It’s been too long since the world last checked in on Rosie the Nosy Neighbor, Big Man, and the rest of the Trapped in the Closet gang. R. Kelly has been too busy recording “Feelin’ Single,” not peeing on women, and writing his memoir, Soulacoaster. (An excerpt: “As the film credits started to roll, I couldn’t move. I burst into tears. People walking past me patted me on the back…The Notebook was beautiful.”) But a Kells gotta do what a Kells gotta do, and this November, we’ll be treated to more musical tales of lies, deceit, and Pimp Lucius.
Are you working on another installment of Trapped In The Closet?
We just shot 20 chapters. They’ll be coming out the day after Thanksgiving. Trapped in the Closet is forever. I’ve got like a hundred chapters to come.
Forever?
It’s forever. (Via)
Forever. In case you’ve forgotten the Trapped in the Closest mythology, this diagram should help you out:
More charts should have a key that includes the phrase “possibly infected.” If that’s too complicated to follow, it’s also possible to remember what happened using the last line of every chapter so far:
Now he’s at the closet; now he’s opening the closet…He opens the door; I can’t believe it’s a man…Call up my home, and a man picks up the phone…I pull back the cover. Oh, my God, a rubber…She introduced me to the policeman that stopped you…Goin’ all around the room, both hands on the gun, then all of a sudden, pow…With a spatula in her hand, like that’s gonna do something against them guns, it’s Rosie the Nosy Neighbor…But little does he know that somebody is still right there in his home…Now, pause the movie, ’cause what I’m about to say to y’all is so damn twisted—not only is there a man in his cabinet, but the man is a midget! Midget! Midget! Midget!…While Twan and Sylvester are sniffin’ around, tryin’ to figure out what’s that smell, as they turn and look at each other like, What the hell?…The midget faints again, while Twan and Sylvester is trippin’. The midget’s the baby’s daddy…I’m sorry, girl, but that ho was me…Time goes by; it’s now one hour later…I will kill both of y’all knucklehead asses…Because at the time I was pregnant by you, T…I’m f*cking her now…Give me my motherf*ckin’ coat…Because I’m in the hospital…Oops…Don’t go tellin’ ev’rybody ’round town, Rosie, with your big-mouthed ass…Imma shoot me a motherf*ckin’ today, Imma shoot me a motherf*ckin today…(Via)
The great American novel, er, hip-hopera. All I want for Black Friday is more scenes featuring Omar pointing his gun at various little people.
(Via)
