- Demented and brilliant
If Re, god bless her goes to her reward and with Nippy gone but still selling, you will assume your rightful place as the fourth most important living black female singer over seventy in our current history.
Congratulations and condolences.
- So, Miss Warwick, when you will be appearing on Fix My Life? You obviously have some issues (other than the apparent ones) if you think somebody is going to pay to see this!
- Thank you for the con/con, R2. But I already rank at the top and I am barely sort-of 50ish. They lied about my age when I got started because they were afraid the CIA would snatch a prodigy like me and use me in a warhead. Shit. Re was around to push Marian Anderson off the stage to get to the hot dogs Mrs. Roosevelt had laid out for her on the "separately distinguished" table in the gift shop at the Lincoln Memorial.
Sorry. Got me some bad shit. I am so speedy I got Lupella up to scrub the foyer so I could watch. When I'm like this I gotta keep busy or I start pulling on my earlobes, and at this point I turned my head too fast at lunch and before I knew it Cissy had speared one on her fork with some sausage and had already swallowed it. Like pulling up a bucket from a deep black well. And the earring never did turn up. Or down. Or out. So she said.
R3, if you give them what they want they will show up. And Re has offended so many people by now they'll be massing at the doors just for proof she axually kicked it. So those butchers and fast-food delivery people can sue the estate for back pay.
And it's time. It really is. Do you know that at her last gig she had a blacksmith bellows stuck up her ass to help her hold those half notes at the end of her lines without taking four breaths and a nap to get through them? Sad. I hope when I start to think about approaching anything near her age I'll have the sense and dignity
- Miss Warwick, who was (and is) the bigger slut? Auntie Ree or Diane Ross?
- She be scarin da chillren. Somebody hep her! Hep her!!
- Baby at R5. Truth? Truth then. For free because I am still speeding my ass off and I'm concerned I am going to have to call the EMTs for Lupella, since I now have her making little shoes for all those brown recluses in my Souvenir and Awards Salon. What was the broom closet. I AM TIRED AS SHIT of seeing all those fucking spider footprints all over my five Grammys and my People's Choice Award when I am not using it for insertable workarounds for my hard-to-scratch places. And Lupella keeps screaming something that sounds like, "OUCH! OUCH! OUCH!" I don't speak Rio, I tell her. But I do know that speed kills. It just ain't gonna kill me.
Anyshit, Re never got into the bam-bam much. First, when your daddy the Eminent is baptizing you with his River Jordan at an ungodly early age you get a little catty-wampus about the Cock. AND secondlish, when you're Re's size and you DO finally get that motor going, people are apt to be hurt. Who she didn't crackle under her, she smothered in the mattress. Don't dig under all those rose bushes in Bloomfield Hills.
Diane? She didn't like all that jabbing and sticking and pokin' either. In her early years she said Berry would leave her with bruised hipbones on the inside, and she was just just too delicate for that shit. (Berry back in the day - yummy. Except for taking money out of your purse while making a phone call just when heaven was swallowing you up.) Of course she is well cushioned now. Quilted even.
Diane had her Berry-baby and four halfers (half black coffee and half Cremora) using the china teacup system. (She'd blow and spit and add a little tepid tea and do a douche. She thought it was classy because she heard that's what the English do. Poor Diane. The only time she ever got horny was the first time she saw Michael Jackson's first "I AM THE NEW DIANA ROSS" look. Not that she would touch him - his bones were even more delicate than hers. That's why he liked them young. "Like a silly skeeter bite in a secret place" he'd whisper.
SO the answer to your questions is Re, of course. If you want to know who the BIGGER slut is, do you really need to ax?
- Now this is some sangin'
- Thank you, R8. As you see, I did brang out the best in poor Re. Also, you will note this is the only recorded performance where she did not physically shove the other stage sharers off the stage, although she WAS doin' her best to ignore me. It was right at the start of her "I'll dress like a stage curtain and step downstage and everyone will assume I am on the apron while they are fixin' the set behind me" days. Which kept on to the sad, diminished-except-for-jowls present.
Damn, I look good. And glad to let some of my sparkle and shine dapple her. But, shit, what was with that blue eye shadow, Aretha? Quit that clownin', girl. Usually you just wear makeup to match your lunch, so the splash and spray don't show as much.
Don't mind my speedy self. I vibrated through the canes on my rattan settee and am now sitting on the floor waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Dumb fuck Lupella would get bit. And stung - I guess there were scorpions there too, or somethin'. And the bitch is acting like being foamy mouthed and catatonic is an excuse not to go get me a vodka-and-juice-box. I see that hand twitchin'. Don't fool me.
Lupella appears to have kicked the bucket. A mess all over my Souvenir and Awards Salon.
And then the bitch dropped dead.
How the fuck was I supposed to know brown recluse spider bites and scorpion stingers are serious when they tally over 100? Am I a health professional? A fucking Orkin spritzer? A HOUSEFUCKINGWIFE?
So I dint answer the door when the stopped-for-a-hot-dog-sorry-we're-late EMT people showed up. I called Damont - he's been driving limos for the June wedding crowd with his old agency while I have stayed bunker-bound during my Re Sendoff planning. (She only had two buckets of Church's Spicier Spicy for lunch today. The family is gathering.) And he took old Lupella out back for the rites of passage. Thank Fucking God Friday is dumpster pick-up and they was running late.
So NOW I have to find a replacement maid/housekeeper/syringe cleaner ON TOP OF my comeback over Re's goaway. Why is life so hard to me?
And the bitch had $2,700 in her bank account. Liar! "I send the last home to pay for my Mama's cancer surgery." Liar! So I cleaned that out and called my main man for some bring-her-back-downs 'cause this fucking permaspeed has me wasting entirely too much time talking to nobodies. Hey - maybe there's an insurance policy somewhere in the "effects." AKA that shoebox under her floormat she used as a pillow.
DAMONT! VODKA AND JUICE BOX! NOW!!!!!! But wash your hands first. P.U.
An inordinate number of people seem to die in your approximity Miss Warwick. It is nice that you find work for them after their sad and suspicious demises.
Where were you when Luther passed - Did he pass? He loved you so. Almost as much as he loved Patti. Is Luther capable of performing still? He was my first husband I always say, though he was never informed. Did he let handsome white men "complement" him, if you get what I am sayin? It means something different with an E Miss Warwick.
Sorry to make this note about someone other than you. But I miss Luther. Do you ever think of him? Did Re EVER have a kind word for anyone's singing Miss Warwick? She seems sweet on Smokey.
I never did think that Aretha was the greatest singer of all time even if Rolling Stone magazine does. But you know that everyone will say that she was if she passes. Even the white people. If she could live long enough for her reputation to further be degraded, wouldn't this work better for you? Nippy deserved all praise even if she hadn't been feeling well for about 15 years before she hit her head. Re is cold long before she is gone, but she is clean living. Maybe you are being premature in your memorializing.
Tina is alive, but no one remembers. If she passes there will be a lot of attention paid. You should think about this before more greats and ingrates die so lovingly and suspiciously close to you is my advice. Is Lupella really dead or just off the payroll?
- Is she going to have a gold hearse like nappy?
- Sweet one, R11, of COURSE I weep to think of LuLu. Even if it was Patti that he started the fan club about, and not moi. I have always assumed he pitied her neediness and knew I was so strong, secure and successful I didn't need any pumping up. Unfortunately Patti got so pumped up that when she started walking around in that long blonde fur she looked like she was a knockwurst in a shaggy bun.
Yes, Luther passed. Eight years ago. You need to catch up, sister.
Yeah, Luther used to mix the salt and pepper in the same shaker, if you know what I mean. And I can tell you do, baby. But SHHHHHH. LuLu thought No.One.Knew. HAHAHAHHAHAHA.
Re - well, she is what she is. No one has it harder than someone who makes it hard for herself. Or in her case herselves. She knows she's the shit. But she's always been the shitter, too. I say nothing bad about her. After all, she is going to restore my millions. But if Jesus really is a biscuit he wouldn't stand a chance with that woman. So much for clean living.
We all know there is only one "the greatest." But I tolerate. I indulge. I am the soul of overlooking others too stupid to buy my solid gold. But let's just say that there is no way Re is gonna last. Let's just say I have ways beyond my psychic friends to make things happen the right way.
All Tina has to do is get her pic taken in hot pants again and she'll be back in the news. But she is all zoned out and has long confused nirvana with stoli on the rocks. Let's just say Ike had his reasons.
You are lucky my downers kicked in, baby. I feel as mellow and toasty as a marshmallow on the fire. Good thing. I remembered Lupella had a garnet ring I liked and I had to take a cab to the dump and spend two hourse to find it. Luckily she was wearing Shalimar as usual at the time of her unfortunate demise and I found the cats swarming over that part of the pile. Poor thing. She worked for me for 27 years. And now she has really let me down, the bitch.
Now you keep loving me, R11. Because you KNOW I will never disappoint. And a person shows love by buying lots of my downloads, CDs, and copies of "Slaves" for Christmas gifts. And don't be maudlin, baby. You remember that if only fools are kind, it is fucking wise to be cruel.
