Once again the world fucked up somewhere and shelved Robert Kelly’s memoir, Soulacoaster: The Diary of Me, one week before its 11/15 release date.
In this week of entertainment-based tragedy, one instance of tell-all dross will be sorely missed. Once again the world fucked up somewhere and shelved Robert Kelly’s memoir, Soulacoaster: The Diary of Me, one week before its 11/15 release date. While representatives from the publisher (SmileyBooks, for those who are looking for a book deal) say that the book is slated for a Spring 2012 release, I have yet to see anyone even talk about the book as something that they were ready to receive. The man is illiterate and can somehow not go to jail after video evidence surfaces of him having sex and then urinating on a underage girl in his recording studio. He’s like the Serpentor of insane R&B geniuses:
Scientists from a Bizarro Chicago (governed over by Jerry Falwell) sent probes into the timestream that were designed to gather the DNA samples of 99 of the greatest depraved musicians over the last 135 years. When the probes returned with far, far less than 99 examples, the scientists widened the search criteria to “interesting individuals who have a knack for staying out of jail and doing random shit” and narrowed the search region to the Mid-West. They gathered all manner of genetic material and then grew the body in a malt liquor nutrient bath for 40 days and nights. Once the golem was grown to full maturity and brought to life by inscribing the Jive logo into the top of its head (where it has stayed for 20 years), it went insane due to the Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis and Chuck Berry samples fighting for dominance. The scientists erased its ability to read and write, thus negating any chance of it ever finding its way back to its home dimension. They then beamed him into our dimension’s 1992. The rest is history….
Speaking of his story, I really would have loved to hear it. I mean, what can you really say about your private pornography career and how you singlehandedly redefined the model of the R&B maniac in the ’90s? We’ve never heard of him pulling automatic weapons on girls for the pussy, nor stories about him turning R&B divas out on fine powder and then locking them in the studio for days on end. Flare guns, teenage abductions leading to annulled marriages and closet pedophile amateur compilations aside, R. Kelly is a national treasure.
It should be retitled “I Wanna’ Piss On You”, “Remix To The Book About Pissing”, or “Yep That Is Definitely A Grammy On The Mantle In That Home Video-A Golden Shower Odyssey With R. Kelly”.
Our Kelly?
Don’t forget his magnum opus, “Trapped in the Closet”
R. Kelly’s memoirs? who’s got the lube?
Spook.