“She’s a bad mama jama! Just as fine as she can be!” Establishing an expression of excitement once used universally to describe a dreamy woman is an awesome accomplishment. Rest in peace to Carl Carlton, the creator of that catchy composition, who fell from the fight and took flight on the fourteenth. Repeating for resonance one more time, Janet Jackson, Method Man, Billy Blanks, Bun B, Statik Selektah, August Alsina, and all answering to alliterative names should be very vigilant. Also, rest in peace to Angela Yee’s big brother, who has sadly succumbed to an aneurysm. Giving God the glory on a giant globe of gore and grief seems sort of silly, at least to me. Trigger warning, I’m definitely delving deep into the Devil’s heinous, hellish hold on humanity here. How good could God be—how potent is your pop’s power—if his children can’t catch a break or enjoy Earth as they’re being brought to bondage and beaten badly by their sadistic stepdad, Satan? As an abiding atheist, and someone who hates Hadean humans, I admit that the endless evilness emanating from Earth’s central citizenry—or the red-rumped redrumer’s relentless reign if you’re a religionist—feels fantastical at times. So, speaking metaphorically, if the mythical man—the daddy of darkness—manages to manifest madness and mayhem through testing people’s goodness and godliness, and folks fail forever because they’re typically too weak to defeat the Devil, but my disbelief in deities helps me handle said Hadean humans by ultimately understanding that their weakness is what makes them horrible hellhounds, does that make you wonder why religion is required to realize right from wrong? If I believed in God, with my objectors’ oppressive obsession with me believably being a stimulant for Satan showing his ass all around this sad and sadistic situation, I’d believe that I was being crucified like Christ—in a sense. The difference is, Heaven’s holiest high roller’s haters didn’t hide their hatred for him, they hoisted him up and let the Sun shine on his skin as they snuffed out his light in spite of his spiritual superiority. The cowardly conspirators and co-conspirators of this catastrophic calamity can’t even conclude that me carrying the cross—bearing the back-breaking burden that they’re too big of a bitch to bear—will walk me right into worldly worship. Stupid motherfuckers, I’m not letting this go and y’all ain’t gettin’ away with shit! And if untimely and unexpected endings don’t bother you, there’s no need to cry about or cringe at the collapses coming to your careers. I’m not selfless enough to share my success in shutting Satan’s shit down. Jasmine Crockett, waiting in worry and weariness are written all over your face. You’re a congressperson who has contributed to the continuation of a criminal conspiracy concocted by crooked cops and comprised of contrived coincidences and curious casualties that are causing chaos and confusion across the country—especially among celebrities. At a point, in trying to trigger me into terrorism with antagonistic allusive attacks that substantiated my suspicions of being surveilled, both the Joe Budden Podcast and the Breakfast Club were told to insult my intelligence and intuition with talks of travelling to New York—even insinuating that there was a million-dollar deal waiting with Joe. Melyssa Ford knows what I’m talking about, right? Speaking of “bad mama jamas,” click here for an exciting easter egg post from Mona and Mel, with “if you know, you know” playing in the background. And just in case the link dies or disappears, here’s the peace sign pic from the sly slideshow. Being guilty by association, after joining jesters and jezebels in an indisputable injustice against the almighty’s ace, makes it hard for me to have respect and remorse for said associates of adversaries. Nevertheless, I don’t expect to receive love or loyalty from straight up strangers. All I ask is that y’all understand that if you’re not with me, you’re against me. And if you’re against me, soon…
Omniscience