Shit, you reminded me I haven't fed Nippy for two weeks. Oh, well, back to the dump to bring Lupella home!
- Clarence whispered to me that they are considering just filling the house with cement like the Soviets did at Chernobyl. Because once the meltdown starts they don't know if the heavy equipment available will be enough.
Because if she blows ain't no one wants to be anywhere near the Franklin Mince.
Now quit thinking about death. Think about life. MY life!
- Mz. Dionne,
I am ready as ever to b a part of this magical mystery tour. I heard of some all ladies music event that happens in August in Michigan. The Michigan Michdfestival of Music! My new roomate, Denise, said she is driving a bunch of women up. I think we need to start the tour there!!
- Sing, "Blue", for me, Miss Warwick....
- Marilyn, Marilyn, Marilyn.
Your strategical brilliance almost makes up for your lackluster career, creepy religious beliefs and unconvincing "I'm as white as whatever" hair.
For anyone who thinks I am only a One Woman Show I give you three small claps for your wonderful suggestion. To add to the one Billy brought home to you in 1981, baby.
Kisses. Now, lots to do!
Plus we gotta replace my dead maid. This fucking place is a fucking mess, and I'm waiting for my breakfast with diminishing hopes.
- By the way, Marilyn, dear one. It's the usual 95/05 split, of course. I don't got me no acolytes and hunky deacons and hot homeless soup pushers to clean up after me, you know, like you do.
Love to Billy. Tell him I still have that wart I got from his as a souvenir of our "duet," girl.
And, Joey. You still sleeping in diapers? I'd love to oblige, but your Mocha Mama is just a little busy now. Blood clots and stinks up so fast! So I can't bother to learn new lyrics, specially since I am towing a boulder of a dexedrine hangover this morning. Takes you back, doesn't it, Joey, baby?
But I offer you something else in blue - my lovely duet with Blue System, that wonderful group that I KNOW is gonna set the world on fire some day. Because I think they're neo-Nazi terrorists, or something.
Enjoy, Joey. Remember, don't put those fingers in your mouth, because we all know where they been, you bad boy.
(Shit. Celebrity-ish fans are the worst, but I've been thinking of asking Liza to join the tour, and just in case she remembers who Joey is I thought I'd do a little something for the little nutcake.)
- When 'Retha kicks the bucket how will the atmosphere cope with the sheer amount of noxious gases that will be released from the giant tank that is her grotesque body? Besides the food services industry in Detroit will go bankrupt after she dies.
- Joey, it occurred to me your search skills may need some help. Here, baby.
R19, don't you worry. There has been an international commission working on this ever since Re hit 600. I think they are planning a seal-and-walk-on-by-and-say-a-little-prayer approach to the impending environ-mental disaster.
But don't worry about the food industry in Detroit. Re's fambly has been pulling all Re's demands for this and that from a Canadian concern, because the food is cheaper there (don't look at that chicken too close, Re, or you'll see hair instead of feathers) and no one would deliver anyway from the Yankee side because of Re's creative way of saving money - "Just don't pay them." She owes one KFC $19,000, and that doesn't include a separate tab for sides.
I have always believed in paying up front. Mostly because what I buy the most of would get me capped if I didn't pay as I play.
Anyshit, who gives a fuck if Canadians go broke? Anyone to stupid to have become Americans when they had the chance deserves to have Re eat them out of house and home.
- Miz Dionne,
I am summering in Missouri with my new assistance Denise. We are prepping for her "Wimmin on Wheels" summer road show. I can arrange for us to swing by the Argentine way and pick up you, Damont and your assembled wardrobe boxes and Tupperware containers. Cissy has been getting emails from LaToya and Janet about Liberace's boyfriend talking about poor Michael. Can you do anything to assist? You still got that hotline working? Can you call in a favor with the psychics?
Looking forward to the grand tour
- Good, Rev. Mar. Good good.
I'll get back about that little issue. A little prostate rearrangement seems in order for that dried-up old drunk. At least I remain moist.
Oh - and I got a call from Clarence that Re took a turn for the worst. I was shitting - we need TIME for this gig to work. But then it turned out that he was saying Re had taken a turn for the wurst. In bed. Polacks next door were BBQing.
No surprise there. But what amazed me was she actually COULD turn over, which she had trouble doing when she was in the glow of health.
What a relief. Keep sliding, Miss Franklin. Just not TOO fast.
- Which of her three illegitimate sons is Clarence? Is he the one who was allegedly sired by ReRe's preacher daddy? Or is he the crazy one who was allegedly caught in bed with Glynn Turman by Ree?
- Clarence, my family contact, is the oldest and has a doubly strong resemblance to that disgusting hypocrite bastard monster preacher father of Re's. Edward was molested to Isle Royale and back - he's the second-oldest, and was the victim of Turman and others. Poor baby got back by burning Re's house down - he hates her - and is strung out and has the HIV. i feel for them all. It ain't been pretty in Re's house, ever. KUH-RAY-ZEE shit. The Jacksons is like Billy Graham's house compared to Re's fucking circus. And you know it's nut when then fat lady is also the ringmaster.
Unlike my own clean-living, quiet testifying life. At least when maids aren't dying from the bites and stings. SHIT. Lupella knew we had vermin. And no initiative to take an antivenom program. Brasilians are just lazy.
Shit - I sound like a fucking Dr. Fill shrink. Now there's a man I hate. At least his face lift is so bad he can't close his crooked eyes without his balls banging into his fat gut.
Now excuse me please but I am trying to get the goo out of Lupella's - uh, my - ring. AND I AM STILL WAITING FOR THAT BLUNT, DAMONT! THE OTHER ONE IS HALF GONE, YOU KNOW.
- Miss Warwick,
Since you are in need of some household staff, would you consider some young college-aged upright Christian men and women? We can send them down to you ASAP, as long as you can provide food, shelter and adequate time to allow for their proselytizing. They each need to convert 30 heathens to the True Path before August 10th. Please let me know.
- Miz Warwick, I think her third son is relatively normal compared to the rest of the family. He has one of the most stupid celeb offspring names (Kecalf) but he seems to have been spared the House of Aretha insanity curse.
- Miss Greene, I will take an even dozen of your girls, and one boy. For the girls, I prefer non-bruising skin (where the help is concerned, I communificate by touch) and of course I require an even mix of the only two races that matter - black and white. Also, no close family and no identifying marks will denote the successful candidates. For the boy, just be aware that size matters. Completely. When you say "food" is having them scavenge okay? And what constitutes shelter? Any paper products okay? My last maid slept in a black trash bag on the patio, but those things are getting 'spensive. And am I obliged to return them when done or is resale an option? Thank you. Also, first one to preach at me gets cut.
Honey at R26, yes, but ain't Kecalf #4 and Teddy #3? I mix 'em up. Re said if Ke was a girl he was gonna be Decaf. You may think whachu want, but I wouldn't get on a elevator alone with any of them. And of course Re hasn't been on one in 20 year. Well, unless you call freight with the for-the-purpose extra supports and an insurance rider normal elevation.
- That was me there. If I don't sign someone will use my copyright. The world is full of jealous bitches.
Oh, and I'm SO glad I got to postpone my appearance at Nelson Mandela's funeral. Now is not a good time for the Divine D to attend the traditional seven-week-with-goats send off. I mean, yummy, but I gots my work going. One upcoming funereal triumph at a time.
- Bless you Ms. Warwick.
Your requests were quite specific but I don't have much to work with here at Liberty. I am sending down three students; our best and brightest. Prudence is a young child of Jesus blessed with striking Scandinavian. Her blonde hair is a testament to the Lord's gift. Desiree is from TN and you may have heard of her aunt; Gina Neely. This child can cook like no other.
Lastly, we have Bryan. He is six foot four, 190 lbs and loves football and Jesus. In that order. What he lacks in intelligence he makes up for in his athletic abilities. He has a tendency to take his shirt off, and well, we can't have the girls here at Liberty distracted.
I'll expect full reports weekly. God Bless as they help you with your Lordly mission.
- MIss Greene. I at Dionne Warwick International Ltd. (A partly owned subsidiary of Dow Chemical and Krupp Munitions) welcome these young internees to our organization.
Any diseases I need to know about? And may I have adoption rights for any - uh - occupational mishaps? And do that Bryan got any - uh - relevant experience in the type of renovation and reconstruction works I have in mind? It's gonna be a major job for him, and just clearing things out to make room for - uh - the new finishings will be quite a chore for most men. D has gone widdout for quite a while.
Thanks you again.
And if you ever want to see them again send $10k in small bills. Consider this your first notice, dear.
- I was rummaging through some boxes and trash bags looking for a roach or two - D is out of powah powder and her fucking connection had a stroke or some such bullshit - no excuse - and I found this. RECENT, baby. STILL GOT IT, baby. NO CLOSE UPS, baby. Which is why it wasn't burnted.
Damont took the video from the balcony, cause he could smoke up there. I don't know where it was - war-torn something or other. I could see the bullet holes in the ceiling when I pushed my head back trying to get some air to finish a quarter note. But at least that gig of mine had e-lectricity. For a change.
