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4/5/2016 11:48:00 AM
Jesus. Whoa. This nearly makes me cry. I almost wanna make an ALJ record
"We Love You Staplehead"
with a nice bunch of singers doing backup on the chorus,
wonder if the Staple Singers are possibly available.
Well when we forget where we are going, God sings "I'll Take You There"
and then He does.
I'm praying for you Stone.
You are a Staple of Modern American Music,
so you are by no means dismissed.
IF I GOTTA STAY HERE, YOU GOTTA STAY HERE. You feel me?
Sorry, didn't mean to raise my voice,
it probably hurts if somebody friggin' farts too loud.
You're probably asking nurses down the hall
"could you just not breathe so goddamned loud Ladies?"
God recently took me, as I've talked about a bit,
on a tour through "It's Like This, Cat" Town.
What can I tell you?
I can tell you that which I know,
and I have far too much admiration and respect for you
to tell you one thing more than that.
I'm pretty damned sure He has a plan.
I'm also, personally speakin' here, not liking that plan much,
but He has sent His Witnesses along my path,
to tell me "it'll get better", and the guy said it twice
to make sure that I, in particular heard that shit.
And then I said twice in particular to him to make sure he heard that shit,
"I did my part, I'm on the path. Up to Him now."
And I did. God told me 'you don't wanna HEAR my next warning.'
and I took His word for it, because the one I'd just had was a beaute.
He also promised me (promises promises, but mankind has nothing
but let me down in my life, so God's all that's left I can trust really)
that if I stick to it (which I have, four months or something clean & sober,
I don't even miss the shit, man) that my life would work out
like I always thought it would be.
Supposedly, one day somewhere in the future, I'm a big fat star.
Already kinda big and fat so I figure how far off can it be.
I gather you're a ways a away.
Or I'd come visit you.
and I'd probably kiss your head where the staples are,
and then you'd say ow,
and then your wife would walk in
and say
'what the f*** you doin' kissin my husband's head
you weird-ass bearded motherf***er?'
and I'd simply have to reply
I'm kissing his booboo head.
You know, under the staples there? to heal the booboo.
The upside of being retarded is I say this shit without blinking.
It's kinda cool.
Love Heal You.
Faith Can Move Mountains.
I Believe In You Stone presently with Staples in his booboo head.
And I am a motherf***er to behold, as you know.
Take one to know one.
Take this time, to reflect,
maybe write a song if you are up to
writing on a pad with a pen.
Reflect on what?
Well, one thing I'd be asking,
is 'what was God trying to tell me with this?'
That's what I did when he dropped me scientifically
on my instantly booboo head twice,
bam, booboo, bam again, what the fuck...
exactly that, barely got home,
there but for the Grace of God went my bloody pulp self.
Sorry man, I ain't go no more funny in me right now.
Heal. We Love You Staplehead.
I don't know I can actually go and make a record like that...
it's making me too sad to live just thinkin' about it...
then again, you never know,
they pop in my head, I do 'em. It's just how it works.
Yeah, I don't wanna immortalize this difficult moment per se,
you know?
That's like if somebody had made a song
about me when I had my spill
"We Love You Hamburger Face"
I'd be like 'Awww thanks... now go f*** yourselves...'
Before I became American Lesley Jane, in 2001,
I nearly killed myself. Too near, you don't wanna know.
A past life, in which I'd been a woman, kicked in,
and said 'no, we can't let all our training go to waste,
we are needed, and we are too good at giving evil a bad day, we stay.'
You Stay.
I said so.
Ponder on what God's trying to tell you,
and keep a writing pad and pen near by.
And love and prayers to you and your wife,
who needs to be strong for you now
and give you gentle kisses for your booboo head.
Love, ~Lesley
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