A day without Aretha Franklin is like a day without sunshine, so I can't resist congratulating the Queen of Soul on her 64th birthday, which she celebrated the other night at Le Bernardin -- a lovely affair, I hear, at which Al Sharpton presented her with a dozen yellow roses. Never mind that Ms. Franklin told me that my column is "tacky and trite" while claiming, a week before the big day on March 25, "I'm not 63!" Well, not anymore. (New York Daily News)
Yeah yeah, I know Al is married and everything but there is nothing wrong with thinking about what could have been . . . what still may be possible. Could you imagine if these two every did start creeping with each other? That shit would be great! Every day would be an opportunity to square off against each other in an eating contest. Fuck Nathan's hot dog eating competition, I want to see that.
Anyway, don't expect much from me today. I'm tied up waiting for Rick James to burn me with a crack pipe and I have no time for half ass posts (like the previous one, don't you love the delete button?).
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