- Miss Warwick, any career advice for an upstart like me looking to obtain longevity in the music business?
- Miz Warwick, I need your help. Now I'm a gold star gay who'd rate a 6 on the Kinsey scale. However there are two women who always turn me on whenever I see them on TV, even if all they're doing is standing still. One of them is Sigourney Weaver and the other is Chaka Khan.
So tell me, Ms W, what's the deal with the lovely Chaka? Has she turned many other gay men bisexual? How did you get along with her on Got2BeReal? She IS all woman, isn't she?
1. In order to obtain longevity in the music business you first must obtain longevity in life. You won't do that, you dumb fuck, by screwing a psycho girl-beater whose dick is so long and skinny that, assuming he can get hard with you considering he is a dl punk-ass who likes nothing better than butt-churning thug butter, he is apt to give you peritonitis by puncturing something up in you. Like shooting up with a dirty needle - yeah, I've seen the pics.
2. Quit looking like the whore they always find on Law and Order: SUV (or whatever) three days after she was raped and strangled and left to the elements. Bitch, you look heinous.
3. Two words: Brain Transplant.
Always glad to help a over-reaching, squawking and self-destructive sister grab a couple million so she can die in the gutter anyway. You should be a poster child for the Special Olympics because you truly are special. Peace out, baby.
And advice ain't free. Five gs in small bills, bitch, or I'm sending Nippy over to do a duet with you, and you are NOT going to like your part.
- Confused Sissyboy,
1. What is a sigourney and why would someone who weaves them turn you on like Chaka?
2. Chaka Khan (We call her Choke a Can) likes the men, yeah. But her personal life has been as fucked up as Re's. She's the only vegan coke-drunk I know, but at least she has kept some of that weight off.
3. Now, let's get to it, Bruce. Whatchew me, "turned on"? You mean you want to slip the dill into their relish trays? I doubt it. What you want is to be dominated, right? Taken by a strong big woman. Honeyfuck, you ain't no gay man. You are a lesbian.
I sincerely hope that clarificates things for you. And I do know one strong woman who keeps a peg handy if you need anything hung on it. She's of a certain age and a first-class diva. She also could use a few bucks, so think about me. I mean it. Besides, you could get your face caught in Chaka's wig and that thing is toxic. As in sticks to her head with no help. Phewy.
If it's a no on my other suggestion, you owe me five c notes. Now. Or Nippy is gonna come by and give that wagging tongue of yours a test of your shaky gayness. And you don't want that. Now that summer is here I swear I can hear something buzzing in that thing of hers. Like a nest.
- Miss Warwick?
Those servants arrive yet? What's that strapping young buck packing? I assume you'll get them properly medicated and then set 'em to work.
And I heard Re was asking for some Popeye's. That don't sound like she's doing poorly. Maybe you have a doctor who can give her some proper medicine?
- Shit. I had that college woman send them parcel post. Hope the dumbshit had the sense to poke holes in the boxes. I figured since she expected me to pay it might as well be economical. After all, any mess accumulificating here they'll just have to clean up anyway. And I got me a service monkey now from the government to empty the ashtrays and flush and stuff - all I have to do is pop the teeth out and let that one eye go wobbly and they pretty much give me what I ask for. I'm sitting in a new hoveround, too. My toenails have gone kinda wild since Lupella passed (the lazy bitch) and when I walk I tend to bounce on 'em like I'm on a pogo stick.
Don't you be raining on my parade, sister woman, by pretending that Re isn't poorly. Her last gurgling utterance is gonna be "Gizzards" and if she ever comes back to a Ouija board she'll be trying to place an order for extra crispy through it. She's the only person I ever knew who would salivate (I mean a heavy flow) when Foghorn Leghorn showed up on the cartoon show.
I'm praying for Re. I'm praying for what's best. It's in the Lord's hands. What's best for me will come. I have faith. Testify. Seven come eleven.
- Dear Beyonce Darling Dear,
I hope your new baby or babies are doing good, baby. How many were there? I mean the ones that were really yours? Anyway, my precious love to you and Kanye. Wait - am I mixing up my hos and their dl Bieberbuttthugs? No offense, baby.
Anyshit, I am not getting traction with my Re Memorial Tour. Some people are even saying it's a taste thing. Taste! With the shit these naysayers usually have in their mouth, they know as much about taste as a dung bug. But there is an E-ffect. It is true. So I need your ass-istance. And you do got the ass for it, baby.
I have decided to announce a pregnancy. That should stir things up and get the cameras back on me and not on my taste or unfortunate cash-flow concerns. If I time it right I can declare the birthing right as Re sheds her mortal coils of snakeskin, and announce that my new baby is the Re-Incarnation!!!!!!! Like those Tibet llama things.
What you think? So what I need from you is the name of a good baby carrier surrogator. I want quality and no games - did you use a comatose Nicaraguan like I heard?
And the name of a good jizz donor. I KNOW you used one, because I haven't heard your kids set off a Rosemary's Baby panic in the OB ward when they were borneded. Preferably a bull of a man, in case I decide to go into spermatization for desperate lesbians in the future. Gotta be a brother, of course. Not that I'd tell the people receiving the juice later on - I love giving people surprises! Make sure he's got stamina, baby.
One last thing. Can you give me your left-over baby bumps? I KNOW you ain't gonna need them no more. One a week for about six months adds up to a lot of foam rubber, and I am a little tapped out waiting for Re to go-go.
Thanks, baby. All help is appreciated and will be snatched up faster than a line of coke on a Grammy lav sink. We'll consider this partial payment on that little "accident" you asked me to arrange for that Aaliyah back in the day. Not that I thought she was much competition for you, baby. You so plush.
Get back to me.
- Dionne, gurl, you've had a fine career for somebody without that much of a voice.
- Gladys, I know your being a Mormon has had the effect of bleaching the soul right out of your body, but don't think shade at me is gonna make you look black again.
See and weep, chubby. I am fucking sick of people confusing my sensitive stylings with not having the chops. I got more chops than a Lutheran pot luck dinner. Shit.
Oh, you want to join the Re-Union Tour? I would appreciate it if you would send Re some of the chicken and waffles from your restaurant in Atlantla. Parcel Post, so it's got a chance to start breathing. A package a day will help speed dear Aretha's journey to Abraham's bosom. I just hope he's wearing a truss when she lands.
- Are you enjoying your conversation with yourself OP? TROLLDAR
By the way, anyone notice how you can make racial references about chicken and waffles here and the DL dose nothing? But mention the word Jew and they go Delete Bat Shit Crazy?
Talk about double standard!
Proof Jews run this site, see themselves as the only victims on the planet and everyone else can suck it.
- Miss Warwick, can you please do something to shut that loud bitch Patti LaBelle up? That ugly old heffa is always screaming and shoulda been arrested long ago for disturbing the peace. Can you get Auntie Ree to sit on Patti for a while and choke her?
- Now, D. Don't go slammin' a sister because she started up a successful business after her singing career ended.
I suppose I coulda just become a TV shill for astrologers or mind-readers or whatever sham shit.
Or just filed for bankruptcy, like some I know.
- Hey Gladys, how's that gambling addiction of yours? I guess it must be your way of coping with your numerous career disappointments. I'll pray for you.
- Please send the men in White Coats to the OP's house. He is clearly high as a kite on Psyc meds.
- Well I guess the Shamu of soul still has pulse.
- you and Star Jones bullied Lisa Rinna.
- R41, you idiot. OF COURSE I talk to myself. And sign my name, fool. Because that's what a diva does here and everywhere else when
And if you are so stupid you do not know my friend Gladys axually has a chicken and waffle restaurant in Atlanta (it's in the fucking name of the place, asshole), you have NO PLACE on the DL or the dl or any other combination of those letters.
SO you, you chicken-shit Nazi, just post here so you can get around to saying something about Jews - how fucking transparent. I am sending Nippy over to show you exactly we deal with such people here in my neck of the woods. Why, some of my best defense attorneys have been Jewish.
Fucking stupid no-sense meddler when I am TRYING to get something going here. Hey, asshole. Support my black diva ass and buy one of my old cds. Or is your player too full of Hitler polka music, you phony shit.
- Dear one asking to shut Patti up: I been trying for years. Being on stage with her is like someone let a hungry monkey out da cage - all that swooping and hopping and standing in front of me. So I just keep sending her cheesecake. I figure with her diabetes they'll be cutting her legs off, and even if she keeps shrieking she'll be too short for all that hopping around to cover me.
But someone - unless Re is speaking through a medium - is mistaken about Miss Franklin's ability to rise up and speak for herself. Read me and what I'm saying, dear one. 'Cause Clarence told me they have her in a medically induced coma because she kept eating the bedsheets in her sleep.
R47. I have one thing to say to you.
Yes. Yes we did. So fucking what? That sorta-white girl looks like one of them fishes you get to suck on the sides of the fishtank to keep it clean looking. I mean. She looks like a black caricature I would buy just to break, with those lips.
