My shelf looked magnificent. The same way it looked when I saw it at Hermit’s Furniture Store a little after the orgy I had at church. I went into my room, opened my bottom drawer, pushed my
panties to the side and took out the Golden Mask.

Open Says Me.

Images flashed in my mind. From a few weeks ago. I had to lean against the wall because the power of the memories took my breath away, of when I defiled God’s House with my own sick, selfish pleasures.

That morning my flesh was so weak I
couldn’t think straight. When I sashayed down the hall of my church,
my heels clickety-clacked with sounding echoes towards the double doors that led to paradise.

Coming face to face with Big Daddy Good Dick, or whatever his name was. I was smiling, my body coming alive. I was to get Dicked Down Froggy Style.

I remembered being breathless, so hot and bothered I didn’t want to be left alone.

I could still feel the pleasure that overcame me when I entered lustful terrains, even though, back then, I thought I was dying of Cancer, only to find out, after the orgy, that I really didn’t have a sickness.

I kissed the mask, went back into the living room, opened the shelf, and set the mask inside it.

After closing the glass door and locking it, I took a few steps back, lighting a Black and Mild cigar, puffing smoke through my nostrils, bursting from my sensual lips and just admired how it
sparkled.

I would cherish this mask for the rest of my life.

No one was allowed to touch it.

What did Rollingstone magazine know about journalism? I was reading the latest issue I just got in the mail, hoping Janet Jackson’s ultra-sexy ass would be on the cover.

Instead I had to settle for Led Fucking Zeppelin. Led Zeppelin? Oh, please!

Janet did have an album coming out on September 26, 2006 called 20 Years Old, which was now being marketed as 20 Y.O.

I had just gotten home from B.E.T’s 106 and Park this morning. I was an unnoticeable part of the so-called “Livest Audience in the World” propaganda that I had heard about
for so long.

I knew three year olds who were graciously more audible and raunchy. I hated B.E.T. anyways. Same ole commercials, same movies old movies at that.

Shit you only owned on VHS shit you never even contemplated getting on
DVD.

Same award shows...

Really. Who wanted to see Mo’Nique do the Beyonce booty dance fifty times a fucking week? Seriously, B.E.T. was once a step forward for black people.

Now they market Justin Timberpussy more than Janet Jackson.

A step back.

B.E.T’s 106 and Park was definitely not as good as the Free and AJ Era, two enormously enigmatic and energetic VJ’s B.E.T seriously needed to bring
back to hype the fledgling music video countdown show.