We cannot let Re Re pass without play by play from DL's own MISS WARWICK!

Walked on by

Oh, she'll have comments

I have been elsewhere on this shitting site. And I AM busy. Quote:

My "There She Goes" memorial extravaganza playlist has been ready for seven years.

Black faux-silk pants suit spangled in jet beads with voluminous bell bottoms and zircon "The Best" broach ready.

My black mourning sneakers have been stretched so I can fit them on without having my toenails cut. Those fucking diamond drills keep breaking.

Plane tickets to Dee-troit (ugh) and stretch limo ordered and charged to Re's estate.

Onion spray in purse for "natural woman" tears. Check.

Tell-all book final draft in safe. Check.

Brass knuckles, shiv and my cute ivory semi-auto derringer pre-shipped to hotel "just in case." Check

Statement of shock and bereavement starting with "ONE of the greats in her particular music genre has passed" and ending with "I am proud to re-main active and sharing my gifts into the distant future, praise the Lord who blessed me with this talent, vision and taste" ready. Check.

I am blessed. Unlike some other people I could name. Poor Re. Poor poor Re.

"Crying is cleansing. There's a reason for tears, happiness or sadness." Or both.

Oh, and don't worry too much just yet.

Re had re-quested her "last meal" and it will take some time for her to finish it. I mean.

I'm heading to Dee-troit before the official passing. I want her to see me one last time. And I shall announce, "How nice that this is one funeral Miss Aretha Franklin DID attend as promised, unlike ONE I could mention but my grief prevents me."

Fuck. She do leave an "enormous void" in the business. Hee. But I admit I do have a couple of her records somewhere.

Dionne is 4 years older than Re Re. She's in church praying that her number isn't about up, too.

Bad enough to lose Aretha, but the arrival of the lame ass, painfully unfunny Dionne Warwick troll is simply too much to bear on a Monday morning.

Oh, look! One turns up as re-quested and someone carries on Re's tactics at R6! She's be so proud.

MISS WARWICK, do you have any messages you want Re to pass on to Nippy in the afterlife?

I was the first woman to be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. When was Ms. Warwick inducted? That's right, she never was.

I re-gret that I shall be processing Michiganwards to be there for the family (I AM an ordained minister of the Lamb's Blood Altar of Chris Incarnate, as you may know) and will be incommunicado for a wee bit. Not that you horrible carrion pickers need me for anything. But, no, there is nothing where Re is going that could be communicated to dear Nippy, since they will be re-siding in two different places.

Nippy is still with me, sort up (Do keep up.), and as for Re, well, I just assume she'll be heading to where her dear daddy is located. Tropical.

Not that I expect Re to go. I mean, with as many farewell tours and dishonest statements as Sarah Bernhardt had (Look her up.), Re likely will have as many "There She IS!" moments after she's croaked than Elvis has. And they did have more in common than people re-alize. Especially in the porcelain department.

And as for the last 25 years, I never missed Aretha Franklin more than when she was still in the room.

My prayers have been answered! Miss Warwick has returned for the repast.

Once Re has actually passed.

Oh, Marys donchoo weep. No, no, no, no!

Well, hunny bring yourself a nice cushion to sit, because Miss Aretha was speaking to a local newsman on the phone this morning and SHE said she was resting comfortably and had her closest friends ( not too many) and family there. So let's not rush into things.

Since her sisters and brother are DEAD, her kids are in charge. So get ready. If they haven't already started, they will have her house stripped , I'm talkin' cleaned out, so fast it'll make Whitney's "family and close friends" look like amateurs.

Back a sec - left my 3D-print bong that gets through security. No, I am not flying private. I am humble. I just didn't know my little stowaway box would go through security, too. I hope they don't pass rays through because I have been considering having another child.

BUT you listen you so-called Dee lovers. Firstmost, my last cuts aren't selling. Buy them.

Second. You love me so much? You take those shitters out when they start attacking me for telling the truth about the shit that is going down and about to go down. Re has pulled this before, but me connections with the 50 or so tradespeople Re owes money too says they've started shipping her usual supply of Popeye's and hams to the hospital, so I believe she is ill. If not "gravely" ill, at least gravy ill. But all gotta go, and she can't live long if those dirigibles are down to dee-flated flatboats.

I just hope the Big C isn't giving her pain. Because that's the job of the Big D.

The Dee-troit Press says Hateretha is in Hospice.

I hate to be That Bitch, but I sure hope that if she goes on to the great Old Country Buffet in the sky, the movie for Amazing Grace finally comes out.

Is there a Re Clock?

"Gravy ill." I may go before Aretha.

If you see me walking down the street

And I start to cry

It ain't for Re

Walk on by, walk on by......kick rocks, Re......

[quote] I hope they don't pass rays through because I have been considering having another child.

gurrrllll

I'm sorry but I'll be on yet another million selling world tour and must decline to attend.

I AM surprised that Dionne Warwick would appear in public, though, what with those lurid accusations about her sister.

Yes, I am in Dee-troit. I knew Re would not have me on the "list," assuming I would be too busy with my work to stop by to cry, but luckily they still never got around to replace that window in the basement (still with plywood over the hole) I had to kick out in 1982 to escape when Re was chasing me with a hatchet in her hand because she thought I had taken a turkey wing out of her "Private Reserve" ice box. Some birthday party that turned out to be.

BUT, yes, she is bad off. Bad. I mean so bad they're just spraying fried-chicken air freshener in the room because she's just no hungry.

I don't know how anyone could be so mean as to make fun. I see what people write and hear what people say.

Yes, she has been an egomonster. Yes, she has lied and stomped on the throats of her competitors. Yes, she has played Empress like some dee-mented villain in Buck Rogers. Yes, she has developed her own gravitational force over time and that's how she got a lot of her jewelry and why Patti L's hair always looked so bad around her. Yes, she was kind of stupid when she'd play snooty boojy and think she was an opera singer just because she looked like one. Yes, she hurt people. Yes, she owes every person who she ever signed a contract with over the last 55 years. Yes, she did things even I am not going to mention. Outside of my upcoming tell-all, "Re-membering an Enormous Talent: Dionne In-Spects the Re-Spect Queen." Or its upcoming sequel, "Wok On By: Dionne Dishes While She Shares Her Dishes That Re Re Craved." Yes, she has manipulated everyone around her. Yes, etc. etc. etc.

But she has also been the best of her kind, and no one could ever touch he. Even if that partly was because she always was so sweaty you'd slide and fall if you got too close.

It's a shame, though, that she hasn't redone the decor in that hospice room since 1977. So much orange and hot pink and there are toenails broken off in the shag.

May flights of angels - well, armies, even - lift her to her rest in heaven. Not "sing her" like Shakespeare said. Because if even an angel tried singing near her she'd pop its head off for the presumption.

And when did Dee-troit turn into a farm community. My limo hit a cow on the way from the airport.

That's not fried chicken air freshener, that's just long-gestating gasses escaping from Re's pores like rats fleeing a sinking ship.

Poultry-Inspired Ratgas?

Please. How unnecessary and crude

IMPERIAL Poultry-Inspired Ratgas, maybe.

I wonder what color they'll put her in. Time to plan my costuming for the Sad Disembarkation Ceremonies. I do hope they keep her in one outfit and don't whisk her off into the wings to try to change her. I don't think they want to risk something other than the polyester ripping open. But I'll bet dear Re has at least two week of daily do's planned. And I'll BETCHA she has re-corded herself singing at her own funeral. HA!

Of course I am many years away from needing to consider my own dee-mise, but MINE will be tasteful. Closed casket unless you attend one of the VIP viewings or the ULTRA-VIP Midnight Cold Supper with Spirit Guide Readings and Blackjack a la Carte. I mean, my crypt will be freestanding and NOT one of those "down the hall from Liz" fuckeries. BASALT, baby. And fucking ganga smoke piped out for the masses. Peace and Love.

Re probably will just get her fancy box squeezed into a swimming pool to save her the money of a vault.

Still, seeing her under 300 pounds like that was like a kick in my good ankle. Poor Re. She has been such a force, especially 50 years ago.

Red and blue, but everyone at the repast will be smoking some green.

Damont is so high that for the last two hours he’s been trying to steam my beaded pantsuit with a bong instead of the pocket steamer.

Whoever is writing the part of Dionne, just know you are making someone who is going through a very shitty phase in life laugh very, very hard. Thank you!

Baby at R27, since it is Miss Warwick her selveses who is "writing the part of Dionne," is should rivet you with exactly the sense of gratitude you express, Although only one exclamation point for moi re-deeming your spirits is piss-poor gratitude. You buy my last recording, "Feels So Good," now available at Amazon, medical marijuana dispensaries and Captain Cooter Fish Shacks nationwide? Show me you're grateful and do that.

Anyfuck, whooooooooooo they have some good sit in Dee-troit. I've been staying at the James Cole Hotel just a little down from the Motown Museum. Well, it turned out that Damont got things a little fucked up and it's a funeral home, but they had a lull (a lull in funerals in Dee-troit? Who'd have thunk it?) and it's so quiet and cool I booked a double parlor. Can't say much for the bed, though. Kinda tight in the shoulders. But what a plush cushioning! And they've fixed Grand up so nice. Just don't look behind at the streets a block on either side. Like a Potemkin Village. Look it up. I have a Master's, you know.

But Re is still sinking and rising. This could go on a while. I thought Marilyn McCooCoo would be here but everyone seems to think this is another ploy from her Majesty to get attention by doing nothing. Nope. I mean, those dumpsters behind her house are almost empty. Now you know she's sick for them not to be filled with greasy paper sacks and styrofoam delivery boxes.

