creatures and their broomstick weaves, the fact of the matter is that it’s exhausting! I mean, every time I figure I’ve said all there is to say, BOOM, one of them turns up wearing hot pink lipstick with red lipliner and a pineapple shaped quick weave. My soul is weary. As weary as that sideways Pocahontas braid that one child keeps rockin’…

The entire District of Columbia: You know what our problems are. And you’d better be lucky I’m rolling out on the Glory Express tomorrow morning or it would be you and me whorebitch! I’ve got my Vaseline on my cheeks, my rings on my finger and the tiger in my eyes!

Coons: I was speaking to a friend yesterday about why coons continue to populate the earth. It’s like they come from a factory with the world's highest output and no plans on recalls. There’s no way to get rid of them – you shoot coons with a silver bullet, two more spring up. I had just shared with her my idea to rid the world of coons – a gun that shoots jobs instead of bullets… - when I got the telegram that plan “get thee fug out” was indeed going down tomorrow. A great idea that won’t come to fruition. At least I won’t have to deal with coons anymore – that I won’t miss.

Alright well I have packing to do. I hear they will provide me with a svelte robe and golden cord with which to tie it - it's couture, get you a piece slut! – but I’m going to try and sneak my judgey pants in anyway.

Eyeeeeeah glory!

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