Once, I was a young boy, and not full of dreams, for the times for dreams were past. During this delicate era I had no heroes. Well, perhaps one, a stoic man, a fictional man full of passion, conviction, of intelligence and grit, a diamond rough to the touch but more brilliant by far than any of this world. The fountainhead of my literary youth, his name was Howard Roark. Yet even he, hero, intransigent man of concrete values and steadfast devotion, of pure conscience and iron will, could not compare to the raw, jiggling beauty of J-Lo’s ass. Yes, that’s right, this message is for you, J-Lo, and it’s about yo’ ass.
I saw yo’ ass on screen, every young boy’s dream, so beautiful, so glowing, so very round. Yo’ ass, in its pure, natural, golden globulance stands to this day in defiance against that of even miss Kim K. Her rubber honeybuns just can’t compare, for they moaned, groaned and slimed their way to fame, their success gaining traction by virtue only of our basest desires. But you, J-Lo, or should I say, yo’ ass, graced young boy’s 1990’s TV sets, its warmth like the first glow of dawn on a chilly morning as it bidi-bidi-bom-bommed its way into our hearts and onto our sheets. Yo’ ass gave us relief from those pubescent and prepubescent storms, those hormonal highs and lows that all too often left us crestfallen and drenched in both shame and desire. I recall one particularly cold, dark night I fell slave to this hormonal onslaught. It was vicious, the hallucinations terrible as the pink elephants danced across my bed, tusks down-turned and dripping some forbidden juice as they lifted their skirts with malicious intent. The ceiling dissolved to dust, and beyond their dissolution two terrible moons groaned into existence, hanging and swaying like two big blue balls, their gravity immense and thick and palpable, pulling on my sheets, making them sway, rise, and fall like waves, warm water they soon became. My mind was not right, my hand less so as I reached towards my crotch. The sheets engulfed me then as the elephant’s limbs fell, the water rushing into their wounds, bloating their bellies and tits as I unclenched my fist and gripped my dick, certain I was about to get off on those fat, bloated mammals.
Before my fall I let out a silent prayer. Oh, how the waves roared! It was as though prayer and hope, as though faith and love itself had offered the tainted water a holy rebuke. The waves crashed as the sky wept. The cold wind howled. The blue-ball moons had surely been kicked with force most swift and severe, for they shriveled and collapsed unto themselves as the sky brightened.
The wind bid adieu, and though the stormy waters had calmed, some unknown force pulled me under. A a wicked life I must have lived to earn this cruel joke, trading my lungs for just a taste of salvation. With the last of hope and against all logic I reached towards the surface with my one free hand, blind and terrified, and what I felt in that moment was faith answered, hope renewed and manifest, solid proof of God in all of His and Her glory. I pushed past the invisible force holding me back, let go my dick, and with both hands grasped and pulled myself up onto the mound of your ass. I looked behind me. The elephants had turned to bundles of white feathers, the feathers to doves and the doves spread their wings and flew off into the bright blue sky.
J-Lo, with a full heart I say I didn’t know that I was drowning until I felt yo’ ass, like God had made it just for me to grasp, to rest my tired frame upon, to find life and build upon. My life changed the day I found yo’ ass, when I learned the true meaning of grace. I was guided by the love yo’ ass so freely gave, and stronger I grew. But I am not the young boy I was back then.
My dear, sweet J-Lo, the times have changed, but yo’ ass has not. It was but a couple days back, when, in the service of my people, I turned on the TV, hoping to find music to fill their souls, if not their bellies. I prayed as I clicked towards MTV Tres. I prayed for truth, to hear the words and feel the rhythms that would open their eyes and minds and lift their spirits, hoping they could have at least a taste of the grace I had experienced so long ago. Alas, it was not they that were blind. In my hubris I did not expect it would be I who needed the revelation, and as I reached channel 872, I smiled as the white words on the lower left.