I do hope that Patti sends Re a "Restorative Best-Selling Good Life Sweet Potato Pie." That would use up some of Re's energy re-sources fast. I just don't want her to suffer. And this is costing from my own pocket, you know.

Genius

I think those Sweet Potato Pies are on the discount rack at Wal-mart. I'm sure Patti can duck into one on her way to Re's condo to say whatever prayers she's about to say.

Which for Patti usually amount to the same prayer. "I can sing your song better than you, bittttchhhhh. AAAAAAMMEEENNNNNNN!"

Why, Diane. So fresh. Ready for a funeral? Your own?

Girl, you look like the Demodex Queen and the bugs done ate your eye hairs all off.

But, Diane, "Black Shroud" is just the right look for you at this stage of your life and (giggle) "career" (giggle).

At least I won't be wearing a mustache with MY funeral ensemble, "Miss" Warwick.

Christ. You and fat Mary Wilson STAY getting on my nerves.

Maybe Diana will throw herself on the casket, like she did at Flo's funeral.

And since I still look stunning, I won't break the casket in two!

We all know Diane showed her ass at Flo's funeral.

You can take the heaux out of Brewster Douglass.....but she'll charge Berry more by the minute if ya do.....

Well, Diane, at least you have "grown" into the kind of woman who can take Re's place on the steel-reinforced throne.

It's just too bad you sound like an old frog croaking its two-note-range, so the similarity ends with rotundity.

We've been calling you Planet Noir tonight here at the James Cole Funeral Home, from that pic at my R31. Girl, you need to get yourself to a groomer if you're going to show up in public here for the big Aretha Fest 2018 Memorial Send-Off. When Damont took me out today for some - supplies - I saw a nice spot on Cloverdale called "Pretty Pooch" that you could use. I think the doorways wide enough. And there's no actual "door" on the building, of course. You know. Dee-troit's open-plan building tradition.

I saw Stevie Wonder today but he pretended not to see me. He's still a little peeved from five years ago when I saw him from behind and walked up and whispered, "Della Reese! You've put a little of that weight back on but you still need a fucking wig!" How was I to know? Well, shit.

Now Della's gone (I skipped it. That touched-by-an-angel shit gave me the willies and she took it too far with those fucking wings she wandered around wearing. Until I found out she was going sleeveless and had vitiligo. Oopsie.) so I won't make that mistake again. Plus you can't stand anywhere near Stevie with all that head bobbing. He gave my Great-Great-Grand-Aunt Cissy Houston a concussion and she was just walking by heading for the bar at one of Bobbi Kristina's pre-wakes. That poor homely girl did drag it out.

Anyway, with Re no news is bad news. But you know her. Even on oxygen she still sucks all the air out of the room. I kept away. Let the B team do some work for a while.

Oh, and, Patti. I hear Re whispered to you asking if you didn't bake any Shoo-Fly Pie and to take a fucking hint. You KNOW she hates how you try to grab at her glory.

Now you tell me I didn't make an easy mistake with Stevie. But John's a little.... Well, you know.

MISS WARWICK! MISS WARWICK! What is the scene like on the ground in Detroit?

She's passed.

Bye, Re. No one will be like you ever.

Shhhh. No more today.

xoxo

Dear god, I adore MISS WARWICK.

>>>>

I love Re but she had a petty streak a mile wide.

It's one of the things I love about her - she was human.

But you can tell one morning she rolled out of bed and said "I can out-sing you, and you, and you too. And let's just throw this track down for three minutes so I can out-Dusty Dusty."

No wonder Dusty got anxiety attacks while making Dusty in Memphis!

Also? Re didn't play.

Not even for a second.

Just re-membering with dee-light.

Oh, Lordy. What a day.

There I was, in the midst of the hoo-ha and grief and selfies, people rummaging through previously forbidden closets and drawers and cupboards, Re being carried out, food being carried in (no one knows the combination on the locks on the refrigerators of Re's "special supply"), true shocked moursning and true falsehood, the boys being sweet and sorrowful - poor babies, and a lot of hangers-on milling around like they were wondering if the sconces would be all that hard to get off the walls and if they were real copper.

I of course was mistaken for a nurse, for some reason. May have been because I was wearing a white dress and a nurse's hat, but I couldn't say for sure. Slipped in the basement window previously mentioned just to scope it out. Turns out Macy Gray is living down there. She just kept whispering for me not to tell anyone. That girl has STUMBLED.

Sad to say a it was a familiar scene, what with my re-cent personal family dee-partations. PTSD, baby. except Re didn't go in the bathtub. Too bad - she did look a little scrofulous.

Now, Re didn't look all that bad, really. I just want you to know that. Just a little dusty. Not all that good, either, but not all that bad. But they had one of her fat-period wigs on her and it looked like one of those high bear-fur hats the REAL queen (Lilibitch) has her guard boys wear. Imagine one of those things on a shrunken apple and you get the effect. Shit. I almost cut it down to size myself, but dee-cided it was the family's job not to embarrass the world. It is Dee-troit, after all. They do things.... a certain way.

Well, getting to the important shit. Four lousy songs. That's it. And they want me to provide my own lighting. And mike. And sign away the rights for the album they're going to re-lease. Shit. I sent Damont up with Nippy to hammer it out. And I am NOT going to fucking do a group back-up with Patti, Diane and God knows what else kneeling in front of Re's box waving arms in unison while Re's old gospel shit plays. I just might set up my "Alternative Celebration of a Life Cut Short by Overeating and Other Things I Shall Not Mention in Memoriam Hallelujah Wake Starring Dionne." I saw quite a few empty buildings around here that would be perfect for the gig.

I did send Donald T. (Go get him, Omarosa, you lying bitch you!) some video I took over the years of Re saying how nasty, mean, stupid, and creepy he was. Of course I didn't mention that's what she said about everyone else on the planet.

Anyfuck, this is going to be another exhausting run-up to the funeral. They are talking about a seven-day non-stop service, maybe moving it while it's going on from church to arena to stadium and so on. They said they expect at least 20 million people, most of them celebrities, to show up. Ticket costs have been discussed. As has theme colors and how many horses of what color(s) are going to pull the wagon to the "final resting place" and whether or not it should have an effigy on top with an arm electronically waving lazily the way Re would do to show she acknowledged your presence even though she chose not to remember who you were.

Well, that's show biz. And a gig's a fucking gig.

Poor Re. Her suffering is over. And so is some of ours.

Shit. Eddie Murphy's here? There go the coke supplies.

Miss Warwick, we appreciate you suffering for your art. And those DTs you get sometimes.

Diahann: Why would i need a soundproof casket?

Dionne: To not hear me dancing on your grave;hussy.

That name! Diane, Diahann....works my nerves.

Patti, you do know Diahann has the Dee-mentia, don't you?

So it's not quite her fault that when she saw you she mistook you for a crazy has-been over-the-hill hooker with a shrieky croaky voice in an old greasy wig that looked like it was slicked down with black show polish.

Oh, wait. It was before her Alzheimer's, wasn't it?

Huh.

Re's at the funeral home. Thank God not the one I'm staying at. But I am a little concerned about the funeral plans. The Wright Museum makes a little sense for the mobs, but Greater Grace Temple? Those Franklins aren't doing anything until early next week. I'm just worried their plans may clash with previously arranged events at the Temple.

Or, worse, that they're combining things at the venue. I picture Re laying there in that box at the Flea Market with a table of her tacky hubcap earrings, recycled lard buckets and Grammys being sold off.

And no one else being told so they can't sell their own shit off.

That was me, of course. Shit. This has me so fucking pissed I forgot to sign off. I mean, I have lots of old Re-related crap to get rid of and I could have made more off it because those funeral fans will spend the bucks for a piece of the main event.

I hear Lauryn Hill will be at the repast.

The repast is Tuesday so they told Lauryn's ass it was Sunday. She might just make it in time.

Your High-ness, it is I, Marilyn McCoo. I’ve just arrived and we’re at the Ramada Inn at the airport. Gurl, you need a functioning cell phone because the number I have for you seems to now be a tattoo parlor and taco joint. You know my production company is working with Omarosa. She wants me to negotiate with you for your tapes. You know, the ones from your Apprentice days. She says the time is right now!

Marilyn! What a re-lief.

Listen, baby. I need some toenails. All I brought was open-toed shoes other than my dress sneakers, and I don't have the right colors of the latter for funeral and nighttime. Ever since Lupella had that "stroke" (mess with Dee-grade stash and you WILL blow something in your head) she gets confused. Although I wonder if the four horseshoes she packed was some sort of comment on something. Well, anyway, do you know where I can get some toenails? Like nine of them.? Any color - I can used magic marker to get them the right tone. If not I'll have to try the morgue. They know me there.

BUT I have wondered when Omagrossa was going to get around to begging. But I have a better attitude if you're involved. I have about two trunks of reel-to-reels, a box of eight-tracks and about thirty wax cylinders I can play on my Edison 1900. My equipment was a little old when I was Apprenticing. But you can get them transferred, right? Anyshit, I have a few of The D feeling up Ivanka's Vanka-Dank, one of NeNe trying to get him off but she keeps cutting his dick warts with her press-ons, about fifty of him shouting the N word out a window, ten over-stall shots of him straining on the commode and crying because it hurts so bad (One has him yelling he's being shit raped. It's about enough to make you want to eat a gun barrel.) and plenty of miscellaneous ones of him doing the usual Trump things, like infant sacrifice, drinking mother's milk for his complexion, picking his nose and eating it, kicking Melania in the ass, screaming Heil Hitler in a mirror, telling Eric to "Come give Daddy a blowjob," asking Star Jones if she'd lick Hope's juicer for a C note, asking Gary Busey if he could see his brain through the plate on his head, asking La Toya why she didn't bleach her skin more so she could look more intelligent, and telling Marlee he wanted to fuck her because she couldn't tell anyone about it here because he assumed she was talking French.