Gladys, Gladys, Gladys. I DO appreciate your fare. Why, look at Nazi Bruce at R41 not knowing you are an aunt-tre-pre-nure. I just say send it to Re, so we can get this shit on the stage. But if I hurt you, I apologize. I don't meant to kick a sister when she's down.
I'm waiting, Beyonce. R.S.V.I.P.
- Miss Warwick,
Did the students arrive? I send them "signature required" and I have notice that they arrived. I'm not sure Bryan needed to be sent nude, but hey, their yours for the summer. Just send me the updates weekly please.
And in answer to your email, I checked the medical records, and is sperm count is quite high.
- Dr. Greene, I will let you know as soon as the crates arrive. I hope I'm not out when they come, because it is hot in the alley where my door is.
What? You say they are here? Not here with me yet. I do hope you got my address right, maam. Because I have a pressing need for some deep cleaning. I mean DEEP.
(Cindi, did I get any mail today? Like about 400 pounds worth of boxes. You go out and ask that nasty little boy that never is allowed inside until midnight if he saw a D-livery truck here. Something smells fishy about this.)
- Damn, that maid that came on the commendation of aunt Re HAS NOT put out my usual tray of blues and Mai Tai's. Nor is my sheets Krispy Kreme the way I like them. I should have pre-dicted this, being as I have my psychic abilities an all. Nope, just this shit, dammit, and with my busy schedule, not like Re, sat there, embedded in her chaise lounge, feastin on endless plates of poke chops n grits and been so for years. Damn, she even attempted to sing Natural Woman in a moment of sleep delusion. Let me tell you, I laughed until my soul was sore dammit.
Baby, gotta go now for my press conference with the tax people.
- R52, are you D-mented? Because you are not I, and I do not discern who exactly you is. Such as you are.
I have been been requested not to visit Re's Bloomfield Hills place ("restraining order" is such a nasty term) and that security guard Tyrone Jr. has one mean cattle prod. So you, as I said, are not I.
Be yourself, even if that is only Roberta Flack. But do not attempt to be I. You lack the bacterial immunity.
- Miss Constance Langdon @ R53, don't shit with me hun.
- You shouldn't go 'round talkin' about people's looks, Dionne.
- R54, being able to fit your fist in your nostril does not make you me. And if you are so inept as to use the word "poke" in this setting, you belong as a target of the asshole at R41 more than as a thing presuming to speak for and to me.
I appreciate emulation but it does take intelligence, dear. I have run out of my Tijuana Toot Powder and I do not have the patience for another fool stumbling around in my sneakers. And Jessica would not appreciate your additional target-missing comment. Since she hates me.
- Why you put a period after your name, Stephanie?
- DIONNE WARWICK! Get up and answer this door! I've been pounding for 45 minutes, so hard that my Lee Press On Nails snapped right off.
I've arrived, and what a mess in this alley. A pile of wood, and some tall white boy in a jock strap, passed out. I've been singing to him, a medley of my hits, but he keeps mumbling about an internship.
I'm here, Miss Warwick, ready to roll!!
- Oh, baby. Marilyn. I AM SO SORRY. I was having a turble dream - some two-legged cunt thing was sitting at a table claiming to be me and autographing signatures, and a Nigerian fool was calling me a Jew and trying to machete me. I have GOT to change brands, sister. And start packing a piece again.
And you found my new staff! Was the paper signed, and who signed it? I did? Shit - another blackout. If that doesn't sound race-betraying to my more sensitive asshole readers.
Help me get them in. Now, Marilyn, I know you got the HPV so promise me you did NOT get anything too all up and in with Bryan. That's his old name. Need another one more fabulously D-lightful.
And Jesus that other woman is fat. And not in a phat way. No, leave her out there and fetch me the skinny one. I am naming her L'il Diane. After one who ain't so little any more.
Oh, thank you, Marilyn, for coming over. Is that your Festiva? Did you bring anything to eat? Meaning smoke? And drink?
- I need a meatball sub. Someone send me one. Two.
Bryan and me are playing strip poker - chump. I didn't play the Quantock Dead Snake Reservation Pow-Wow Bingo Palace, Casino and Pawn for six months just for the free drinks.
Well, mostly. But I learnt a few things.
- Dionne, you get knocked up yet? Or are you gunna use the same womb Beyonce rented for her chile, Blue China Moon Unit Zappa Knowles Z?
- D if you even THINK of covering of one of my MANY soulful hits ... well let's just say you gonna be doing your best Nigella Lawson impersonation. Mama's got a nasty grip.
Empress Ree, on a bacon drip IV
- Dear Miss Warwick,
Can you dig me up, fix me up with some formaldehyde and take me on tour as a backup singer for Re and Nippy?
- And my reanimated corpse is still shoved in your crawl space.
Bonnie Pointer, with jumper cables still attached
- Dearest Ones,
I poligize for bean aweigh (fucking spell check on these Valu Village sell phonies). Fuck it. I'm heisting won off won of these busstop hagz hear.
There. Better. That old bitch put up a fight. Thank God she had a leg missing. Anyshit, I been upstate for a gig and apparently they don't have reliable electricity at the Rattlesnake Mountain Fireworks Emporium and Smokeshop. But they DO have access to about the best whoopass Sierra-Sizzle Smokum this side of Mary Jane Heaven. So I got lost on the way back. Ended up in Moosejaw and had to hitch back down. I HATE truckers. It's like blowing a roadie.
Where was I? Oh, yes. The memorial tour. I am getting sick of waiting for Re to follow through on her part of the commitment. Thinking of sending Nippy over to Detroit with a little get well-fucked card. I even see Sister Re has made an appearance here. How nice. But it must have been ghostwritten, because I know for a fact that when Re says she can't read music she means she can't read shit. She does have every fast food menu memorized, though. But really, Re. The way you stink are you SURE you haven't gone stiff and the lips are moving just out of a century's habit?
I'd love to revivivivivify all the passed ones of my sisterhood of soul and R&B and pop and whatever it was Bonnie Pointer thought she was doing. But so far it seems like Nippy was a special concocktion of chemical magic, lightning, voodoo curses and bad temper. I will keep working on it. Because the dead work cheaper than the almost dead. Like dear Rev. McCoo.
But, Bonnie and Donna, you gotta have SOME juice in you to be writing. Are you coming in via Ouija or automatic writing? Cause if you are D-parted my Psychic Network could use you.
Now scuse me cause I must get myself situated. Those fucking college kids got the chains off while I was gone and I have a mess to clean up. Who'd have thought they'd be willing to saw off their hands to take a walk outside. I left them kitty litter and catheters. Ingrates.
- Dionne, darling,
Oprah Winfrey's OWN cable channel has approached me about starring in a made-for-TV movie about your recent adventures.
Except, they've had to change the name since your peoples won't sign over the rights. Something about your fee being too high. Just like you.
So, they're calling it the Diane Warwitch story. I'll be playing the great and wondrous Diane Warwitch and singing hits like "Walk and Buy," "Heart Wrecker" and "That's what Fiends Are For."
I'm just wondering if you've got any tips for research to prepare for the role. How do I get into the part? Besides smoking copious amounts of Maui Wowie. How do I get inside that lovely peroxided head of your?
Can't wait to pick your brain!
- How come you never mention Dee Dee, Miss Warwick?
- Dionne baby girl: I just came across one of your "lesser efforts" on You Tube and I have to say this is truly a diamond in the rough. Why didn't your people promote this more? IIRC, this was made about the same time I was number 1 on the charts and you couldn't get invited to the opening of a letter.
- CIndi, take a letter.
How sweet of you to want to zombify my life with picking my brains and getting inside my head. I know how hard it is for you to think about anything but food, but I didn't realize your penchant for man meat had extended to girlparts. Well.
But you do have a coupla probs here, Mister-Sister. If the 100 attorneys you keep on the payroll to fight "libel" cases (Since when is being the untalented heir of Little Richard something to be ashamed of?) would turn their attention to copyright and patent and that big R with a circle around it (like I brand my choice beef - the prime get the Circle D - didn't know I had me a ranch in Brasil, did you, cupcake?) they would find that the "Warwitch" name was secured by moi in the late 1970s. During my militant Wicca days.
So why don't you find yourself something affordable to sink your chops in, something more in line with your talents? Like, say, the LaWanda Page Story. At least then you wouldn't have to wear no makeup.
But all my love to you and whoever it is you brung homeded last night. xxxxxxxx And don't even try to fuck with me, honey. Because if I can break Gayle and O up like I did, I can sweep away your fairy castle with swoop of the Warwitch broom. All Rights Reserved.
And, Cindi, put that in a box with the head of one of Miss T's tricks - send Nippy out to collect it. And clean this mess up. Rib grease on the tile is liable to break me a hip. You know what the doctor said - just because my bones are so hollow I can stash my goodies in them for airport seecurity doesn't mean I shouldn't take my Vitamin "D" and wartch my step.
Fucking fat-ass lucky no-talent phony shit-breathed pig queen. That man is ON MY LIST.
