As I look back and try to figure out whether it was a good idea to smash an empty Yoo-Hoo bottle over my pastor's head and shriek my name in his face for suggesting that speaking in the third person was indeed juvenile, and that 4-0 does not equal perfection, I wonder whether it was all worth it, losing my Yoo-Hoo sponsorship royalties and privileges just to prove a point to the congregation. I can't help but think and feel deep down that maybe the good pastor was right: that referring to myself as Chaka Khan right up in people's grills while wagging my finger could in fact be childish, and that although I am perfect on the Fantasy Gridiron, maybe I'm not perfect as a human being; or even as the queen of funk and soul. These notions now leave me in deep thought, questioning, wearing only my bra while engulfed in a blue aura.
I ask myself. What does it really mean to be perfect? Even though it appears that I may be the only perfect person -- if there is such thing -- are there others? Am I only perfect because Amanda Bennett, Snotbubbles, and The Dozers each collectively laid an egg? Can The Dozers continue to overhaul their entire roster on a weekly basis and form any sort of team chemistry? Because Bartolo Gigante has scored 14 more points than me, does that make him 3-4 points more perfect than me on a weekly basis? Does Whitney Houston sing every single one of my songs better than I do? Would I have won any Grammy's performing under my birth name Yvette? Is it possible for me to have bastard children considering there are years of my life I have no memory of? Is Crosby a monster?
Thank you.
Chaka Khan
3 comments:
That was beautiful. Soul wrenching.
Your inquiries really spoke to me.
If it ain't broke, don't fix it. If it's broke, as my team is, reckon I like to fix it.
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