Do you think any of that might be useful, a little?

Re's gone. I still can't believe it. I keep playing that tape of her fucking over Patti at the White House and it seems like only yesterday I got that last fax from her threatening to sue me for noticing she didn't show up when she said she would. SO if she wasn't hiding her cancer maybe I wouldn't have called her out. So much.

You watch that Ramada, honey pie. Those windows are bullet-proof for a reason, and the shit of it is that it means if a gun starts going off inside a room there's a fuck lot of ricocheting. Don't ask me how I know.

See you tomorrow! If I wake up after this new Mo-Town toot powder I'm trying.

What a fuckin' coinkydink that Miss Warwick's new PBS special debuts the same weekend as Aretha's homegoing.

Yes. Ain't it?

Than came moi.

Ka-CHING!

Miss Warwick, have you heard from Gladys yet?

I’m had a Lee Press-on Deluxe kit delivered to your accommodations late last night. Hope they worked out. Omarosa is sending a team out to review the material. It seems like she’s going for all the angles, starting up a private espionage company now too. She’ll be doing informercosls for her branded spying devices. The pen was just one of many...I think she may have figured out how to get a hi-def camera inserted into her weave. Anyhoo, you should talk to her about your ‘that’s what psychic friends r 4’ business from the old days. She may need some guidance.

I’ll see you later, isn’t the brunch starting in a bit? When do the international celebrities arrive?

McCooCoo, you must've forgot that "brunch" means after midnight. No A internationals will show up until the night of the 29th. The Cs are already here thinking they can hoover the funeral powder, but you know Re trained her boys up to keep it close and at home.

The nails were fine but not suitable for the feet. Baby, you know my hooves. It's okay, I just turned some bath mats over and cut them down to size and glued them in place and added some glitter. It works.

As for Oma, she comes or no one does. I am NOT playing with the kind of people SHE would have on her team. Present company excluded, of course. She'll be swinging her bony hips this way for the funeral. As you know, she's a pro at turning funerals into photo ops. (Poor Michael.). As for her little pen, shit. I've been using a recording tampon for 30 years, and the new one I've got pops out with a video camera when I need it. Yes, I have to give up the sweat pants and go for a skirt when I think I'll need some pics or movie, but it's worth it. And at my age the sound doesn't get muffled at all.

But do let's get together later. Say 2 am at the Annex? Carry a shiv. It's a little rough.

And, no, I have not heard from Gladys. She's been fishing for an invite to the VIP stage at the funeral. When I saw she said that Re "set a standard for every single lady" I knew she was doing her sweet-little-me-got-a-coattail-I-can-hang-on-please routine. You know it. Cheshire smile. Fuck. Re was married twice, fucked around more than most, had that first kid by "a neighbor boy" (Hmmhmm.) and generally leaned on and used every cock-carrying bozo who would toss her a nut. That is not what "single ladies" do, Gladys. Nothing against it, of course. But PUHLEASE.

Gotta go. Tire fell off the limo and I've got to catch a bus down to Greektown for some "supplies."

You be careful, Marilyn. Dee-troit is still as racist as ever in the 'burbs, you know. Stay in town where the green fields are and where you're only going to get shot at and rolled, not insulted.

Oh - I heard Anita Baker is trying to find a plane big enough to carry her here, and Tina has said she couldn't possibly come down from her Swiss perch to say goodby to Re. Typical. What's love got to do with it, indeed.

Shit. Did it again. I'm not letting Cindi type these any more.

Me at R60. As if you didn't know.

Amazing how she turnes this intrusion on her grieving into an opportunity to share her wisdom . Giving advice and inspire. I feel somehow empowered in my own sadness know.

I am so glad you understand, R62. Shit, here on a long, boring Sunday in Dee-troit, sitting on the shore at Belle Isle with nothing but the smell of house fires and whatever happens to be floating by feet-first in the river to distract me, I am more than ever determined to share my gifts with the world.

My musical genius is here for everyone, of course.

And now I would like to announce, in this long-ass fortnight of grief waiting to shove Re's box into its hole and sing my five songs at the fete (we're still negotiating), my new spiritual outreach to all those in mourning for the loved ones they never met. The stars who who gone on to glory. The dee-parted divas and studs and talents who look down from heaven on their fans.

Dionne's "Reach Out and Touch the Stars in Heaven Psychic Con-nection Network"

My team of gifted spiritual counselors will be available 60/60/24/7/365 to provide a direct contact between the needy public and their favorite passed stars, entertainers, sports figures and notables.

You need to hear the voice of James Brown to tell you what to do with that sister-in-law getting in your shit? Call.

You want help figuring out your lucky numbers for the Lotto, Bingo or Dollar Scratches with expert advice from Tupac? Call.

You feeling unwanted and want re-assurance you're still the woman you feel you are? Let Sam Cook direct his akashic fingers to your fineness. Call.

Need some kick-ass courage from Left Eye Lopes so you can face down that doorman blocking your way to the Jungle Crib VIP floor? Call.

You some cracker that doesn't have the sense to commune with the true spiritual guides in the community because you're racist and it's Elvis or nothing? Call.

You ready for the real lowdown about what a rotten witch Diane is, straight from Flo Ballard's ethereal whispers? Call.

In addition to one-on-one telephone contacts with Passed Star Guides, we shall be holding Spirit Rallies, Passed-Over Lip-Sync Concerts with Channeling Psychics in Touch with the Greats, and Seances for Smaller Groups of 100 or Less.

I want all the people in the world to know that just because your favorite stars are dead, it doesn't mean you can't still give them the money they need to help you be rich, successful and loved.

And the Network has my personal seal of approval, so you know it can be trusted.

Call my people. You're just a phone call away from your own spirit blessing from your favorite star.

Gotta go. Last bus back and my feet need a soak. Fucking bunions.

Anita's already IN Detroit, Miss Warwick. Remember her no-longer-relevant ass lives there, in the house she still owes the contractors for.

Bitch will be there with her coffee cup. She always talking about "Raise the cup!" on Twitter. We all know that's some Kahlua and coffee in that heaux's cup.

I completely forgot about Anita still living in Grosse Pointe. So easy to forget anything about her.

Shit. She oughta be focusing on raising those two cups that are just about getting smacked by her knees when she waddles around.

You are so right and so cute about the Kahlua. I hear she thinks it's Swahili for "Inner Peace."

Anyone know where I can get about 75 pounds of quicklime? Dee-livered? Call it a craft project.

Anita's digs.

Re never was much for decorating.

But why she wouldn't keep any furniture she actually fit in I do not know.

I appreciate your updates, Miss Warwick. There's nothing in the News about what's happening behind the scenes so praise the Lord for Miss Dee.

Hiw's the family doing so far? Who exactly is running this show? When will the family learn the terms of Re's trust and pour over will?

The divine Miss Warwick is slaying, as always. God bless. Thank heaven for you benevolence in giving us lowly plebs the 411, your majesty.

The question on everyone's lips: what song stylings is she considering for her (paid) appearances (on TV) during this trying time? The entire industry waits with bated breath.

For you, Miss Warwick.

Since Re is no longer Queen, I hear the next in line will be having a coronation.....

Webmaster: Miss Warwick's post at r63 is classic Datalounge and I ask you note it as such.

You can't get a crowbar between the family members to sort it out. They are all scared because Re always put the fear in the them and she has them convinced she will come back from the dark and whoop their "sorry asses" if they pull the least bit of a Jackson Family shit storm for the benefit of the scandalmongers.

I got up in the ductwork from the basement - thank heaven it's summer and the furnace was off - to see if there were any little secrets to learn but they seem so fucking sincere and decent it about makes me sick.

You all are so kind. Blessings on you. I know you know I am really just a sensitive artiste full of the spirit of love and genius who so often has been misunderstood by jealous lesser talents.

But everyone knows that Beyonce thinks she's already been coronated and she'll be swinging her fat fake ass into Dee-Troit and trying to take the scene while that ugly thug of a hubbin' (but such talent!) holds a gun on the congregation so they applaud in the manner re-quired. Ugh.

Miss R likely won't show herself. She's so embarrassed about the fat. Not a problem I've ever had with my healthy lifestyle. (cough)

Oh, I plan to do "Say a LIttle Prayer" (done the right way, I'll say at the start), "Do You Know the Way to San Jose," "That's What Friends Are For," "Don't Make Me Over," a medley of Re's semi-hits just to show who's who who's who, maybe a few gospel numbers, "Amazing Grace," "Star-Spangled Banner," "Dee-troit City," and three numbers from my last album. Then I'll take some re-quests.

'kay?

I never knew love before, Miss Warwick.

Then came you!

This is where Miss Warwick is staying during her vigil for Re's funeral. Just like she said, on Grand down the street from the Motown Museum.

If you look I think you can see her in the second floor window by the curtains.

And to think some people think she's a figment. No, she is true and on the scene!

Shit

Fellow eldergays, kindly explain the context of the "I got your number, hussy" clip. I've never seen it before, I have no idea whom she was talking to, but I am laughing my face off sitting by myself in this Starbucks. So if you please...