- Glady, you keep bragging about the One Number One like I should be impressed. I have stood on your pointy head in the billboard charts so many times it's a wonder you still can't keep your hat from tipping to the side. But hiding your pinhead under all those wigs has helped cover up your little circus secret.
Dee Dee? Please. Fourth-rate screamer who had to use the Re "Does she have cancer?" game to get attention - Name me one thing you ever heard her do. Go on. Shit. And copying my blonde locks like she's got the high yeller, when everything about her yells Congoleum Stomp.
Not that I am not proud of my black hairy tej. When it suits me. At least I haven't called out my pride while running home to whitey, like Diane, Diahann and Lena. Shit, I will fuck my share of white boys, but I ain't playing maid to them at the house.
I do hope this doesn't come across as harsh. My Rolaids/Dulcalax/MDMA Seltzer Spritz hasn't kicked in yet for the morning. Because I am no Paula Deen. You know, because I'm not a pig clown with a thyroid condition and 600 pounds of leeching sons and too stupid to say "Not that I recall. It doesn't sound like me. My black friends will vouch for my humanity in spades" when some fuck axed about the N word. If that bitch needs a block on her tongue it's for what she puts on it and not what comes off it.
- I meant your sister, Miss Warwick. Remember her?
- R67/R71. OK. Like I don't know what you're about. But it opens a wound. It brings back the pain. it takes a lot for me to open up about little Dee Dee.
Like usually $200. Or its equivalent in smokables/snortables/huffables/shootables/drinkables/suppositoriables/gargleables.
But I've shaken my crust off from last night so I'll dooby you a freebie, Miss Nosey. Bottom line - she couldn't hack my fame, beauty, grace, talent, or the quality of my connections. So while I was using medications from the man for health purposes, zooming up my fantasticness, poor Delia Mae was sinkin', stinkin' and blinkin' like a broken stop light by 1969.
I took as good a care of her as I could, considering I was busy. And I was there when she passed. Yes. Um-hum. Mmmmmm. Sweet Lord.
So I could twist off that amethyst ring of hers I always liked.
You know how those nursing home and mortuary people are. Those gold teeth came in handy, too, because when she passed I was in a little rough patch.
NOW, ARE YOU SATISFIED WITH SCRAPING THE PAIN OF MY FAMILY RAW JUST WHEN I WAS ABOUT TO HEAL FINALLY?????
Didn't think so. So I might as well mention that half the time I was just slipping her basil leaves and tic tacs. Cause Sis had issues with or without my stash being involved.
Now if you'll excuse me I have an appointment.
CINDI! We got any more of that pimento load? How you get this fridge door open? And where are my afternoon pills? It is afternoon, ain't it? And who did this mess in my pants? I mean, that's nasty. What a fucking nerve! DID YOU DO IT??? WELL THEN WHO DID????
- Shit. The crap about Sister made me forget I meant to send this photo of some nice white lady I remember meeting. I think it was at a rummage sale at some church in Burbank or some shit. Anyway, she gave me this scarf cause she said she couldn't wear those jungle colors. I had to agree. That hair was so frozen I thought she had gotten locked up in the meat freezer. But anyshit I was sitting on the davenport and pulled that scarf out from between the cushions just a couple days ago. Of course the colors have done some running in the interim. And what that green shit is on it I have no idea.
CINDI! DID I USE TO HAVE AN IGUANA?
- Where are you, Miss Dionne?
- Miss Warwick, baby doll, my queen...
I arrived in Hotlanta as you asked and am ready to begin "Operation Madea" as planned. I am taking the hormones as you instructed and in a few days I'll def be able to pass for a man. Mostly.
I have the want ads here, I'll get that job at Tyler Perry Presents Productions (TM) just like you says. When I'm in I'll signal. Then the plan can take off
- And don't forget, Marilyn, my dearest friend,
You gotta sew some big balls into those hangers of yours, because Miss Perry GOES for the big balls.
Thank God you're lightish. Ty cannot stand a dark bro. Swears he can see what they leave behind on the sheets. Fuck, that man needs the treatment you're gonna give him.
But Marilyn, do wait until I give the word for the McCoo de Grass. If he drops his movie plans (or offers me a 75% split we shall change the plan. And, yeah, you'll get your cut, baby. I always 'member my friends.
R74, I been hidin' out in a nice motel in Compton. Well, a garage behind a nice motel in Compton. I have flopped here when I'm working on a plan since the 1970s. But for some reason the crime rate seems to go up every time I'm here. Spooky coincidence. Like that old gal at the bus stop who got her cell stolen. And that pusher on the street who got stabbed and robbed. And all that Champale getting lifted from the liquor store on the corner. Hee.
Now I hear from my source that Nelson is slipping and may be kicking it today or tomorrow. Shit. Another trip to receive the accolades of my third-world brethren and sistren. I plan to sing "I Say a Little Prayer" in Xhosa. Axually I plan to sing it Leslie-Uggams-Doing June-Is-Busting-Out-All-Over style, and everyone will ass-ume it is Xhosa.
THIS will be the thing that'll kill Re.
Now no cracks about the great Nelson. Even though if he were 10 years younger I would have been wife number 4. Or 5. But his sap ran out. Too bad. First Lady of Africa. But I'm not bitter. Being the First Lady of American Music is good enough. Except for the ka-ching part.
- Di, doll,
Thanks for the heads up about copyright infringement on the Warwitch name. Gayle tells me they've changed the character's name to Diane Worwitch. And so, we're good to go.
They've also cast Jennifer Lopez as Lupella and are in talks with Chris Tucker for Damont.
But we're trying to figure out who to cast to play Nippy. Any suggestions? Oprah was thinking about playing the part, but has to fly off to her girls' school, so can't do it.
In the meantime, needed to ask you about what brand of peroxide you use. I want to get it just right, want to get into the Diane Worwitch character completely. So, I'm going through some of your routines.
Tonight, I'm putting a plastic bowl on my head and cutting my hair. All by myself. Just like you! Then, I'm going to go to the kitchen sink and put peroxide in. So, need to know the proper brand of peroxide to use.
Also, what color bowl do you use to cut your hair? I kinda envision a yellow bowl on your head. Or maybe an avocado green one -- likely one of the lovely parting gifts they gave you for some 70s game show you were on. Match Game or Card Sharks, no doubt.
Oppps, Gotta go. There's my doorbell. Shemar Moore is coming over to give me a massage. A nice firm, deep massage to help, errr, get me in the mood to do my hair.
- Miss Warwick, are you still friendly with the man most responsible for your fame and (former) fortune Burt Bacharach? Were you two ever an item back in the salad days? I am thoroughly enjoying your correspondence sharing, and I am anticipating with glee any news about Marilyn and her Ty Ty mission.
- Cousin D!
I'd LOVE to join the memorial tour. Lord knows y'all gonna need some pipes. You think you can score me an 8-ball?
- It's on, Marilyn. You nail that greasy fat piece of homodenial to the wall. I want pictures, I want videos, I want that pinky finger with the gold-and-diamond mount still on it, and I want the better part of his left kidney. And three teeth. The two top front and you can pick the other one. And get the roots.
Tamar, you KNOW a lady never talks. So I'll tell you.
Yes, Burt and I could not help ourselfses in the heat of youth and talent and power. Plus it was a condition for every song, until I gave him those goober warts. He was a wonderful lover. For a white man. At times I almost could feel him in me, moving around. I think if he could have managed to touch two sides of my ladygoods at the same time with his honkywand I would have loved him a little.
Hal just wanted blow jobs. Suck suck suck. And once we did a three way. Walk on Bi.
- OOOH yummy! I can't wait to tell Toni!
- And, Tay-Tay, I think it's wonderful for you to keep in touch with that new baby of yours. Or did you forget it in the Escalade?
if you talk with Toni tell her that I hope her lupus isn't getting in the way of what I know she likes to do best and most. And tell her I am sending her a little something to pick her up. And tell her if the extra energy is too much for her she can come over here and clean my place. I know she's - uh - cough cough - between gigs.
Shit. These fourth-tier divas are WORK. At least all I had to do was send Re some chicken or ribs and she'd stay best buds. And I could save all the money I wanted by mailing it parcel post, because she would eat it regardless - usually on the front porch with the mailbox lid open.
- Bitch, don't come for my periods, you shotgun-nostriled hag! Why come you never got your nose fixed??
- You're just jealous that I can whiff up a double-gram of the sizzle powder while you're still trying to clear the debris out of that big brown schnoz you have to lug around.
But I understand your being a bitch, bitch. While I have not and never will know what it is like to be a has-been loser, I can guess how it must make you feel so sadly like you are. You still singing on the bus stop in - where is it? North Carolina? - hoping to collect enough for a ride downtown?
So sad. Of course since no one ever really knew who you were or what your name was, at least you don't have to suffer the feeling of people asking whatever happened to you. You DO have that, boo boo.
Is that enough, Miss Stephanie "Run of the" Mills? Because I haven't even gotten to those three marriages and Louie Farrakhan blessing the last one - how long did it last? Two months? He must have heard you "singing" in the shower, bitch.
