Come Back To Me

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You have no idea how ecstatic I am that the queen of bedazzle, biscuits, and blond wigs’ return is on the horizon. In September, the woman that earned me my fist stan card will be back on stage. I don’t know why I ever thought I wanted her to go away.

Award shows just aren’t the same without Beyonce. If you saw the BET awards, you know what I’m saying. Yes, Rihanna’s vocals have improved, but she can’t move a crowd with her voice or her sex shop themed stage customs. Well, I suppose the latter can move a certain portion of the crowd, but it’s not like I’m trying to do her. The more I learn about her, the more I think about the free clinic.

Enjoy fellas…and ladies (Yeah I think that chick is bi, so…)…but don’t let it turn your piece into a bottle of hot sauce. I’m just saying.

As beautiful as Rihanna is, and as catchy as her music has become to me, it’s just not enough anymore.

I need more.

Someone that’s not going to just give me pretty poses; I need a singer to get stank with it.

Someone that knows that after a while that same old two-step won’t cut it anymore. If you’re going to walk around looking like you could give me change for a 50 in singles, you better know how to work the pole.

For the record, I am not being sexist. This is how a friend once described my dancing at the club: “Yeah you dance really sexual. Like it’s the first of the month and rent is due.”

Someone, who despite running their song into the ground will at least make the attempt to put another spin on it the millionth time they’ perform it. Forget ya’ll: That country remix to “Irreplaceable” was hot.

Someone your mama can’t hate on like, “Who is that asking for their tonsils to be removed in this song?” Someone that won’t get the side-eye from the older crowd.

In a nutshell, I need my Beyonce back.

OK, so she makes asinine comments all the time to the point where I want to hold a book drive in her honor. But you know what? If I have to look at the rest of these generic wig glue using non-singing rhythm-disabled chicks for another year, I’ll lose my mind.

Say all the stupid shit you want, Bee. If I speak on it, I’ll do so with a smile on my face. Hell, I’ll probably agree with you out of sheer gratitude.

Her little sister likes to go on and on…and on about how different they are. She’s not lying. Despite some objections to her persona, I respect what Solange is trying to do. But she’s right: They are different. Beyonce doesn’t walk around looking like a can of Sunkist. If another Knowles makes it, go Mathew’s check account balance. If not, well, Beyonce, that just means you need to stay around a little longer to support Baby Daniel and the Miss Tina line, now don’t you?

In hindsight, I think all I wanted was a new sound and a different wig from her. Something darker, shorter, less Malibu-Barbie inspired.

But however she decides to return, I welcome it.

This is dedicated to you Beyawnsay:

I almost went with the remix, but ya’ll get the point.

Beyonce: I will set up your fan on stage and pick up every package of Indian hair you order. I’ll even bring the two piece. There’s a .89 cent special at Popeyes on Tuesdays. Whatever it takes. Just come back.

P.S. But don’t be on no bullshit. Look what happened to Usher.

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