If you are referring to the Diahann Carroll "clip," which is just a still I think, I think it was just the poster's funny insert, R77.

Miss Warwick actually has paid Carroll high tribute in the past, although she always got the shade in about Carroll being old enough for Dionne to "study" her technique growing up.

I was referring to r2's clip.

R77 Miss Warwick herselfeses said it during the Apprentice.

This cunt is the only one to read me for real. No shit. Respek. Love you, Dee. Yeah.

BTW Not attending, but wish you all well! Candle In The Wind 1997 #1 hit ever in music history... don't want to re-peat

Just reading a bit of an 2013 interview with Burt Bacharach:

"Bacharach did reunite with Warwick, writing and producing That’s What Friends Are For in 1985. They occasionally talk, and there have been innumerable offers for them to tour together, but he has always declined. ‘I’ve been very straight with Dionne. Many of these songs belong in the keys that the records were made in. And when you take everything a fourth lower it’s just a very different thing. She can do it all she wants out on the road; I just don’t want to be part of it."

Oooh....is he tryna come for Miss Warwick's voice? Just because it's a TINY bit deeper?

Burt always was insecure about his manliness and couldn't stand being around any woman whose voice was more lustrously deep and glowing in timbre than his little wispy balls-haven't-droppy wheezings. It's why he let Angie go. Not that I don't not never mind love him. After all, he owes me so much for making his songs the hits they became.

And he's still pissed I wouldn't peg him. No. I am not into that shit. You want a cock go get one.

I doo.

Oh, your majesty EJ. Of course you can't go to the funeral. Re let everyone know that she re-sented you pretending like you were the Queen of All Music, and as you know she took her reign very seriously when it came to presumptive rivals. Fuck. She thought you were a dyke until 1987.

But then Re's smarts were always more directed towards the re-putation, the bucks in her purse, and the route to the nearest kitchen. After the glory, that is.

I am getting fucking sick of Dee-troit. There are only so many people on the streets to roll, and Damont says he's coming down with a rash from the water here. Note to self: Put off that shower. SO I am thinking of heading to Cleveland for a day trip. I want that dress back I gave the Hall of Fame about 20 years ago, since they don't seem to want to put me in their little collection. I think I left a fatty in the pocket. I KNOW I'm not a rocker, but I have done my share of rocks.

Oh. I heard that there is a dust up on who gets to attend what with the three big official there-she-finally-goes events. Seems that some people are pissed because they don't get an in toto VIP pass to all of them, and of course some of the older dee-vahs think they should get to sit on the couches or re-clining chairs with their feet up. Well, Re was VERY specific about who goes where, and she is shitting on people from heaven, let me tell you. I think Gloria Gaynor is told to sit on a trash can outside the church. PLUS there are 27 other "private family and friends only exclusive memorial moments" events they haven't told anyone about. It's getting to be a bit much. I mean, theme costumes and everything. Re must've been sucking the morphine down pretty thick in those last few weeks. Jesus Christ didn't get such a send-off. Of course he was re-surrected by now. Shit, they couldn't even get Re's house slippers off her feet in the first three days after she passed.

Enough. I do remember telling NeNe I had that hussy's number, but I also said it to just about everyone else, too. LaToyota, Madam Big Lips. You know. The ones who thought I was there to work.

Oh. By the way. Burt was thrilled to have me let him join me at the Rainbow Room. Until he saw everyone was there to see me and not the aging piano player.

Burt did a TV special with Barbra, so there’s that.

Every night before I go to sleep I thank the baby jeebus for Miss Warwick.

Thank you, R86. And the moment I wake up, before I put on my makeup, I wonder why the fuck you haven't bought all your friends copies of my latest album, "Odds and Ends - Scepter Records Rarities," which I just re-dropped August 18 dee-spite my griefishness and relative isolation here in this stinking backwater town.

I don't want to hear about love. Baby Jeebus is telling you to SHOW it and spread my gifts while keeping me in the green (in more ways than one).

And did you see that they are now doing three viewings of dear Re, with the third at Bethel Baptist? I guess her old stomp grounds complained they weren't getting a piece of the action with the private funeral being set up in the New and Improved Greater Grace Temple.

And while I do think that the Hip-Hop Swimming Party Memorial with Cash Bar on the 26th is a wee bit tacky, I'll be there because I want to see if Beyonce's stretch marks sound like a pencil on a zipper when Jay Jay runs his coke nail over them while she's in her Stretch Tarp bikini. I'll bet it'll sound more like a kid running with a stick against a picket fence.

I shall be in my usual cover-all over-all sun block tent sweat pants and shirt ensemble. Room for 3. I don't want my legendary mocha looking like burnt toast, thank you, no. I am proud but I'll be damned if I'll be peeling and ashy. I'm too young for my first wrinkle.

Shit. Nippy's loose. Gotta run. DaMOOOONNNNNTTTTTT!

Will Cissy be there? She still got that early dee-mentia where the bish look like she composing her grocery list while she performs?

Miss Cissy on the toot toot train again

Cissy may not be able to make it to the fun-eral festival. She's a little shaky. Obviously. But her expressive face always has been something that cracked me up. I'd say, "Auntie Cissy, what ARE you thinking about?" And she'd say, Huh?" and go over the whole marionette-head-bobbing thing again. Thing is, it's her muscles. She can't purse her lips without her eyebrows going up, and she can't roll her eyes without her head trying to balance it out by going the other way. And she's had her share of sorrow, you know. You do know. But I keep telling her that for once she won't be standing there looking at Re's backside. And she can just charge the boys for the travel costs. I am.

And I want to get her here because those white-girl wigs make her look like one of those "nice and well-spoken girls of color" who kept showing up on TV in the 60s, like on Mannix. No. Dee-troit has more good hair-hat and weave salons per block than any city in the nation. Just drive down any street in the real city. Weave Shop. Nail Salon. Chop Suey. Bail Bonds. Weave Shop Nail Salon. Chop Suey. Bail Bonds. And once in a while a KFC or an auto-body place with 27 junkers on the street, sidewalk, yard and alleyways. Urban America. My America. But Cissy's gonna get a true wave or I'm not a Soul Sister.

Well, the word is out that Miss Aretha Franklin, Financial Genius, did not leave a fucking will. It's all just sitting there and now watch the probate mess.

Hmmm. I wonder if I should go over that pile of papers I "borrowed" from the house the last time I was there. Naw. I think I'll just let things take their course so Re can continue to be in the news for months to come. She'd like that, wouldn't she? And since I saw (oops) that nothing was left to me, I don't give a shit what else happens.

Does ANYONE know if there's a Trailways bus that can get me to the Michigan peninsula and back over the weekend? There's some woman named Nan up there who's posting ads for a good foot massage and sure could use one. She sounds a little needy - like she wanted me to bring her some butternut squash because she said all the ones up in the north have been man-touched - but I'm used to cray-cray.

God, Dee-troit is boring. I hope my feet feeling better will put me in the mood for some casket dancing, Jersey style.

Ain't it a shame Patti heard she's not seated in the Family-&-Friends-VIP-Front-Row-Soft-Couch-With-Pillows-&-Popcorn section for the big event?

A shame.

Hm. Diane seems to have gotten the same news.

I hear she's in the third tier of seats and has been asked not to sing along because it'll throw the choir off to hear a cricket in the church.

Shit. Diane should be satisfied and stop the divalating.

Poor Mariah was told that there has been a request for a no-fly zone around Dee-troit to be set up so she can't try to sneak in, because she is unwanted at the house, the museum, Bethel Baptist AND Greater Grace Temple. Re was very clear that Mimi was non persona grata, because she once called herself the greatest and Re took it as a personal insult.

I do think that Re has gone a little overboard with the sites for her last appearances. It's a bit too. Shit. Her last tour had fewer stops than this funeral circus circuit she set up. What next? A procession through the drive-thru lanes of every fast-food joint she frequented? That would take WEEKS.

As for me, I'm going tastefully. At the moment I'm negotiating with the Branson House of Wax for a final resting place that will allow my fans to present themselves at their own pace through the decades. I'll be sitting on a nice silver chair with a microphone in front of me, with seasonal changes of my hair styles. What most stars don't get is the need for dignity. And since the Roy Rogers family shut down and Branson and moved Trigger and Buttermilk out, I'll have the E-ternal Presence gig in SW MO all to myself.

Aretha passed away? Oh my....when did that happen?

[quote] Whoever is writing the part of Dionne, just know you are making someone who is going through a very shitty phase in life laugh very, very hard. Thank you!

Yes there is nothing better than gay white supremacist putting on black face and doing their best sassy black woman caricatures It’s HILARIOUS! White supremacist racism is always provides comfort for the weary soul.

It’s all fun and games until you target elderly gay white men.

And if this is what you enjoy. You probably deserve to have a shitty life.

You folks are utterly pathetic.

You want pathetic R95 look in a fucking mirror.

I really enjoyed Harold Bloom's "A Map of Misreading," which discusses how useful creative people find it to apply personal interpretations to others' works, in order to take things in another developmental direction. But it does take creativity, which usually takes detachment, as well. Detachment is so difficult yet necessary to understand not only one's responses but the text being analyzed. So easy to justify anything without detachment.

And R96's comment has an equal right here, this being a free-speech site, but it's likely to provoke the death threats and ad hominem site stalking that is so characteristic of people who aim at elderly white gay supremacists on the DataLounge rather than, say, actual white supremacists attacking our entire nation at present. The "fish in a barrel approach" to social justice. Not that there isn't a point under the rancor. A good moment to reconsider the long tradition of transgressive humor in gay culture, speaking truth to power.