- Three words, you deluded, buck-tooth cunt: "Reservations for Two".
- Do you want me to "take care" of Miss Mills, Mistress D?
- Lady D,
I have an appointment Monday afternoon for an "interview". I used the headshot of some hot mode boy I found on the intertubes. I doubled the horse hormones and sewed on the 'nads. I will not fail.
If all goes well, Mark Lynne McMoo will be Mrs. Perry's new personal ass-istant cum Tuesday.
And then we take over. Get to the airport, I'll send his plane for you.
- Bonnie? Bitch, don't you have some engagement at some third rate gay bar in Tijuana?? You don't have time to take care of me bitch - ya best be lip-synching to "Heaven Must Have Sent You" for the UMPTEENTH time in front of a bunch of drunk-assed queens. That cable bill don't pay for itself, y'know.
- Oh honey you DID NOT go there. Mr. McCoo and myself have a new duet for you - "Yes We Can Can (Kick Your Ashy Ass)". You don't even want me to sick June on you. She's got some cray voodoo shit goin on.
- Staph-enie Millstone:
I have axed several of the illiterate hoods in my neighborhood here in Compton if they could decipher your message to me of late, but they said they don't speak fat-ass stank-pussed has-been Bonobo. So I shall simply have to assume that you wrote to thank me for not reading you as far as I could, and to wish me well on my upcoming Re Memorial Concert Tour, which I would like to invite you to attend.
Tickets will be $375 in advance, $400 at the door. Book early, dear. You'll need to start right away to unpawn what you'll have to hock to afford it. Don't worry, though. It likely will be 2016 before we get around to wherever you'll be living at the time. Poor thing.
Yes, doll. Please do something to Stephanie Mills that will prevent her using her fingers to type and her tongue to talk. If she figures out a way to stomp Morse code out after that I won't care, because someone else will be living below her in her tenement, not me. Kisses, baby. You need a fix for the job, to get you all spiced up for it? xx
And mostest importante:
Marilyn. What did I do to deserve you? I mean, other than the extortion and that videotape I'm keeping "safe" for you. (Girl, that must have hurt. I mean. THREE of them?)
Anyway, I am packed and ready for the word from you. I want to take that phony-ass down. And I want to get into that wall safe of his, because I hear he prefers cash to handle his "affairs." Get the pics, too, will you dear one? I want to see his Perry-winkle before it hits the Enquirer cover.
Blessings. God and Jesus truly do bring their Love to those who Believe and Carry His Word to the Limit. Etc. Etc. Etc.
- [quote]Shit. These fourth-tier divas are WORK. At least all I had to do was send Re some chicken or ribs and she'd stay best buds. And I could save all the money I wanted by mailing it parcel post, because she would eat it regardless - usually on the front porch with the mailbox lid open.
Didn't a few of Re's neighbors in Detroit once complain because they saw her pleasuring herself with the chicken and ribs right out there on the front porch before eating them? (Eating the chicken and ribs, I mean, not the neighbors).
- Di, doll,
I have greater admiration for you now that I've tried to cut and peroxide my hair just like you.
After Shemar finished his, err, massage on me, we smoked a little bit of the 420. Just took a few hits and we were giggling like school girls, err, laughing our asses off like real men do.
Well, Tina lent me a few of her wigs so I could cut the hair and then peroxide it. I swear, girl, I thought it would be easy to just run the scissors along the rim of the bowl. You manage to do it all the time. But I ended up looking more like Anna Mae after Ike finished with her.
Shemar gave it a try too. Let's just say Nick Nolte looked better in his mug shot.
I tried again without much better results. I got so frustrated, Shemar had to give me another deep massage to relax me.
Lucky thing they were just wigs. And we never even got to the peroxide! Maybe tomorrow. Shemar's gotta stay over so we can do it fresh in the morning.
So, not the experience I had planned, but good preparation for playing Diane Worwitch in the movie. Helps me understand you better.
By the way, please tell me about your morning routine. Need to know for the movie. What do you do after you pick your corns and change your Depends?
- R91, please. Re eating IS how she pleasures herself. The only reason she messed with guys is because she said they looked good enough to eat.
MMcC, I'm waiting for those body parts. Those fat, lumpy and closety pieces of this assholes who thinks he can continue to stupitly purloin the D-tails of my life and not pay a 99% comish on it. "What is my morning routine like?" Fuck you, asshole. My morning routine is stomping your tiny balls so far up your sintkbug body that you're gonna have what looks like two zits on your too-smooth, too-pale, too-tweezed, too-moisturized "heterosexual" face.
And, Marilyn, I want the body bleached. What's left is going to Oprah's. She can use it for a polar bear rug in her "game room."
ONE WOULD THINK I was too experienced to have a hangover. Huffing Easy-Off may not have been a good idea last night.
- Fashion Suggestion, Please.
I cannot decide what to wear to my Aretha Franklin Funeral Extravaganza Starring Miss Dionne Warwick One Day Only / Memorial Concert Tour Kickoff Performance combo.
What about this?
Too showy? You KNOW I hate getting so glammed up, even though I look like the sickening shit. I AM just a simple girl at heart.
- Or this?
I think I still got it in the trunk of Damont's rental stretch.
Crotch was a little tight and kept getting tangled in my lady stalactites.
- Excuse me. I mean this.
I'm still feeling a little off. And I can't find my glasses to see.
Not those, Cindi, you dumbshit. I meant my tequila glasses.
- Or this?
From my Ralph Lauren collection.
- Ot this?
I TOLD you Norway rat is versatile. They made me keep it on indoors because my Montgomery W dress (a fine old house - so sorry it closed) kept giving the waiters seizures.
- Or this?
Usually it's only Laotian jungle tribes that can carry off this kind of subtle color combinations, but I always have had that special dress sense that could do no wrong.
Fucking hell, I am pretty.
I think that my fashion sense hasn't gotten proper attention because my singing talent always has grabbed the praise. But still, every fucking outfit tells the whole story, don't it?
I think I'll go with this one. Something bright and happy - because that's how I'll be feeling at Re's funeral. Praise the Load!
- Oooh...a memorial concert tour? A Tyler Perry movie? I'm in, Miss Dionne!!!!! I know we haven't spoken for years and, yes, I still believe your undercover lover 'Lesbian' Uggams is a lousy, lowdown, jealous, lowlife bitch who tried to get me canned from "Hallelujah, Baby!" But I am willing to leave the past in the past.
I am still gorgeous and I sing like angel. I'm only 39 years old so I can bring in the young people. I'm ready when you are, gurl. Let's do this!!!'
- Miss Warwick, I worship the very quicksand you walk on (walk on by on!)
And I have always taken to heart the deepest, most profound wisdom you've ever shared: that Diane Ross made a whole career and legacy out of knowing the right time and right way of saying "Oh, Barry, it's too big!"
- Freda! Why the last I heard you were wandering around the English countryside with Cliff Richards and sleeping in a caravan! I'm SO glad to hear you are still - um - uh - er - performing. How NICE for you. And so wonderful you are celebrating the 33rd anniversary of your 39th birthday. Girl, I always said you were the Jackal Benny of disco music. You know, in the 70s. You know, when you had your last hit.
But anyshit, honey, sure. If you still do windows and got an ass that can shake a few shekels out of the older crowd, come on by - but wait until Re passes officially. We do not want to be seen as capitalizing. Too soon. Oh, and if you still got that band of gold you better bring it. Collateral. Poor Miss Ug, though - Mitch Miller sure fucked the soul right out of her bee-hind.
But don't leave too much of the past in the past, dear one. Because if you do you may find there's nothing of you in the present.
R101, you're so sweet. Berry was ripe for Diane's picking, I'll say that. I did teach her that line, you know. But I was talking about her frog mouth as the time. Mr. Gordy would have to have been a bull elephant to be too big for that squeaky yap of her. Now, niceties done, you got a 50 you can send me? This Listerine Fizz I'm having to do with just ain't getting me THERE. Send it, baby. Don't include a return address. I'll know how to find you. Kisses.
I am still rummaging around here and found this outfit. It's my "Re medical chart" ensemble. You'll note I kept my outside stash close to where I was keeping my inside stash (and a couple rolls of quarters). Anyway, I had a little cooter sap leakage at the time, too, so it was all good.
- Miss Warwick,
The bait has been taken. And I gots the proof to prove it without a doubt. Ty-ty took one look at my in my 23 year old chocolate muscle god disguise and practically offered up his lard ass on the spot.
I slipped a little of the special pills in his white wine spritzer and when he was good and out of it I worked every orifice over. Twice.
I've been promoted to Special Executive Ass-in-it. The studio is ours. Ty just needs a good workover once a day.
Get thee to Atlanta baby. The Press Release is about to break...
- For Immediate Release
Tyler Perry Productions is pleased to announce the appointment of Dione Warwick to CEO, effective immediately. In this position she will report to Mr. Perry, who will retire to seclusion in an undisclosed location, to explore other interests.
"I couldn't find a better lady to say a little pray for me and walk on by. She'll continue my legacy as I head off to San Jose."
