I just wanted you to know - and shut the fuck up about me being done and over and overplayed, because I have heard it from better bitches than you and all I can say is there is a reason I look like a quadruple amputee cockroach - that Sister Re is not doing good. Not good at all.
Well, not bad enough to be losing weight, but that girl is gonna be the first corpse in history to stop at Chik 'n' Waffles on the way to the cemetery and the first one that has to go a size up on the coffin between the wake and the burial because of weight gain.
But she is bad. Stinkin' bad. Blackening-toes, oozy-butt-water, moldy-tongued bad. I am heartbroken. She is trying to keep it a secret but her son-brother Clarence was nice enough to give me a ringy and I have been getting the plans in order ever since. He owed me for some Waikiki Kick Ass I lent him in 1974 and I had Nippy remind him about it lately.
So it will be a grand tour starting with a Radio CIty Music Hall boo-hoo session. Complete with the Casket Dancers and all my friends. Because from the Olympus of my divahood I can reach down to second-tier Re Re and remind the world that she called me friend.
I'm arranging auditions for other "stars" to sing a number or two. Otherwise I am having Re's old hits transposed to E flat minor two octaves below middle C - my new key - and will be doing them to the delight of the world. FInally. At long last. Done the right way.
And I am hoping to keep Re on the tour as a finale - a respectful homage - at least until she starts soupifying, since it's looking like the weather could still be warmish.
I'm so excited. And I heard that Re rallies a little every time she hears about it. God is lifting her up. And it would take God to be able to do it.