Brothers and Sisters, Those few newspaper readers among my precious illiterate flock may have heard that your Right Rev has come into a passel of trouble over his many passionate and impassioned pleas for justice, Somebody say: Amen!, in America! But I say to you, my brethren and cisterns, every word out of my black mouth has been inspired by the Holy Spirit- say Hallelujah! That's right broes and hoes, the Right rev Jeremiad Wrighteous has been possessed-say Glory! - Possessed by the Spirit of Holiness- say Holy, holy, holy!. But my holy rolling dudettes and dudes, that Spirit did not come from above- say no he didn't- No, he did not! That Holy spirit came to me from Hawaii- somebody say Aloha! - He came upon me from Indonesia-say ricestafahl- and Kenya-say grandma lives in a hut barefoot!. Yes, Biggies and my Tupacians, he wandered in the desert before finding the burning Bush- somebody say worst president ever and then he heard a voice that said: Son, remove your shoes like your shoeless grandma in Africa who you never even bought a pair of shoes while you studied at Harvard- say cheapskate!- shoeless before the holy voice. Do you know my name, Son and the son said:" Is it Tony Resko and the Lord said: Damn right son and I will build you a Georgian mansion in a Chicago suburb worthy of a slave owner's plantation- somebody say corruption! And the son said build away lord for my wife is sick of the hovels my Ivy League black ass hath put her into. And it came to pass that the son and his wife with the help of the Lord Tony Resko came to dwell in the Plantation house. And so, it came to pass that the son began to have strange dreams like Joseph of ole-Somebody say Walk like an Egyptian!- He dreamt of a black man in a white house even more glorious than his plantation mansion with mammies and pappies workin' and singin' in the Chicago suburban cotton fields. He dreamt of a glorious rise-say Amen! - to unprecedented -yes Presidential heights. With an advisor like Nathan, like Samuel like all of the prophets of ole timey relijun. I, I mean, HE dreamt that he would be king and his prophet would have a FINE suit and a great suite in the big white house now owned by the black man! Say at last, free at last. But my dear hillbillies and hillwillies, the vision was not to be- say it ain't so lord!- no it was not to be , because the son saw that he might not make it to the big white house with the heavy baggage of the prophet's truth and so the son called the prophet Uncle and relegated his right rev self to the slave quarters beyond the big white house. Somebody say: Bullshit!
The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.
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