El Anillo Pa’ Cuando
With exuberance I gathered the elderly and children, and with innocent eyes they looked towards you. I could only imagine the glory they were about to be hold. El Anillo Pa’ Cuando, “And When Is The Ring?” Surely this was a song about a holy union between two spiritual beings, and the longing for such holy union, that eternal promise of two souls devoted blessed enough to find each other, despite all odds, on this material plan. On the TV screen bejeweled rings, diamond-laced and precious, fell, surely symbolic of the triumph of humility over luxury. But this was but a lure, a deceitful trick to lower our guards, as the rising flame that followed foreshadowed the chaos of what was to come. You appeared like a goddess, adorned in gold. But no light shone from you, your face cold as stern marble resentfully cut. You sat on your golden throne, a circle of gold behind you like a faux sun as hands appeared behind it. Like Vishnu before the prince, the preserver and protector had now become Death, and death you reaped as you obliterated the innocence of the young and damned before me.
The chorus neared, I could feel it in my bones and in my chest. My muscles strained taut and my nerves burned on fire. The chorus hit, and yo’ damn-near buck-naked ass began its devilish shake, and your titties jiggled with them. But they no longer held the sway they did when I was but a precious youth. Desire overcome, I reached for the control but it was too late, the children had already been consumed by your madness. Little boners erupted beneath Spiderman and Batman pajamas as the young boys squirmed on the floor in the throes of agony and lust. The young girls ripped off their clothes and began shaking their asses. Yes, asses, for these were no butts, no, these poor children had already sold their souls to the corrupted spirit that infiltrated you. It was like Ray-J and Kim all over again, and only then did I see the folly of my ways. I leapt over the young boys and towards the TV, but an old man in underwear with Viagra in his hands impeded my path. My heart turned cold as I gifted him the full force of my foot and boot with a kick to his nuts. He crumpled and groaned. The other men looked over, but knew enough to stay away from my righteous anger and vigor. The grandmothers, though, had other tactics. They thought they could sway my intent and obstruct my mission to save the youth by rubbing their now ginormous and eerily perfect asses on me. But the Lord, my rock, the One True God had trained my hands for war, and my fingers for battle. I punched their tits and poked their eyes. How easily the wicked fall! I was mere feet away from the TV. I crouched to leap and smash the whole blasted thing, but something held my ankle. I turned around to see, and my heart leapt to my throat before sinking to the deepest bowels of my gut. It was little Bobby Mayo, behind him his wheelchair, warped and sideways. Despite his severe cerebral palsy he had managed to grip my ankle with the strength of a desperate chimp with one hand, and with the other he masturbated furiously beneath his SpongeBob pajamas. SpongeBob’s eyes, wide and happy, stuck forever in their joyous facade, were weeping.
“Little Bobby, please, you must let go,”
I pleaded, hoping against hope that he would relent. But the demon was in him, and as he neared his climax his eyes turned black. Black claws erupted from his fingers and sank into my flesh. A terrible realization seized my heart, and though it sought to strangle my purpose, my devotion was too pure. Little Bobby, like you, my dear J-Lo’s ass, had succumbed to vanity, and his days, his life became but a shadow come to pass.
“Hallelujah!” I roared as I summoned the sum total of my righteous fury and channeled it through my fist and to his thigh. His frail and shaking could not stand the colossal brunt of my epic charlie-horse, and he let go.
Despite my maimed leg I leapt and grabbed the evil box, smashing it below. For a second I hovered in the air as I witnessed the sorrow beneath me. The lust had left the eyes of all, and a dark shadow passed through their faces as they looked to each other. The old saw the young and wept, tormented by what they had come to let pass. The children were scared, and hugged tightly onto their elders, who held the children’s small crying faces close, unperturbed by the mucous, tears, and soiled PJs.
I am writing this to let you know
Repent before God and mend your ways.
If not, yo’ ass better watch out.
Judgment is coming.