Ms. Warwick will be joined by Marilyn McCoo, the new COO of Tyler Perry Productions.
Both ladies are expected to immediately announce new ventures.
- Marilyn, I am infernally grateful for your unprecedentedly fine and fast work. Although I hope you were wearing long rubber gloves when you were up in the man. Wherever and whatever that en-tailed. Because I have heard Tyler was a little like the Alien in - um - Alien. You know - drippings that burn through steel.
I simply must go against my better judgment and defer to you on this, since you have staked the territory. Do we go with a fast production, and can it include the disemboweling-and-fire death of Madea? Because if there is one thing I hate it is an impostor pretending to be a strong black woman who gets it all wrong because of her stupit ego. Grr, girlfriend.
And can you forward me the cash for the trip? My fucking Girl Scout cookies arrived and I ordered more than I thought. DO NOT answer the door to them bitches when you've got the munchinos. Well, that and accidentally cutting one up a little when I thought she was an IRS process server. Easy mistake. But my deductible is a little high.
Oh, now I want you to make sure you get a nice plump bonus out of this, as you ascend to corporate glory. After all, it has been a long time since you've had this kind of success, right, sweetie?
And can we move the offices from that stankhole Atlanta? I hate that place. Peaches this and peaches that and all that phony Southern shit. The last best view of true Atlanta was the one Sherman saw riding out of town. Fireworks!
How 'bout this, baby? "Madea Goes to Hell." We get some fat bitch we hate to play it, do a "Saw" kind of thing with Madea's disgusting stereotypical fambly, with plenty of Bonnie and Clyde slo-mo, and end it a la "Wild Bunch." I got Gladys in mind. She could use the work....over.
Lemme know. Dayum - I am impressed! Do you know how long it's been since I had something worthy of stabbing the back, instead of the front, doll?
- Excuse me, but what IS happening with Tyler Perry's Tyler Perry Studios, a Tyler Perry Production?
I have a 4:00 with Mr. Perry.
- Did someone say "fat bitch"?
- Dear Miss Warwick:
Time give it and rest and move in. Your schtick is quickly veering into Helen Lawson territory, and thus, quite lame.
Burt Bacharach's rotten corpse
- I appear only by request, bitch. Like a demon conjured by the desperate and bereft. A spirit of talent, teeth, appetite and enough polyester jogging suits to smother an orphanage full of Rumanian babies.
Do you really think I have nothing better to do than this, when I could be sitting on the beach at Ipanema downwind from the touristing Rastas? I am summoned and I have a bloody job to do. Souls to harvest. Fans to D-light, D-molish, D-grade. And terrible truths to tell. Tastelessly. Because that's what people deserve, and that's what this D-va of soul-pop glory does.
What purpose do YOU serve, asshole? Do you really want to be shooting your bb's at sister's rhino hide? And do you not know that dear Burt is alive and any rotting is in his Depends and not from his corpse?
You got all kinds of other places to be here in this loony ward. Threads about fools. Threads about laundry detergent. Threads being hateful about people being hateful. Threads with 450 people agreeing that Scientology is evil. Threads about the nutritional value of the shit of vegans. Written from experience. Threads about enraged nothings trolled by psychotics and monitored by cracked muffins. Threads about threads. Threads about threads about threads, sprinkled with cunts and cancer cases and Blatino peen.
Are you wandering all around here squatting and crapping out your requests for discreet cessation because your exquisite sense of timing and discretion has been disturbed? No. Because I ain't been smelling you there.
But you're here. Why is that, "Gladys"?
My tiniest shart has more zest in its livery half-life than your dribbling methane bestows to your herdmates in a month of Thursdays. Having no value is my M.O, my raison fucking d'etre and my destiny. I am here to D-light and D-stroy for the fun of it. My fun, sister. It is the revenge of the summoned. And I got a career to get on track and a new studio and a deal with the IRS and the death of Re to get ready for.
And you're just an ant complaining about the picnic.
Now get, 'fore I cut your sorry ass.
- Ummm, I'm not too sure about all this conjuring and rastas and shit but I haven't given 'Gladys' a second thought in more than 50 years. She was one of those crispy Motown bitches who hates me because I'm beautiful. You know, Miss Dionne, anyone will tell you I'm the prettiest girl in Detroit history. I never made time for those jealous bitches -- Re, Diane, Gladys, Della or any of them Marys. Don't pay them girls no mind, lets go get PAID.
So as soon as you wrap up your Bankruptcy and stop bouncing checks I'm ready to roll.
- Freda, don't mind me. I found a meatball sandwich behind the duvet when I was doing a wardrobe check and I think it went bad on me. I'm bitter now. Much bitter.
You are a blast of fresh air, Miss Payne. Now I know you haven't heard THAT in 30 years.
I got me a tap in some solvency down Atlanta way so you don't need to worry your frizzy head about anything bouncing around here. I wonder where McCoo is. I do worry that that elephant tranq or whatever she used on Miss Perry wasn't enough to keep that tubbalard down for long. Blackmail or not. I'm concerned he's the type to hear the word, hear it as "blackmale" and get all horned up over it. Not bright, that one.
Enough! I must go out into the night and find me a couple doses of something narcotical. My poor face has been getting most of its glow from grease lately, without my booty sleep.
- WHERE IS TYLER?
QUEEN OPRAH HAS SPOKEN. OPRAH DEMANDS A RESPONSE.
- [quote] Blatino peen.
- Dearest Fans.
With tears running down my eyes and puddling and streaking my ColorGirl mascara all the way down to my chins, I BEG your forgiveness and BEG you to continue to support me. I SWEAR I only used the words, "Stick it in my fat hole, mother fucker, 'cause Mommy wants to ride Daddy's whorestabber good!" only once, ONCE, in the last 30 years. And it was because I was under severe emotional stress from being called names by people, hurtful names, true and hurtful names. So I lashed out. Like hurt people do. I SWEAR I have never said those words before or since. IT WAS THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT. I am not the sort of masculine fellow who runs around falling onto those things and impaling myself. I am too busy decorating and dressing up my girl friend, who I love like life itself. AND I AM A BAPTIST. In my heart. So please forgive me. PLEAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSE.
And in the meantime my fine workshop of classic hits that lift our culture up and show the world we can be as funny as anyone will be under the day-to-day management of Miss Warwick and Miss Freda "Who Dat?" Payne. Miss Warwick has had more experience pulling asses out the fire of doom than anyone on the planet. And since her ass has been the one involved you know she knows her shit. Er - stuff. And Miss Payne had a clever portfolio of work that leaves me no choice but to yield.
But I will be back. Oprah willing. Blessings. Now I must run and go do something masculine. Like exercise. Yeah. Like a man. No deodorant. Go Braves!
MAY JESUS BLESS YOU AS MUCH AS HE HAS BLESSED ME for reasons known only to HIM!
- And next on CBS This Morning, we'll be talking to comeback queen Dionne Warwick and learn more about her new venture with washed up has beens Freda Payne and Marilyn McCoo!
- Thank you for the nice introduction, Gayle. It's so good to be here. I mean, and not be talking about financial scandals, charity scams, tax problems, drug arrests - well, I mean it's so good to be here.
And may I say you are looking so WONDERFUL now that you're out of the house and working again. Filed off that old ball-and-chain, didn't you, you sneaky little puss. And SO feminine. Plain to see how you got that gig as a trophy wife. Oh wait. I mean friend. Because it's SO NORMAL to be a trophy friend, isn't it, girlfriend. In a world of telephoto cameras, drones, satellites and a-MA-zing audio recording equipment, it's JUST GREAT how you've lived so freely and out in the open.
Now, I'll just bet you have some nice easy questions for me about my recent unexpected triumphant return to the top of the dungheap. Right?
(Unblinking relentless smile with one hand inside purse and finger on trigger of derringer therein, just in case)
- Miss D, shall I get dem sheets Krispy Kreme fo wen u get home? U be needin a little pick me up on a tray Miss D?
I cleaned the white offa yr pantsuit, ready fo yo relaxin dem tired bones.
- And I thought Butterfly McQueen BBQd herself in that house fire.
Listen, honey. First, it's MISS WARWICK. Only my friends call me D and I don't got any of them at this moment or decade in time.
Second, please do not confuse powdered sugar with my special powdered relaxing-and-stimulation medication. Or there could be mayhem. I have built myself up for a - um - stronger concentration than usually is seen. And if it gets out of the house by fume or dust - well, you ever hear of Bhopal? Thank Kali I was banging the PM at the time.
Third, say what, bitch?
Now do some work and quit calling me. I am on national television on the CBS Morning Show at the moment, and I do NOT want their 325 viewers to be distracted by my domestic issues. Thank YOU.
- Miss D, you confusin me. Shall I get yo sheets Krispy Kreme or what?
- Miss D, you taken dem blue pills agin?
- My dear woman. I speak Divablack English. I do not speak 1940 Republic Films. SO I repeat - say WHAT?
Let's try this: "MISS WARWICK requests that you boil her sheets in the usual way - six hours on a fast boil. In lye. Wash and rinse until ALL the stains are out. The red. The black. The brown. The lavender. ALL of them.