Oh. wait. Rich celebrities who live in outrageous self-absorption ARE powerful, aren't they? That's a good thing! True equality. With love, humor and satire for savor.

Did someone say elderly white gays can't be targets here?

Count me IN for that funeral, after all!

Well, all I got was an invitation to stand outside the museum and call out names of celebrities I recognized. But now I'll be sure to be there. I'll take any safe zone I can get!

I am ready for some Pepto Bismol after THIS shitting story.

Sweet fucking cotton candy crap on a stick.

I'm wearing black and doing the long walk down Woodward Avenue for the Queen.

I'm wearing pink and wondering if (1) the Queen ever combed out any of those wigs she wore and (2) if she just tossed them in a pile on the wig room floor when her helper pulled them off.

Will there be a sale? Dibs on Re Marilyn.

I'd like to bid on some of the Queen's, um, larger sized items?

With Johnny McCain - excuse moi - Sen. McCain - easing out his mortality, I do so hope they do not schedule the funeral on the days of Re's triumph. You know how white people want to get things tidied up fast. Cindy's probably having the rugs cleaned and has the hospice bed out in the back yard already. But since Bill Clinton is speaking for Re, and has to attend McCain's do, too, I guess they'll have to stick the Senator in the Capitol to bide some time.

I'm only thinking of my own time. People don't know that I was very close to Johnny - very close - until he went whacko and started that shit with Sally Palin. Coke bitch could snort a meter line and never say thank you. And she loved to go after the brothers. You heard about her and Glen Rice, I am sure. So I know I'll have to be there to sing him out. He asked me to do Battle Hymn of the Republic but with a nice smooth upbeat tempo.

So many people going. Re. Johnny. Robin Leach. I hate it when the old timers pass.

As for people wanting Re's wigs, I think you'd better re-consider because Re never would have considered having any of them cleaned - ever. She always said that when she got them broke in right after a few months they'd slide off so nice and easy. Too bad she never noticed how they usually were sliding off by the end of her second number in a gig. And she always had that little triangle patch of nappy right front and center, because she always wanted everyone to know that she couldn't give a shit what you thought.

My trip to upper Mich. was a bust. That Nan bitch was a cooter hound. She started at my feet but kept heading north until she almost got to Terre Haute. I told her to keep her hands below the Mason-Dixon or I'd be wearing her teeth between my toes.

Christ. Dee-troit on a Saturday night. Sirens, car horns, bass-booms from cars without license plates and the smell of... What the fuck IS that smell?

Melania keeps calling me and asking if I can get her a seat at Re's finale. She wants to "steek eet to duh phot mann who theenks he cahn boss meh arount."

I told her I wouldn't want anyone in the church to catch anything she brought in, given what she lives around. And I told her NOT to call again. Unless it's for a gig at the White Nationalist House because I've been dusting off my civil rights numbers.

Bitch. No quid pro quo or nothing. What entitlement.

Miss Warwick, here's a DL tip, remove your baseball cap and Air Jordans and Nan will leave you in peace to concentrate on your proper Re prayer and meditation. .

[post redacted because linking to dailymail.co.uk clearly indicates that the poster is either a troll or an idiot (probably both, honestly.) Our advice is that you just ignore this poster but whatever you do, don't click on any link to this putrid rag.]

Who dat man?

That smell is the smell of nutloaf.

MISS WARWICK has earned the right to Re-lax in her private time. When she on, she on... when she off, she off. That's how it is. You do you, boo.

My dearest Warwick,

I’ve been called to DC, apparently Omarosa plans to set up near John McCain’s lying-in-state shindig, the better to release a new audio/video. I think she plans to drop a mini disk with the currently released bits into each person’s pocket as they pass by. Now, if you can come to terms we’d like to include a pitch for your Reach out and touch the Stars, if you can widen the scope for illustrious politicians. You know, nothing like JFK, or big GW himself, reaching out and advisin and mansplainin. If you can reach some of this e real old nasty dead white men, I have a certain Southern belle who’s name does not rhyme with Binsey Fraham who needs to know how to weather the storm, so to speak. Poor dear is deathly afraid the Russians have video of some volunteer work with underprivileged gogo boys. Let me know, sweetness. My flight leaves later tonight.

M.McC.C., of COURSE I shall be happy to accommodate spiritual guides from any walk of life our - my - needy seekers may re-quire. Of course for the guides who come from the political areas, people will need to expect to pay extra to have our parlors, salons and auditoriums fumigated and de-stanked. Getting sulfur and unholy shit out of the carpets and upholstery take more work than the bloated-body scrapers do.

Miss Graham, however, may be on her own. Since she is under the thumb of that two-ruble cracker, Putin, who as you may know is 1/8 demon, I don't know that any good spirit of color will want to ass-ist. In other words, Ladybird needs to pay. Just like the rest of those nasty racist fucks. If I tried to get Adam Clayton Powell or Shirley Chisholm's exalted ghosts to come through and help, can you imagine what they what do to Miss Graham?

On second thought....

I do not understand, too, why SOME people think that there is anything lacking in female loveliness when a girl just wants to hang. I AM wearing earrings. I think. May be cheese popcorn, though. That stuff flies out of the bag when I'm hitting the O - Ke - Doke on a munchy frenzy.

Nutloaf. [html removed] Yeah. I re-member many a cocoa nutloaf from my times, and none of them had a fat pasty vegan woman attached to any of them.

Shit. Forgot to share the terrrrrrrirble news I heard today that poor, poor Re is not "keeping" as well as they hoped. Seems they can't keep the cooler cool enough because she's like a hot radiator that just brings the temp up to something like the low setting on a Crockpot. Cooking in her own juices.

They're thinking of doing a fast salt-water-freeze-dry and then soaking her for 12 hours before the events start to bring her back to plump. You know, like a stockfish cod. They have called in some Norwegians to help. I am apPALLED because everyone raised near the ocean knows that you need a lean fish for that. Re's more in the fatty mackerel line, so they need to go with a nice sweet-and-sour brine if they go a route like that.

I don't know why they don't just do a deep-freeze and let her lie like that. It's going to be around 80 during the "Queen's Crossing" Festival so if they pop her back into the freezer each night she'd keep okay. And I'd have a place to keep my vodka-and-cream-soda and sizzurp the temperature I like them at.

I'll also have Cindi selling clothespins and plugs in front of the museum and churches, just in case. For the noses. Except the Jacksons who might show up because I can't fins any minis that would fit their tailored snoots. They'll be nice and pretty, some glitter and maybe old pics of Re decoupaged on them.

I decided to come here and tell you that Aretha is going to be celebrated this week. I said Celebrated!!!!!!!!! I hope you can out aside John McCain long enough to CELEBRATE ARETHA. She will lie in state at the African American Museum in Detroit for two days, then be taken to her church, New Bethel for a shorter lying in state. On the eve of her funeral Gladys Knight and a host of other stars will perform a musical tribute in free concert down by the river in Detroit. At her funeral there will be approximately 800 thousand gospel groups, stars, and Oscar winner and other performers singing her praises literally. I suspect the funeral will go on for at least 4-5 hours. Easily. Go to the Detroit Free Press (local newspaper) or one of the local affiliate TV stations and you can watch it live or at least parts of it. The Free Press has committed to broadcasting every.single. event. of this Home Going Celebration. So put on your best, most fabulous hats and represent!!!!!

R114 here. I've even heard that Nelson Mandela will be present......in spirit. This funeral is going to easily surpass Whitney's. It is going to be HUGE. It is going to be like nothing we have ever seen before. #RESPECT

Send everyone my love!

Whatever Anna Mae is chanting, it must mean "eat a bitch out of house and home."

She getting BIG. Not ReRe big, but big nonetheless.

Miss Warwick, are you aware that Miss Pam Grier has been invited to the funeral ? - second row, honey.

Miss Pam Grier will be there for security purposes only, dear. Truth. The family is concerned that Patti is going to poking and grabbing like she did in the White House, and Re cannot be expected to take the time to protect herself under the circumstances of her being less mobile nowadays.

Gladys is doing the public stuff because she's not quite instrumental to the core griefabrations. It's nice they gave her something to do with all that nervous energy she still has. She's always so up(pers), you know.

I think it's fine that Anna Mae is always doing her tinabration solo. That's what self love's got to do with it. Her Buddhism has turned into Bootyism by the bucketful, but I believe it is good for the elderly to keep some fat stores handy for when the diabetes, strokes and heart pops start dee-pleting.

As for me, well, I come from strong stock and always have lived moderately and temperately. My humility about my genius has kept me fucking young. Dudes, I mean. Yas. Dee-troit still has some very enthusiastic performers. They pretend not to know who I am so they won't seem like star fuckers. And I usually don't have to even threaten them to get the "thank you and I loved you at first sight" gift of cash afterwards.

Ho ho. Gladys by the river. I hope she sings with her back to it because when the bodies of various mammals - two and four legged - go floating by she'll be able to think the gasps and screeches from the audience are all for her. I mean, it's like a bloat float parade on that river. What the hell is upstream of Dee-troit, anyshit? Mobtown or Bundyville?

Gotta go. The Fish Shaque across the street puts its hushpuppies on sale at 8:30 every night.

I'm still finessing my numbers for the primo event. Funny how they are keeping my appearance secret. I guess they want it to be a big surprise!

