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Friday, February 27, 2009
12:39 PM

Good News


Not that I ever believed her, but for several years now, Beyonce has been talking about wanting to retire at the age of 30 so she can settle down and have some big head babies. I tend to never believe artists when they talk about retiring, though for a second there I worried she might scale back after marrying Jigga. One kid alone could spread those hips wider than the Mississippi -- and we all know our girl loves her some Popeyes. He done a put a ring on it, so the fear that after a two piece of chicken and kids she might up and decide at 29 1/2, "Let Rihanna have it" started to feel real.

Thankfully, Beyonce has come to realize retirement is for quitters.

She told Ebony: “I’ve worked so hard on my craft, and I will never stop. I will never retire. I love it way too much.”

That's right. Don't you ever leave me, Beyonce. I don't know what it's like to live in a world without Beyonce p-poppin' all over it, but that is not a world I want to ever come to learn anyway. Not now. Not ever. Especially now that's she's back to wearing hair that's not straight and blonde.

When she told me she wanted to record a soul album, I was so geeked. When I heard "Work It Out," I fell in love. She looks amazing in this photo. I swear I would run barefoot down MLK to get her the Tuesday special at Popeyes -- two piece for .89 cents. You know what? Fuck it. I would get her the family special. She's that wonderful, which is why sometimes I get disappointed that she doesn't live up to her full potential. I want the soul album she promised me.

Yesterday I was talking to a friend and Beyonce basher who claims I never say anything bad about her. If you read this blog, you know that's not true at all. I've virtually handed her a muzzle, expressed disappointment in her stagmatism both musically and visually, so it's not like I compliment every single thing she does. Me thinks this person doesn't really think this, but I will say this: If you don't like Beyonce even a little bit, something must be wrong with you.

There I've finally said it. I can understand why you may wish she go a little deeper, have a little more substance, or push herself harder, but how can you not like Beyonce at all? Seriously. If you don't like her at all, what's the matter? Have you been treated for this condition, and if so, what did the doctor prescribe? Better taste? I'm intrigued.

I've noticed online - typically from message boards - that Beyonce brings out the insecure little girl in people. Is she the best singer in the world? No. Is she the best dancer in the world? Nah, but I certainly appreciate a good twirker. Is the the best we have in the industry overall? Hell yeah.

She is leap and heads above her peers, and while I hate when people get accolades for being so good because everyone else is so bad, I don't place Beyonce in that category. She would be killing it in any decade.

That is why I am so glad she has no plans of ever leaving me. I want us both to be getting it in our walkers until we're over 100. If that thought makes you queasy, take a Tums. You're not living right.

Stanism aside, how can you not find any redeemable qualities in Beyonce? Yes, she seems to be a part of Dr. Suess' book club, and yeah she's pretty vapid in most interviews. Alright, she acts like she molded and shaped the Earth herself some \times, but a lot of big artists can be described this way. I happen to think most celebrities are pretty boring in general. But as long as you can deliver at your job, I'm good.

Have you watched an awards show without her? I rest my case.

I've heard different theories about why so many can't stand her. Some say you're likely a loser, or you're ugly...maybe a combination a both. When people grip about so many people fawning over her, it usually comes across as some petty high school jealousy. Hey, I ain't have those issues, fam.

So, if you're a hater for any other reason besides Beyonce stealing your stuff (which she seems to do on the regular), explain yourselves.

It's not normal to not like her.

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