And do leave a dozen KKs on the night stand. You made me hongery, bitch.
And no I do not take pills when I can convert my requirements into smokables.
CHRIST. I see now why people do houseboys. I miss Lupella more and more latishly.
Now fuck off as I am on the TV.
Sorry Gayle. You remember what it was like. I mean, when you were a domestic. You were saying?
I am a fan of your posts Ms. Warwick, though I am troubled.
Sometimes I wonder if you ain't a self loathing racist bitch.
Other times I wonder who you really are. What's it all about Dionne?
You sure are funny and crude and creative. Are you as white as your hair? Can you be accepted in good faith? I love the drugs and money too, but anyone who had a heart...
God loves you Miss Warwick. Who do you love? I know you care for Nippy, but you sure were out here a day before she hit her head. You know some things. And now all dire forecast about Re. Are you the angel of death, or just the messenger?
I know you will answer my queries in your own way. Part of your magnificent and grubby charm.
All in love is fair.
- My lady,
I'm so sorry, Ty Ty escaped and released a statement before I could get him muzzled. He's under control now. But, all is well. Oprah is anxious to meet and chat about new shows for her network. I suggested she host you at her house in Hawaii.
The jet will be waiting after the CBS interview.
- Di, doll
I’ve got a much better appreciation for you. Preparing for my role as Diane Worwitch is proving ever so enlightening. I understand you so much better.
Shemar and I have been smoking the Mary Jane every 30 minutes or so for the past two days. The good stuff too. Not some of that shit that Mexicans pee on just before carting it through a tunnel under the Arizona border. No, we’re talking top grade Humboldt County medicinal stuff with the highest levels of THC possible. Made in the U.S.A.! Picked it up at a store right on Santa Monica Boulevard. Went to a doctor to get a prescription. He said he’s written a few dozen scripts for you in the last 6 weeks alone.
Girl, I don’t know how you do it! If I spent my entire time waking and baking like you, I’d be bankrupt too! Shemar and I have just been laughing our asses off and chatting up a storm when we’re not cuddling in bed, errr, watching sports on the big screen TV. I ain’t got nothing done. I’ve spent a fortune ordering take out! Do you have any idea how much it costs to get Krispy Kreme’s helicoptered within 10 minutes of them coming out of the oven! No wonder all your money’s gone.
Only thing I managed to accomplish in the past two days while I’ve been up, up and away is hire your friend Ms McCoo. She looks pretty butch in man drag. She fixes a mean drink too!
She’s raided my safe already. Good thing she doesn’t know those were all counterfeit bills in that safe. I keep the fake ones in there in case one of my tricks, err business associates tries to rob me while I’m in the john.
Been trying to send you a note, but keep getting this Primetime message. Shemar said he knew how to get around the Primetime bullshit. Said he knows all about the Datalounge. Posts there a lot as some chick named Cheryl. But the delicious man must have been too fried from the 420. We ended up on some porn site watching these two sizzlin’ ripped swimming studs taking turns riding each others flagpoles, err, a man and a woman getting it on in the back of a stretch limo.
I hear you’re coming to Hotlanta to see me! Can’t wait to compare notes with you. So much to ask you as I prepare for my greatest role ever – Diane Worwitch. I can already smell the Emmy. Probably get a Grammy too! My version of “Walk and Buy” will set the charts on fire. Maybe we can sing a duet of “Walk and Buy” while you’re here visiting.
Tell me, do you like avocado on your BLT? Or just mayonnaise? Hellman’s or Duke’s? Or is it Miracle Whip? Need to know cause I’ve got the munchies something bad, but gotta stay in character.
- Bitch, please! We know you are somewhere cowering under some unsuspecting broad's skirt, Ty Ty. Even you don't have enough money to make Shemar overlook that ugly puss. Give your girlfriend my cell number and I will slowly sing my legendary international hit 'band of gold' for her. That girl needs to know all about sleeping in separate rooms on her honeymoon.
Lovely as ever,
- Miss Perry:
You will complete the terms of our ascension in your two-bit shithouse studio and stop fantasizing that you either run anything, are continuing the filum of my life (unless appropriate arrangements are made), as well as stop toking all that good stuff until I am in place.
I am delayed because apparently Trailways Bus no longer goes to Atlantica because there IS no Trailways Bus line anymore. SO much for my TB VISA. So I had to roll a few people over to get the bread for the fucking Greyhound.
You will cooperate fully with our representative, Miss Rev. McCoo. Or you will be finding that I like tongue and manoysters on my BLTs. Bacon, Lettuce, and Tyler's.
AND congratulations to Bob Mackie for his success in obtaining somewhat more equal rights from a bunch of asshole jerkoffs, one of which is a sword swallower from way back. I think Bobby is the only gayish person I ever actually have met, but just in case there are any others in the country among my fandom - good for you queers! I can say that now, can't I, since the court ruled. I mean, it's not like I got any contracts they can drop.
- Miss Warwick! Don't get sidetracked by that fool Ty Ty!!! You need to get this Remembering ReRe Tour of Divas Extravaganza up and running already! I'd hate to think some other Big Star was going to steal this idea (is Lola Falana still alive?!)
- Di, doll,
I got the munchies bad!
Tell me, do you life Ruffles? Or Lays? Or Wise?
And when you pig out on ice cream, what flavor is your favorite? I'm thinking chocolate. But Shemar swears you're a vanilla girl.
Hope you get here to Hotlanta soon. Do you need me to send a limo for you? Really looking forward to our duet of "Walk and Buy."
And want your advice on my wardrobe. Well, not that you've shown much fashion sense in the past few decades. But we'll be taking some creative license on that aspect of the movie cause I intend to look fabulous as Diane Worwitch.
I'm having a fitting tomorrow for some of the gowns I'll be wearing in the movie. Thanks for suggesting Bob Mackie as my designer. After the things he created for Cher, ohhhh, girl, you know he can make me look flawless as Diane Worwitch.
Congratulations to Bob. And all the other homosexuals on their court victory. So glad Shemar and I, errrr, you all now can marry in California.
- Yes, yes. I do believe I see a dead end when I hit my nose against it. And you know how close I have to be to hit anything with my nose. And the tip is silicone now, because of - uh - medication side-effects in the early 1980s. Fucking doctor put one of those little honky things like in babytoys at a followup visit when I was behind in the payola. So it makes a little honk when I bump things with it. Shit - it don't bother me, but it can cause alarm in romantic sitcheeations.
So, Damont, I now order you to go to Atlanta (I'm at the Reno bus station making the call) and put the stomp on Tyler's plots. So I can Re-turn to my focus-pocus on the matter at hand.
Because I MUST Re-tain control of my fate. And once Dearest McCoo nailed Tyler to the wall there really wasn't ANY need for Muhammad to go to the dungheap. So, Damont, invite Tyler to move on and adopt another guise, or bring me back some head cheese.
Thanks, baby. And I will pay you one of these days.
Back to The Plan! Or maybe I need to get underground for a while, because I don't want any hard feelings among the fandom. It gets in the way of their natural lazy boredom.
And I did hear that they think Re has established a psychic link with dear Nelson. She's been mumbling something about bobotie and biltong and drooling. I guess they're cooking in the house!
- Does this mole look funny to you?
It tastes funny.
- Who inherits Aretha's tittays when she croaks? Does Diane Ross need a pair?
- R131, please. No one is gonna bother taking a cross-cut saw to those two old burlap sacks of trouble. Let 'em go.
So, OK, I'm ready to Re-focus on the tour. How about a List? Yeah. That'll help. Mr. Trump told me that.
1. Re finally dies. (I am getting tired of this waiting shit. There's work to be done to celebrate her fucking life and she won't let go of it so I can get started.)
2. In the meantime, line up songs, performers and business.
3. Arrange secret list of alternate performers.
4. Appoint a Tour Medication Supplier. (Maybe this should be 2.)
5. Choose show wardrobe. This has to wait because even though I have weighed the same for the last ten years there's a lump of something that keeps traveling around. Just look at my pitchers. You'll see what a I mean.
6. Publicity - News releases prior to Re kicking it. An Announcement of Wailing Grief before the funeral. Attendance-at-funeral leaflets and flyers. Every door in Detroit. So we need about 30. And national news contacts and morning shows contacted. I may have a slight stroke at this time to drum up interest. "Grief Over Older Friend's Death Fucks Up Surviving Pop Genius Diva!" Or something like that.
7. Book dates and locations. First class only. No Indian casinos and swap meets for this one. It's gonna be all county fairs, NYC, LA, LV, Chi, and then to Asia!
The One After 7. Ensure plane of other performers goes down in mountains. PUBLICITY BONANZA!
9. Arrange for alternate performers to appear Memorial Within the Memorial Show Tour!! I sing ALL the numbers and alternates do harmony with their mikes turned off.
10. Use N word.
11. Apologize weeping.
12. AND SO ON.
Fuck. This is work.
CINDI!!! REDS AND A VODKA NEAT!!!! Bring the bottle!!!!!!!!!