Sweet D, I’m in DC prepping for our funeral festivities and that sweet plastic surgery girl Ivanka came by to see Omarosa. And by “see” I mean threaten. She claims she has hired NeNe Leakes as a special advisor to the WH. And NeNe has her own set of tapes. Of you...

Apparently Ivanka and Jarod have declared war on smart, capable, women. Who have been kicked off the Apprentice...

Miss Warwick, will you be giving your lesbian uniform a break to attend the service? You know this is Detroit where bitches dress, and you should look like a lady out of respect for Ree. You don't got to a be lady cause we know you aint one, but at least dress the part.

Damn, It's Diane again. I thought I smelled desperation and dried cum.

Nam-Myoho-Renge-Ky darling!

Shit. Middle of the night and I'm up already. The have Re's new exhibit opening up with a re-ception this morning at that funky-ass museum of Us and I have to get going. Re would be so happy not only to have an exhibit at a museum about her but to get to be the main attraction at it herself. I wonder if they've set up one of those little gift shops at the end of the walk-through. I could slip a couple of post cards into my purse.

Diane and all the other fat, bald old bitches who have so many protrusions on their blubber that they just slap a bra on the two biggest ones and let all the others bob around REALLY need to lay off the hate speech about women who love women. Diane, I happen to know more about your proclitivities (yes, I said it) than you'd like, and I shall re-lease some photos I have of your days back in the Crystal Stick Womens-Only Club when you were pocketing change in the back salon.

Marilyn, I have NOT signed a contract because the terms are NOT to my liking. But I am still half on board. NeNe always dips her shiv tip into dog shit before going out so you be careful if she shows up and starts swinging. And watch the I-Vanka. She's a Russian spy, you know. She looked like Marlo Thomas' twin before both their nose jobs. Unibrow, shnoz, black hair, moles and Dumbo ears. And I did not fail on Apprentice. I ascended.

Glam? You want glam? Bam. Here's my Day 1 attire.

Fuck. Damont said they're letting the public into the re-ception. And that means autographs. Oh, well, $3 a pop will get me lunch.

Go for 5, Miss Warwick. People have their hearts AND their wallets open during a repast!

[post redacted because linking to dailymail.co.uk clearly indicates that the poster is either a troll or an idiot (probably both, honestly.) Our advice is that you just ignore this poster but whatever you do, don't click on any link to this putrid rag.]

I'm thinking of slipping into half-mourning for Thursday. I don't think Bethel has AC and if I want to sing down that noisy choir I need some space to move in my gown.

But Friday I probably will go with full Sell-A-Bration of Life mode and re-suscitate, re-plenish, re-invigorate and re-surrect "this old thing." The Main Event deserves my spreading some sunshine to the sick-of-this-long-ass-showboating crowds waiting for the shrimp 'n' nuggets coming afterwards.

I do think that people who buy new clothes for funerals are just tacky. (Got that, Patti and Gladys? It's not OUR fault you can't fit into your Whitney duds because of sampling all that chicken and Patti Plop Pies.)

I mean, new stones and glue glitter are fine. But a whole new outfit with the tags flapping is just bad.

Although I expect that all the outfits they'll be putting Re into as the hours and days pass will be new. Since I hear she was down to nothing, poor dear one. I assume that means a size 24.

Shit. Thursday came back to haunt me.

THIS likely will be Friday. Unless you think it is too plain and somber.

I sent Damont to LA and Lupella is bringing a trunk up from Brasil with my stuff so I can make some final choices.

Dionne, don't you be smoking your reefer by my pie and dessert stand outside the services. A bitch needs to make a coin. My workers have been ordered to taser you and your crew if you get to close.

Miss Warwick, do you still have a line to that shyster Linda Georgian?

Ca 't ge . fu ki g sig l in th s sh th le mu eum. Lem e gr b ths pur e.

OK. That's better. Fucking cheap ass phones. I am BUSY in case you didn't know. Patti, you always look like you grabbed those plastic Cher wigs in 1967 from the Halloween store and cut them short because on you long hair makes your head look like a watermelon on a hammock. I wouldn't go NEAR those nasty babyshit-in-a-diaper-crust things you're selling. And you have a nerve selling those pile pies outside Re's do. Even though I did notice you are squestered two blocks away with the Phelps church and the two fat white Trump ladies.

You think I don't remember Re puking over your "pies," telling the world they killed 78 people as of that time and the Re was going to knock you out of business with her own pies, except of course she had that case of I-don't-have-cancer cancer plus she was a lazy old chub by then?

I hope Re's ghost comes for you, Patti. And picks up one of those things and smashes you in the face with it so we can watch your face melt on Youtube.

And I'll have you know that NOBODY has EVER said MY pie was nasty, no matter how I dee-cided to serve it.

Miss/Mr./Mrs./M./Mme/Mlle/Monsieur/Whatever "A Fan" at R131. Funny you should axe. Linda has been off the psychic airways ever since that myeloma went to her brain about - when was it? -six or seven years ago? That was she - MYeloma. like she was special. And MULTIPLE MYeloma to show she was just rolling in it. No USeloma with Linda. No.

I did have Damont go pick me out a humerus before she got shoved into the crematrix. I use it to stir my gumbo. But she seems to have ended up so deep in the dark and smoky pit that it would take "Special Contact" with one of her bosses to get her to come through, and I do not mess with that dark shit. I am all about the angels and light spores bringing love into the hearts of those in need of contact.

Which re-minds me. We are running a special "Joe Jackson Spills the Beans" discount package for anyone wanting to hear what Mr. Jackson has to say now that he is free to tell his story. Call the toll-free number and ask for "Eugenia Epsilon" and give her the code word "Beatakid" to hear more. And hurry. Joe is on borrowed time in the in-between and his own heavenly trial may lead to him sharing housing with Ms. Georgian.

Fuck. Woman saw me with her phone. Gotta run! Got some credit card number, though. OK!

Poor Petty Labull.

Her Walmart pies ain't even selling at Aldi's.

Okay. I have to say it. Seeing her there has about killed me. Shit. I'm not taking anything back, but I'm not taking anything she accomplished from her, either. And her feet crossed like she's taking a nap and is NOT going to let you know she hears everything you're saying - I don't know. I guess I need to, just this once, nod and say she was crazy, frustrating, mean, dishonest, silly, ego-driven, but the best. And the best has a right to be anything else it takes.

Just this once.

Oh. And I am getting those red pumps. In person they're not so bright and I can use them with a new gray sweatpantssuit I have that has a nice red stripes down the sides. Switch from my Nikes to the pumps at 6 pm and it's instant daytime-nighttime transformation.

Only thing is that Re's feet were/are only 12's. But I think I can squeeze into them. They're actually kind of loose on her feet. And I heard her legs are crossed because the morticianery people weren't paying attention and she's sort of stuck that way now. Because she was kept so long (so fucking long) they had to use a formaldehyde-super-glue combo tube stuck in her all over and she's not getting ANYTHING rearranged at this point. But she does look..... like herself. What a pity.

I am overly doing this because I accidentally mixed my colors up and four reds, two yellows and a purple do NOT equal three blues, a white-and-green stripe and two round white ones. Thank God i got me some Flint blunts grown in that good Flint water so I'll be calmed down and ready for tomorrow's re-peat showings at the Musee de Dee-troit Noir. I hope they re-membered to close the box and get it cool, because I know those were some rats in the lost next to the place.

Please send us more up-dates, Miss Warwick. I'm an insomniac who will be going to my factory job this morning like a zombie. I've been playing your songs on YouTube between your posts and I have to say that it's so nice to listen to you without having to shell out any money. Anyway, I'm sure that you are living well off the hundreds of thousands of dollars in royalties that you must be receiving annually.

Have you considered getting together a tour? I would certainly pay top dollar to see you here in Western Massachusetts. MGM just opened a casino here in Springfield. The former boss of mine who is now an MGM executive tells me that they are searching for big-name talent who can deal with drunk, rowdy, bitter gambling losers. The pay is negotiable, so I've heard.

Pretty please? I'm too young to have seen you at your peak on Solid Gold, My grandmother loved that show. She used to play some VHS tapes of your performances when she babysat for me. After she died last year, I tried to transfer the VHS to digital. Unfortunately, there was too much dust.

Poor baby at R136. Blue color work make some people blue, but you're a little vicious, too, aren't you, hon? Dust, indeed. But I know that being poor sometimes grows a person a scaly skin.

But I love you. I do not do MGM gigs, no, not since they dropped plans for a sequel to my brilliant appearance in "Slaves," to be called "Cassy's Song." Fuck them. However, my triumphant re-turn to the big screen is on its way. Yes! Back on top! I am "Armed."

But thank you for your so-kind suggestion. I didn't know that Massachusetts was considered big enough to have a western area. Poor region, huh?

And I make MILLIONS every year. And I am STILL at my peak. My entire career has been one long mountain range of height after height.

Now here's a little secret. When they were spinning out my early VHS tapes in Serbia I had a deal that some special magic blotter was impregnated into the "Golden Edition" copies. So if you have any of those, lick the tape and you're in for a treat.

OK - back to Re's viewing. I've been standing inside the door offering to hold people's cell phones since they do not allow clicky clicks where the body is and you KNOW those people in Dee-troit can't be trusted to hold back. I've got like 750 of them from yesterday and today I'm having Damont and Lupella help while Cindi works on some embellishments for my big-finish gown for Friday. And the aftermath on Saturday.

Faith Hill is performing here? I guess Re couldn't draw as many of us big names as she hoped. Shit.

Now don't you cut any fingers off at that factory job, R136. Unless you want some disability and lawsuit money. Hint hint.

I hope the florists insisted on being paid up front in cash.

Just saying.

I do love the post at R134.

Miss W never fails to surprise me.

I would love to blow a fattie with Miss Warwick.

Miss Warwick, I'm genuinely surprised not to see your name on the list of celebs chosen to formally honor the Queen during her Going Home Tour . I really am. Even Angela Davis is on the list Angela fucking Davis.

I guess Re really took to heart your little faux pas at Nippy's funeral. Seems kind of petty to me But there you have it.

Anyway, for all your DL fans do you think you might be able to get near the TV cameras on Going Home Day and give us a little wave?

You must have missed the Deluxe VIP Top-Dog-Only Ultra-Diva-Supreme Best-of-the-Best Invitees to Pay Homage to the Queen list then, R141. I am not included with the mere performers. I am part of the private services. We have agreed that since Re wanted her mightiest competitors to give her a final show for her alone, I do not think anyone will ever have the chance to hear it. Because that would not be showing R-E-S-P-E-C-T / E-T-C.

We will be conducting the secret performance at the Home at 12 midnight Thursday night. They said they'll be serving Irish Coffee so I assume it will be in the cooler where they have to keep Re so she doesn't start leaving lady slush in the box.

Sorry YOU weren't invited, R141. Maybe you'll get lucky and someone will drop a pirated re-cording. A VERY elevated and see-lect set of us.

And, honey, I've been on camera at least seven times at the Musee de Mort today and yesterday. But they have those gigantic dying roses containers like robotic with re-mote control and every time the news people try to take me in the things move to block the way. Shady. Re planned everything with her usual - um - sense of style. Meaning Re only, Re all the time. If you look at the shot where the little girl is waving, I am right behind her for a second before the floral robot moves to block me.

But you want a little wave, baby? OK. Here's one.

But I'm not there for mere attention. I am selling out my Re-Boot Brownies with Special Sprinkles in the vicinity. And autographing the shit out of every wall I can reach with my spray can. Tag!

Darling D,

I heard the family’s on high alert because someone spread a rumor that much like Re wanted cash up front, she hated banks too. And that a few cool mill is hidden in the house. Somewhere. You hear about this? The family is looking for clues...no one knows the location. Maybe a good psychic friend can help?

Why wasn't I invited?

Shhhhh, R143. You KNOW I've been coming and going through that broken window in the basement and scooting my way through the duct work. I KNOW all about Re's crazy obsessions and beliefs, and there is a ton of shit stuffed into hide spots all over the main house and her other places. She has a lot of real estate scattered all around the Dee-troit area. Well, the boys and their extended family members have been taking pick axes and drills to the walls, but I happen to know - I think - that Re was too smart for something so obvious.

More later.

And, Burt, you weren't invited because Re thought you looked like an insurance salesman.

Finally, I shall only say it once, but the terrible things spoken of about Dee-Dee have no basis in fact and at least one of the big-mouth accusers won't be around to spread things around any more. 'Nuff said. But I'm a little worried about Cissy. She got on the bus to Dee-troit three days ago and no one has seen her since. And, unlike other members of the family, she doesn't have one of those handy ankle trackers on so we can check on her.

Oh, Marilyn. OK. Count me in. You have worked hard and even though Omarosa has slipped from the headlines I am willing to hand over some of my personal tapes of Trump doing the ol' pussy grab on set. What bothered me was Ivanka didn't seem to mind it.....

Cissy needs some "medication" for her "sinus infection"... all good.

[quote]Maybe you'll get lucky and someone will drop a pirated re-cording.

This little thing may come in handy when your elevated peers ask for your autograph Miss Warwick

So this is the only photo anyone has ever seen of Re's "pile." I don't know if it's halfway current. And I think there must be more to it because I don't see any wigs or furs.

Note to self: Tell Damont we need a front-loader and some dynamite. While I'm at church Friday....

Or maybe this is the right picture. Anyway, you KNOW Re never let anything go and she was no housekeeper, either.

[post redacted because linking to dailymail.co.uk clearly indicates that the poster is either a troll or an idiot (probably both, honestly.) Our advice is that you just ignore this poster but whatever you do, don't click on any link to this putrid rag.]

And I also will let you know the musical tribute at Bethel was wonderful. Although of course Re had to have it all end with her own over-the-top grand-mal-seizure lady-overboard-screaming-for-attention rendition of "Old Landmark." Still, she could hit her notes and if anyone thinks THEY can do a glissando they just need to check her runs to gather some humility. Although it never was my taste. Quiet, gracious, intelligent talent is best. As I exemplify. I was in the back because I don't want to take all the attention from needy Re. I also was able to get some smokes in because they had the doors open. Some day our black churches will discover air conditioning. The waves of cologne, perfume, toilet water, hair-doo-doo, baby powder, holiness, Pine-Sol and assorted granny pits de arms ensured no one would notice my bong doing its wonders. And I think it helped lift the singers up a bit.

BUT I am starting to get a little nervous over the Command Performance tonight. I mean, all I got was an invitation that had disappearing ink and it all went poof thirty seconds after I opened it. Some people from the Abyssinian Arabica Order - Re dug all those old-time culty clubs - will be by to pick me up at 11. I don't know who else is invited. I was just told in the note to be sure to dress appropriately, bring my I'm-so-honored face, and have a snatch of numbers ready, to be selected from my own repertoire, not Re's.

I am starting to smell a set-up of some kind. I mean, when I can get a little air in dee-spite the White Diamonds and Mother Rainey's Lemon Cooch-Away I've still got in my lungs. If I've still got lungs in there, I mean.

Re had that streak, and could be dee-vious. But, no, she wouldn't have. Not at her penultimate moment of glory.

Right?

D, you’re right to be nervous. Omerosa still gets emails with the daily top secret intelligence briefing. Guess they haven’t gotten around to taking her name off the distribution list yet, and there is some activity planned for tonight in Detroit. I would hate to see you snatched away and sold into sexual slavery in the Middle East. You know how vindictive Jared and Ivanka are.

Thank you for the warning, MMCOO. I'm carrying my little pearl-handled automatic derringer just in case. But SHIT those Abyssinian Arabica men showed up an hour and a half early and they look fucking ominous. The "limo" has no windows and looks like a painted-over construction panel truck.

But they showed me their papers and brought out some extra generous hash stogies so I am feeling more see-cure. Just Re drama.

So I'll get these shoes on (Nikes and all their laces) and go. I can't wait to see who else has been invited for this exclusive final private presentation. I don't even know what fucking order they're having us sing in. I better be last. And I'm wondering what kind of lighting and sound they have at that funeral home. Well, a gig's a gig.

Wish me luck! Not that I'll need it.

OH. One more thing. Re's been having her outfits changed every day just like I predicted. Today was this ugly gold color and she's starting to look like an old alligator purse wrapped in fabric. Or just the whole alligator. I HOPE they go with the all-white ensemble tomorrow and you KNOW she'll be taking that white fur of hers to the grave with her. No way she'd let her daughters-in-law tear it apart fighting over it.

SHIT! O-KAAAAAAY. I'm coming! Get out of my way! Sheesh. No way to treat a diva, Masons or not.

I've been waiting outside Swanson's, Miss Warwick.

Imma jimmy the wires on one of these hearses. And then we'll have our ride for tomorrow, just like you asked.

Ho Lee Fuck.

Pardon me while I catch my breath.

So those men pick me up and "assist" me into the back of the panel truck. Nothing to hold on to so I'm banging around as they drive. My crepe was creased and my velvet was crushed. We get to the funeral home and they rush me down the long dark corridors to the basement and, finally, into a fucking cooler. And there are Diane and Patti, with Diane hissing like a cat and Patti pouring out enough sweat to water the cotton with. They got the same invitation I did, to the "special exclusive farewell performance."

There's the gold box. But Re ain't in it. They have her behind some plexiglass and she's like staring out at us. A screen comes down and it's Re dee-livering a message to us. "You hussies have been a pain in my imperial ass for a long fucking time and it's time for some final payback." And then a horrible cackle. "First, you can suck on my last fart."

And then the most god-awful rotten stink starts pouring in. If that was the last gas pass bottled up from Re I could tell her last meal was fried chicken, oysters, chicken livers, gorgonzola, cabbage and broccoli, enchiladas del gilipollas del diablo,, pork chili and Dee-troit River sushi. Diana started spinning in a circle and Patti pulled her wig off and began pulling those last few hairs growing out of her scruffy scalp off.

I immediately lowered my veil and was protected. Somewhat.

Then Re's image on the screen said, "You cold-ass bitches thought you could play? Well, chill, hussies." And freezing air came pouring out of the fucking pipes. Patti's teeth chattered so hard they popped out of her mouth. (Cheap ass dentures.) Diane sounded like squeaky air being let out of a balloon. A big fat old balloon. Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek. And she started banging on the door.

Well, I had my Blackglama fur so I wasn't bothered.

And then Re said, "And now I will let you out, but only if you shout the following words, "Aretha Franklin is the greatest talent in the history of the universe and I am a has-been loser not worthy to stand in her shadow." Which I thought was funny because you know that shadow had room for all of us.

Patti yelled it first. Then Diane. "I quietly said "Watermelon watermelon watermelon" and the door cracked open. I made my dash and was out of there before those two weak sisters knew what was happening. I proceeded to find the controls to all the coolers and pounded them out with a fire extinguisher. Let's see how Re's long-ass home-going goes when she's reeking in the heat after a night of ol' stuffy Dee-troit climate.

I also pocketed some rings and a couple gold teeth from the other temporary residents of the funeral home. Fuck that shit with the home letting a diva like me get stanked and iced and insulted.

I could hear Diane staggering up the hall like a cow on the highway. Patti was having one of her diabetic fits and trying to get a needle into her flabby arm.

So i broke the glass in the front door out with a trashcan and found me an Uber. We took off as the alarms rang out. Watch them squelch the news story: "Thieves Attempt to Desecrate Holy Re-Mains the Night Before the Home-going."

So I am taking some medicine and am getting prepared for the final events. Bitch. Thank you, dear heart, for the special hearse-limo ride (R154). Damont will drive. They can drag that coffin from the back of an ice cream truck for all I care.

MSNBC showed a procession of pink Cadillacs in honor of Aretha Franklin's '80s hit Freeway of Love. Touching.

Touching?

Touching the back of my throat with a finger. If Mary Kay sales cars are some sort of tribute to Re, then KFC wagons would have been more so. But I do not mean to be unkind to you, R156. You obviously are not one big callus like I am from my years of dee-flecting dis-respect from all those who liked Re best because the thought bigger was better. I did always like telling her that she was an enormous talent and no one was as huge a star as she was. Always the same. She'd give a tiny smile and nod righteously, and then the furrows would start. I was always out of there before the full impact hit. You sound like a nice person. Go on and be touched. xxx But re-member. I'm the alive one.

But I digress. I'm here in the "church." Re picked this place because it's the closest thing to a performance arena she could find. Why not her daddy's church for the funeral? Not big enough? Shit. She just wanted maximum coverage. That's okay. What else would she want?

Bill Clinton spotted me and tried to wave me over. He wanted me to sit between him and Hillary. I just pretended I didn't see. No way I'm letting him try to lay hands on me when he's in one of his "I'm really a black man" moods. I've seen it and he's no brother. Well, maybe a little brother.

I'd rather be at the McCain do and sit next to Mrs. Bush because she's always got a flask ready for the dull moments.

OK. Let's get this thing going. I'm choking up a little but it might be those frog legs Lupella whipped up for my quick breakfast. I should have asked her where they fuck she found them. My luck and they were toads from the back of the funeral home.

Longest ass funeral since they buried Abel under a rock.

I died at R155

Is there a dinner/buffet post service?

Miss Warwick, I looked for you at the celebration today, but I couldn't find you. So I emailed BET to ask them to please zoom in their camera on you. Nothing.

They were selling hot dogs, turkey legs and snoots in the church aisles. We all were so tired - I think the service is still going on but after my fucking ordeal last night and this morning I had to get my feet up and some smoke into my poor lungs. No, of course no one was feeding anyone for free. Not on Re's nickel. Shit. That church probably would charge for communion, anyway. Showboat shack.

Hillary looked good, though. So did most of the people. I don't know why they had that Faith Hill person screeching at us. Terrible. And of course Chaka Kong left me hoping the floors were reinforced. Jennifer H was okay but that girl is so dumb I always marvel she knows which end of a mike to sing into. Al Sharpton is putting some of the weight back on. Jesse Jackson doesn't seem to know he is passe after all his posse pussy. Etc. Re looked especially dead, finally. Her little smile is wilting into a kind of Cheshire sneer and that mouth runs about nine inches across her ol' pumpkin face. But (obligatory) she did look lovely.

They all marveled about her outfits but it's just like dressing paper dolls with the dresses all slit up the back and tucked under. Getting the shoes on is the hardest part. And not breaking anything off with the lift-and-tuck-and-smoothing.

BET is pissed at me and they NEVER give me coverage. All the other cameras caught me, but I was after all wearing a veil and being humble. I held an impromptu gospel session that several people enjoyed. In the basement ladies room. Always less of a line in the basement toilets. But since I was singing behind the stall door there wasn't any film except for the cell phones catching me coming out of the stall with a cloud of smoke around me. Ethereal.

Fuck. This is kind of a letdown. I'll be at the cemeterium tomorrow. I did manage to get a nice keepsake from Re. One of those rings she had on her fingers in the box. I knew she would have wanted me to have it but after all she was so sick and only had about nine years to get her affairs in order so of course there was no will,. Ass. I think it's a cubit zirconia. Only about 40 carats. Slipped right off because of the weight loss. I did have my bolt cutters with me just in case. But those little guard ladies were giving it the eye beams.

I'm heading out for a couple of drinks and some rumbles. Lots of out-of-town honkies here and they practically throw their shit at you, even if you're just asking for a match. I stay out of the suburbs here, though. Trumpland, Michigan. Land of the Living Dead.

So you all be good. I'll give you one last glimpse at the crypt tomorrow and then I have GOT to get back to Oklahoma for a county fair gig. Anyone know where Sasquatch Hole is?

Oh. I did wear the orange dress with a lot of jingles glued on it. Lupella did me right. I sounded like Santa coming to town every time I moved. Kept throwing the singers off. Poor dears.

Miss Warwick, where was Gladys during all the commotion at r155?

Miss Warwick did any other ladies from "way back when" show up? Roberta Flack, Dianne Carroll, Nancy Wilson, Leslie Uggams? Barbara McNair is dead, so of course she could be there.

* couldn't be there.

Miss Warwick has left the building, it seems...

Shit. Gladys was *almost* in Re's good graces, especially since Miss Knight has gone see-nile and I'm not talking about Egyptian tourism. You heard her talk whack saying at the funeral how she has what Re had and her "spokeswoman" (aka nurse) said to ignore her and she's very well physically.

Roberta Flack wasn't there because she's sick, too, and broke, which you may have heard. She couldn't even get rid of that two-bedroom condo she had and kept dropping the price on it. Plus Re shit all over her a long time back and you NEVER get that stink out of your nose.

Diahann (ahem) Carroll is see-nile, too, and they can't trust her not to piddle herself. Re didn't mind her because Diahann was older. Re even famously took a plane ride up to see her in Canada in "Sunset Boulevard." Hilarious. That's when Re (white knuckle flier) brought that silly big-ass fur that was too big for luggage so she bought a plane ticket for it for the seat next to her.

Nancy Wilson couldn't be bothered. NO ONE who didn't have a stake wanted to be in Dee-troit. Haven't you been there?

Leslie "June is Badababa All Over" Uggams? Please.

Martha Reeves, too. All of her. And of course Cicely Tyson was, as well. Poor thing sat there thinking someone was going to read her name and she'd win an award. She is sooooo ooooooold.

Angie Stone, Jennifer "Loose Skins" Holliday (of course - She sang us out. People screamed but it was because the goddamned thing was finally over.), Shirley Caesar, Whoopie (the only black woman who can't sing) Goldberg. You know about Chaka Kong and Jennifer "Special Kid" Hudson.

Cuntarosa was here. Pardon my language. I mean, why the fuck was she here? Other than the obvious.

And Shirley Caesar, Dottie Peoples and Tasha Cobbs, but you white people won't ever have heard of them. Your loss. Well, in two out of three cases.

Farrakhan and Jakes showed up, probably thinking there'd be old-fashioned orgies at Bethel in the name of the Rev. Franklin, but no go. The place has cleaned up its act.

The fact is that a lot of people were still turned off by Re's never-ending envy and bull-shit. They learned that being a fan and being someone in the music business - especially if you had a bosom and a cooch - was easier if they kept their distance. She was never a happy person, never satisfied, never at ease. Always the deep downs and crazy ups. She didn't know how to show herself the respect she demanded from everyone else. But that's the price of starting too young and seeing too much too soon, I guess.

Me? I'm done now. Gotta get to Oklahoma. Nice of some of you to keep company but there was precious smoke and booze coming with the little bit of love. Buy my albums! Fuck. look at the time. Damont said he'd have a ride in an hour. Watch it be that 1940 corpse-mobile. Well, anything to get out of Michigan.

You be good. And know that I am fucking GREAT!

Nobody rang for Nancy Wilson's ass for the same reason no one rang for Anita Baker's ass, and THAT heifer is IN Detroit. Those bitches are two Zolofts short of a whole Happy Meal and if you so much as "yes ma'am" them the wrong way they get more paranoid than Miss Warwick after a blunt and a bowl. Ain't NO one got any time for that shit during something like this.

Something wasn't sitting right with me when I saw Jesse on TV. I know his ass has Parkinson's but the way he was looking at people, or not looking at them, I think he's losing his vision. Either that or he was on some good shit yesterday.

Safe travels Miss Warwick. Go get some of those Branson dollars. Throw a banjo pluck into "Say A Little Prayer" and those folks will believe it's country music. But just be careful down there. It's still 1958 in some corners. I'm attaching THE Motorist Book, Sister Warwick. You know the one. I pray you don't need it.

Best poster on the DataLounge

J'adore Miss Warwick.

Miss Warwick, I left what you asked in that metal box outside that Valero gas station in Topeka. Make sure either Damont or your Megabus driver pulls over for a smoke break.

Your list was:

2 cartons Kool Super Long 100s

3 nickel bags

A copy of People, Us Weekly and Soap Opera Digest

Foamy lady soap and car wash chamois

Beef jerky

3 benjamins

Safe travels!

Miss Warwick, have you landed safe in the bayou? Storm's a comin!

Blink five times if you need help.

Miss Warwick, you are the best. God I love your adventures and description of events. If you did get stranded in Branson, do tell us about your time there! Did you serenade the locals, sample some local weed?